Page 3 of Truly

“I love you, Steph.”

“Love you more.”

“Oh! And my engagement ring is in your purse.”

“Got it.”

The call ends. I drop my arm to the side and avoid looking at the phone screen. People are probably already sending texts and looking for me. I can’t deal with it. Not yet.

I’m really doing this. I’m really running away from my wedding.

My head begins to spin with all the immediate decisions I must make. I have to get my things from the hotel before it’s taken over by the wedding party again.Can anyone track my phone?How will I get out of here without alerting the media and bystanders?

Is that even possible?

Before I can go too far down the rabbit hole, a black SUV rolls up perilously close to the shed. The windows are jet black, making it impossible to see inside. Nerves ripple low in my stomach as a man in one of those tailored suits slips alongside the vehicle.

He takes his glasses off so I can see his gray eyes.Troy Castelli. Thank God.

“Ms. Kelley, I heard you’d like a ride.”

A chuckle escapes me. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, Troy.”

“I’m happy to take you wherever you want.”

“I just want to get out of here without my picture being splashed on social media. Can you pull that off?”

He opens the back door. “Absolutely.” He turns to offer me a hand and then sees, for what seems like the first time, the tulle that must also go in the SUV. “How do we get all of …thatin there?”

“It’s tulle.” I bunch as much of the fabric in the front as I can. “I hate it.”

“Then why did you choose it?”

The question makes me pause.Why did I choose tulle over lace? Surf-n-turf over chicken strips and sliders for thereception? The diet drink over the full sugar soda at the rehearsal dinner?

“Troy, it seems I’m a bit of a pushover.”

“No offense, ma’am, but a lot of people inside the church would probably disagree with you.”

I grin, standing a little taller. “You’re right. Now shove this godforsaken dress in the car, and let’s get out of here.”

With a little work and a lot of pushing white fabric into every vacant space in the back of the SUV, we make it work. Troy is in the driver’s seat in the blink of an eye.

“We’ll go out the back service entrance,” he says, holding my gaze in the rearview mirror. “You can breathe, Ms. Kelley. It’s going to be all right.”

I exhale, the sound taking up all the room the tulle isn’t.I hope you’re right.

My heart pounds as we roll to the back of the church. Troy makes a hand signal to a police officer at the makeshift gate, and it’s immediately moved.

The crowd has nearly tripled since I arrived two hours ago. The streets have been closed, and people have filled the block surrounding Mt. Calvary Church. Lawns of the nearby houses are littered with bodies. Television crews are set up on sidewalks with vans and microphones.

It’s a mess.

And about to get messier.

I glance at the clock on the dash. The ceremony is set to start in two minutes. I squeeze my eyes closed and try to ignore the fire blazing in my stomach.

“Ms. Kelley?”