Page 3 of Pucking the Team

“I…er…are you sure? This is most—”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” A steely grip of determination came over me. I would not be treated this way. Lied to, cheated on, deceived, people acting like I didn’t have a brain in my head. For me, that was the worst thing of all, being treated like I wasn’t intelligent. Nothing more than a pretty face, blonde hair, and perfect measurements.

But in truth, maybe I wasn’t that clever. I’d had no idea what had been going on right under my nose or who had sent the photographs.

“Let’s go, please…” I gestured forward. “I have to get out of Eccelstone now.”

He appeared to snap out of his shock. “Of course, Miss Pippa. Right away.”

The door slammed shut, and he quickly returned to the driver’s seat. As the engine restarted, I spotted the vicar peering out, his long beak-like nose wrinkled.

I closed my eyes and clutched my bouquet. I didn’t want to see anyone, not the vicar, not Steven or Cheryl or…

“Where do you want to go?” the driver asked.

“Please let me think for a moment. I…I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”

“Of course not.” His voice was tight, as though he was anxious for me. “But they will be wondering where you are.”

We slipped past the church and, unable to resist, I turned to look out of the water-splashed back window.

In the vestibule stood Cheryl, next to the vicar; her pretty lilac dress skimmed the floor, and her matching flowers were held low as she gaped at the departing limo.

I turned away. She was a traitor and a liar, definitely not the person I’d thought these last three years we’d known each other. And if I never spoke to her again, or saw her again, it would be too soon.

“Shall I drop you at Chapel Inn?” the driver asked. “With your bags.”

“No, no, he’ll find me there.”

“Who will?”

“Him! Steven, the groom.”

“Perhaps you should speak to him.”

“Not a chance,” I snapped, then, “sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I just…can you take me to Heathrow?” Perhaps I could speak to the airline, switch my Maldives flight and go somewhere else, far away, and sort my head out.

“Heathrow? Miss, that’s two hours away in this traffic, and I have another pickup at three.”

“Just get me as close as possible, then I’ll get a cab or a bus or something.”

“Are you sure? I mean, this is all quite untoward with all the money that’s been spent, and the guests—”

“I paid for half of everything, so it’s half mine to waste, and Steven, well, he will just have to suck it up as penance for bad behavior. So please, as close to Heathrow in the time I’ve paid you for would be great.”

“I can do that.” He gripped the steering wheel and tightened his jaw. “No problem.”

I looked down at the lilies and ivy in my bouquet. Someone had said lilies were for funerals and not weddings, andI’d ignored them. They were my favorite, so that’s what I was having. Perhaps I’d brought this bad luck on myself with death flowers.

With a fit of anger, I threw the flowers across the seat. A few stamen snapped, and several tendrils of ivy flew off. Of course I hadn’t brought bad luck on myself. I’d been a devoted girlfriend, a busy bride-to-be, working hard as I got everything organized and made sure Steven was happy.

But clearly he wasn’t. So I’d messed up somewhere.

“I did not mess up,” I muttered and opened my phone again. I tapped a message in reply to the photographs.

Who sent these?

A message pinged back.