Page 2 of Until the End (The Lost Letters #3)

Ginny

I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror.

Her blonde hair has been dyed and styled until it no longer resembles the original color, her face is almost gaunt from forced dieting, and the blue eyes that should be so familiar to me are lifeless.

What am I even doing?

I’m not sure how I got to this point in my life.

Cowardice.

The voice in my head sounds an awful lot like my twin sister, Gia.

She’s standing on the other side of the room, talking with our mom.

I have no idea where my other bridesmaids are getting ready.

That’s probably for the best. They’re mostly acquaintances to me.

My manager thought it would make me look bad if I only had my sister as my attendant, but I don’t have any friends in LA.

Apparently, my best friends from my hometown don’t count because they’re not famous.

Hence why I’m a coward. Instead of standing up to her, I let Cecelia steamroll me into this decision.

I hate conflict. Arguing for the sake of arguing makes me itchy.

And I honestly didn’t have much in the way of preferences when it came to planning our wedding.

I always imagined getting married somewhere in my hometown, with a spray of beautiful flowers from my aunt Hope’s shop and my family in attendance, cheering for my happiness.

Letting my manager and wedding planner have free rein seemed like the best idea, since I didn’t care much about venues or colors or flower types. At the end of the day, as long as I got married, that’s what mattered.

Now, I’m sitting in a creepy-as-all-get-out building—it has literal gargoyles outside—trying to figure out how I lost myself so thoroughly.

I need to talk to Wesley. He’s usually pretty good at setting me back on the right path when I’m being dramatic.

“Can I have a moment alone?”

The entire room falls silent. They’re the first words I’ve spoken in an hour, and my throat is a little scratchy.

My manager looks at her watch. Cecelia’s sharp features give her a hawklike appearance, and her grey hair is pulled back so tightly I can’t fathom how she doesn’t have a headache. Maybe that’s why she’s so cross today. “You have five minutes. Then we need to get you to the altar.”

“Okay. Five minutes.”

Mom and Gia give me kisses on my cheek, careful not to mess with my updo. Gia catches my gaze, and for a second, I think I might cry.

God, I’m a mess.

I take a deep breath before smiling at my twin. We have a silent conversation, our close bond allowing us to read each other without speaking.

Are you okay? Gia asks.

Yes, I just need a second.

Call when you need me.

I will.

Gia squeezes my shoulder before leaving the room.

The second I’m alone, I lock the door to the suite and sneak out through the secret passageway I found early this morning.

Perks of getting married in a scary castle, I guess.

The silky material of my A-line dress swishes around my legs as I speed walk to the boys’ suite.

I don’t even care if Wesley sees me before the ceremony.

I need his logical thinking to get me over this emotional blip.

That’s all this is. I’m just being overly emotional. He’ll set me straight.

I get to the secret door to the groomsmen’s suite and slowly crack it open. I’d rather not accidentally walk in on the guys changing.

Except what I see has me freezing in place.

One of my bridesmaids, who I only recognize because of the dress, is bent over the side of a green velvet couch, bare ass in the air, while my fiancé stands behind her, thrusting into her so hard, the couch shakes.

I blink a couple of times, trying to figure out if I’m truly seeing Wesley in this compromising position.

“Fucking take it, whore.” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

The woman’s moans could be the soundtrack to a cheesy porn video. Is she actually enjoying this, or is it fake? That’s not any kind of dirty talk I’d find attractive, but to each their own.

Wesley groans through his release, and it finally hits me. My fiancé is having sex with someone else on our wedding day. I slap my hand over my mouth as my stomach revolts at the thought.

With my heart in my throat, I race back to the bridal suite.

What am I going to do?

This whole thing has been a charade from the very beginning, hasn’t it? You don’t suddenly decide to cheat on your fiancé the day you’re getting married. No, you do it way before then—and likely regularly—because you have no morals and don’t care about anyone but yourself.

Oh, god. I’m going to lose it. My breath saws out of my lungs in heaving pants. I claw at my chest as if that’s going to open my airway, but nothing helps.

I’m going to die.

I get cheated on and die on the same day. How dramatic of me. If he were still alive, Shakespeare could write a tragedy about my life. It would be a hit.

My knees give out, and I collapse, shoving my head between my legs to force myself to breathe at a regular rate.

Cecilia would have a fit if she saw me on the floor in my wedding dress.

Fuck, I’m still in my wedding dress. I reach behind me for the zipper, contorting my arms until pain shoots through my shoulder. I can’t get to the zipper. It’s right in between my shoulder blades.

A frustrated groan tears out of my throat, and I finally give in to the overwhelming amount of emotions pumping through me. Giant sobs rack my body as everything I’ve been pushing down comes out of my eyeballs.

If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been shoving my emotions back for much longer than the last week. Even before we announced our engagement, I hadn’t felt like myself, and it’s all bubbling out of me now. The train has left the station. The toothpaste is out of the tube.

I crawl across the floor to pull my phone out of my bag, then click the first name in my favorites list and listen to it ring out.

I end the call as it goes to voicemail. I’m not surprised he doesn’t answer—he probably has the ringer turned off.

But he’s the only person I need right now.

The only one who won’t give me pitying looks or ask questions I can’t answer yet.

I type out a text to Gia while my tears continue to fall. She calls me, but there’s no way I can talk to her without her barging into the room to comfort me. I don’t want comfort right now. I need action.

I implore her to find Carson for me, even going so far as to tell her it’s an emergency. It isn’t, technically, but I know the urgency will work.

The doorknob twists, and I thank my past self for having the forethought to lock it before I left. “Ginny, please open the door. You’re going to be late for the ceremony,” Cecelia calls.

There isn’t going to be a ceremony, but I’m not about to tell her that. She’s one of the reasons I’m sobbing on the floor right now.

How did I let my life turn into this?

“Goose? It’s me. Will you open the door?”

Hearing my nickname has fresh tears streaking down my cheeks. I move closer to the door. “It’s just you?”

He pauses. “Yeah, it’s just me.”

I open the door to Carson’s gorgeous face. His eyes widen, but he quickly schools his features. I must look like a mess to get that reaction out of him. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

I pull him into the room by his suit jacket. The door closes behind him with a click, and I wrap my arms around his waist, tight enough for my muscles to ache. “Get me out of here, Carson.”

He pulls away, only far enough to look down at me. “What?”

I tilt my head back. Carson’s emerald-green eyes search my face for answers. “I need to get out of here. Right now. I can’t go out there. I can’t do this.” I bite down on my lip to stop the flow of words. I’ll break down if I say any more, and we’ll miss our opportunity to sneak out.

Determination fills his face, and he nods. “Okay, let’s go.” He looks around the room, spotting my bag and scooping it up. Then he’s back at my side to lead us out of the room.

“Wait. ”

He freezes. I turn back to the secret passageway and open the door. “What do you think our chances are of finding a way out through here?”

Carson grins. “Really good. At the very least, we’ll be able to sneak around the people waiting in the hallway.” He strides across the room and takes my hand. He’s still holding my tote bag as he leads us in the opposite direction of the groomsmen’s suite.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I whisper.

“Not a clue. But I’m betting this passageway runs parallel to the main hallway. If I’m right, the back exit should be at the end. Otherwise, why else would they have a secret passage?”

“Murder?”

Carson snorts. “Given the creep factor of this place, that’s not a bad guess.”

“Remind me to tell the Scooby-Doo Gang this story once everything dies down.” When we were little, me, Carson, and our four other best friends dubbed ourselves the Scooby-Doo Gang because we were constantly going on pretend adventures.

We’d make up cases to solve or buried treasure to find.

It stuck even through our teenage years, and now our parents use it to reference our group.

“You got it.”

We’re quiet as we walk to the end of the passageway.

Carson opens the door to check if the hallway is clear.

He waves me forward, grabbing my hand again to lead me through the side exit.

The parking lot is directly in front of us, and we take off for the cars.

No one is around to catch us, but it feels like we’re on a prison break.

In some ways, I am.

Being married to a man who had no issue cheating on me on our wedding day would’ve been a life sentence.

Sneaking out has adrenaline pumping through me, and I feel lighter than I have in months .

Carson presses the button on his key fob, and the headlights flash on a navy blue Jeep.

He opens the passenger door for me, helping me into the seat with his hands around my hips.

I ignore the little tingle his touch sends across my skin.

I’ve been ignoring that feeling since we were teenagers—so often that it’s pretty much a habit at this point.

Carson runs around the front and gets into the driver’s side. We sit silently for a second, both of us trying to make sense of the fact that I just ran away from my wedding and he helped me escape.

I crack first. Giggles bubble out of me as the sheer madness of the last half hour gets the best of me. Carson follows suit, laughing as loudly as I am. His deep baritone laugh makes me shiver. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard him laugh like that.

When we finally get a hold of ourselves, reality crashes in with his words. “You should text Gia. She was really worried about you.”

“I’m not ready to answer her questions.”

“So don’t. Tell her you needed to leave for your own sanity and that you’ll talk to her when you’re ready.”

“Orrrrrr…” I singsong. “You could just tell her for me?” I bat my eyelashes at him and flash him the smile he’s never been able to resist.

He narrows his eyes, trying to stand his ground, but he’s never once said no to me. “Fine!” He yanks his phone from his pocket and turns it off airplane mode.

No wonder he didn’t get my call.

He winces when he sees the notification. “I’m sorry, Goose.”

I shrug. “You still came when I needed you.”

“Always.” He reaches over to squeeze my thigh. In the silence, Carson texts Gia, his fingers flying over the screen. It takes him a few minutes, but he finally puts his phone away. “You might want to turn your phone off. Gia’s on damage control, but shit is guaranteed to hit the fan.”

I cringe. I hadn’t really thought about the fallout of being a runaway bride. Oops. I power down my cell as suggested and look over at Carson. “Now what?”

“Now we get you out of here.” He turns the car on, and a minute later, the life I thought I’d have disappears in the rearview mirror.