Page 50 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

A s I pull my hair up high on my head, tucking in curls and wisps into an upsweep, I hear Derek talking to someone in my living room. Sliding my foot into a strappy sandal, I open my bedroom door and find Derek with his phone pressed to his ear. No, wait. It’s my phone.

His back is turned to me, but I can see the rigidity in his spine.

“We’re in a rush,” he says into the phone.

I tug on his arm. “Who are you talking to?”

He pulls away from me. “And you’re not invited this time,” he continues the conversation. “No stealing the bride. Got it?”

“Derek!” I chase him, hobbling on one high heel as he crosses the room. I consider using the other spiked heel as a weapon, but I restrain myself.

He clicks off the phone and faces me. “We’re going to be late.”

“Derek!” I hiss. “Who was that?”

“Luke, the traitor.”

I extend my hand for the phone.

“Get your purse. We’re late.”

I slip on the other spiky gray silk heel and grab my purse.

“I’ll take my own car,” I protest as he leads me, his hand clutching my elbow, toward his convertible. “Give me my phone.”

“Do you know how to get there?” he asks.

“I can figure it out.”

“We’ll go together.”

I stop. “I’m not going to pretend we’re a couple, Derek, that we’ve made up or whatever fantasy you’re planning.”

“Same. Everyone thinks I dumped you anyway.” He opens the passenger door.

Reluctantly, I climb in. “Can I have my phone now?”

He hands it over. I call Luke back. It rings… and rings… and rings. His voicemail comes on, “Hey, thanks for calling. If this is a coffee order, leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

I don’t bother leaving a message. I’m too busy clinging to the door as Derek drives like we’re in a getaway car from a robbery instead of on our way to a wedding.