Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

2. Stella

2

stella

Since I got engaged last year, I’ve been waiting for the moment.

The moment when I felt like a bride.

I’m now an hour away from hearing the wedding march played, and I’m still waiting. At this point, I’ve given up that it’s going to happen. Because it didn’t happen when he proposed. Or when we had our engagement photos taken. Or at the engagement party. Even last night when we were practicing for today, I didn’t get a single butterfly that this is real.

Maybe I missed out because I didn’t go wedding dress shopping. Yes. That has to be it. I didn’t get my Say Yes to the Dress moment and that’s when I was going to feel like a bride.

Why didn’t I go wedding dress shopping? Great story, would love to tell you.

I’m what you call a people pleaser. Not as much as my sister Ainsley, but I generally want to be liked. Whether it’s being the go-to girl at the office for anything and everything, or being the friend you call on for the range of grabbing drinks to burying a body, I want to be that person.

And when it comes to being liked by my future mother-in- law? I was willing to do almost anything. Including wearing her wedding dress.

From the moment we started dating, I had a feeling Sheila Hughes didn’t like me. And that wasn’t going to do. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get her to budge. I hosted dinners. Asked for recipes. I found a first edition book she loves to give her for Christmas. I even watched her little yappy dog that bit me.

Still, nothing but cold shoulders.

Then one night we were at her house for dinner, and I was telling her that I was going dress shopping that weekend with my mom and sisters. Next thing I knew she was in tears. And I’m not talking about “a little choked up” tears. I’m talking full-on, need a pill, meltdown. She was going on about how she always wished she’d had a daughter so she could wear her wedding dress. She kept going on and on about how fashion forward it was for the late eighties and that it made her heart hurt that it was sitting in her attic collecting dust. In a moment of panic and desperation, I said that I’d wear it. That I’d be honored to.

Now today, as my own mother puts on the veil that went with the dress—which looks like it’s sprouting baby’s breath from sixteen directions—I’m regretting that decision.

I think I’m regretting this whole thing…

No. I’m not. Probably. I’m just thinking those thoughts because I’m staring at myself wearing a dress with more tulle and taffeta than should be legal in a garment—not the strapless, fitted mermaid-style dress with a sweetheart neckline that I had on my wedding vision board.

At least I’m wearing my white satin Louboutins. There’s still a little Stella in this look. Even if you can’t see it under the thirty-seven pounds and ten feet of fabric.

"There we go,” my mom says as she steps away to look at me through the full-length mirror. “My baby is officially a bride.”

I stare at my reflection, willing myself to have the feeling.

But nothing. Nada. Zilch. The only thing I’m feeling are tears welling in my eyes, because this is not how I expected to feel on my wedding day.

I didn’t expect to not feel like a bride.

Or have the knowledge that my husband squandered our money.

And then tried to lie about it.

I don’t know how a bride could feel worse hours before she says “I do.”

I turn around from the mirror to look at the room full of the women I love the most. My three sisters; my mom; Charlie, essentially my sister-in-law; and my best friend Andi. I had invited Sheila to come back with us, but she declined, saying she wants to see me in the dress for the first time when I walk down the aisle.

Which is probably good. I don’t know if I can hold my face back much longer.

My sister Quinn tries to say something, but can’t find the words. And she never struggles with what to say.

“It’s…”

“It’s a dress.” That comes from my oldest sister, Maeve, whose eyes are now twice the normal size. I hope she doesn’t play poker with that face.

“That it is!”

Gee, thanks, Mom.

I push back the threatening tears as I turn to Ainsley. The girl can always find the silver lining. She doesn’t have a mean or negative bone in her body. She’ll make me feel better about this.

“Ainsley? What do you think?”

She doesn’t say anything. But she doesn’t have to. The combined look of horror, panic, and shock says everything she isn’t vocalizing.

I’m the most hideous bride to ever walk down an aisle.

This is not the moment I was hoping for.

“Stella?”

I hear the words from my mom’s mouth, but I don’t move. It’s like I’m frozen as I watch everyone in the room start to circle around me. My breath is picking up speed. My heart is racing.

Then…out of somewhere deep inside my gut…I let it out.

And I just fucking scream.

“Ahhhh! I can’t do this! I can’t get married!”

Somehow I push back the tears, because like hell I’m going to cry off this makeup. I paid good money for it—with my own money since my dumbass fiancé lost all of ours—and like hell am I going to be in an ugly-ass dress and splotchy makeup.

Before anyone can say anything, I hear a pounding on the door. My eyes go wide in a panic, not wanting anyone to see or hear me in this state.

Or in this dress.

“I got it,” Andi says, staying calm as she opens the door. But not all the way. Just enough to see who it is.

“Is everything okay?”

The voice is coming from Sheila. When Andi looks back to me, I furiously shake my head. She’s the last person I want in here.

“Everything is fine, and actually, you’re just the person I was looking for! I need your opinion on how we set up…” Andi’s voice drifts off as she exits the room and presumably guides Sheila away. I don’t know what lie she’s pulling out of her ass, but I’m really glad I’m friends with a woman who works with lawyers.

Because she knows how to lie like one.

Maeve claps her hands so all attention turns to her. “Quinn: Tissues. Ainsley: Drink. Charlie?—

“I’m going to watch the door,” Charlie says. “You know, just in case Monster-in-Law breaks away from Andi.”

I want to laugh, but I can’t as Maeve sits me down between her and my mom on the oversized couch in the bridal suite of the hotel. Ainsley hurriedly hands me my comfort drink—Diet Dr Pepper, in a can, with a straw, so I don’t mess up my lipstick.

She’s the best .

“Okay, it’s just us,” Mom says, her voice gentle and soothing. “I thought you might have pre-wedding jitters, but something tells me there’s more to this than cold feet and a hideous dress.”

I don’t know why, but my mom calling this dress hideous makes me laugh. Demetria Banks is as properly southern as they come, so a direct insult means you know it’s bad.

“It’s...” My words trail off because I don’t know what I want to say. Do I want to tell my family about Duncan’s stupidity? I mean, I will and I should, but now doesn’t feel like the time.

What I want to admit is how I’ve been feeling since Duncan and I got engaged. A feeling I’ve pushed down for months but is now bubbling at the surface. How I’ve never been truly excited. How sometimes I’ve wanted the wedding more than the marriage. That I think I’m only getting married because he’s the first one to ask.

I want to ask them about every doubt that seems to be rapid firing in my brain. But I don’t say or ask any of that. Instead, I say the only question I can properly articulate.

“Mom? How did you know?”

The question is vague, but from the look on my mom’s face, she knows exactly what I’m asking.

“I wish I had these great words of wisdom, but I don’t,” she says. “I just knew. Though that was probably because since the day we met, your daddy was telling me he was going to marry me, so after a while I didn’t have a choice.”

We all laugh, knowing that my dad might talk a big game, but when it comes to my mom, the man does whatever she wants.

“I know that doesn’t help much,” she says, motioning me to stand up with her. “But I want you to do something for me.”

My mom positions me back in front of the mirror. Unfortunately the dress hasn’t gotten better in the last ten minutes. My hair and makeup still look flawless, though.

“I want you to look in the mirror. Just at your face. Not at the dress.” This makes everyone in the room chuckle. “Now I want you to think about walking down the aisle to Duncan. Think about holding his hands as you say your vows. Think about kissing him for the first time as his wife. Think about all the good moments you’ve had before and all the memories you’re going to make in the future. Can you see them? Because if you do, then you’re going to be just fine. If you can’t, then maybe this isn’t just cold feet.”

I nod and do as she says, closing my eyes and thinking.

But I don’t think about the wedding or anything that hasn’t happened. No, I think about the day when he became more than just a lawyer who worked at my firm.

As the office administrator at Carter, Banks, and Fairchild, it’s my job to know every employee. And not just their names. What makes me the best at my job is that I remember everything—law specialties, coffee order, marital status. And those are just to name a few. You want to know it? I can find out for you in three to five business days. Background checks have nothing on Stella Banks.

Duncan Hughes was an associate who was on a fast track to making partner. His specialty was in contract law, and he was making a lot of money for the firm. He was single, no wife or kids, and never had a girlfriend. At least, he never brought a woman to the office parties, and his social media was woman free beyond the pictures with his mom. His go-to lunch order was a turkey club, he drank exactly two cups of coffee a day, but when the days were a grind, he’d slam a Red Bull in the afternoon.

Basically, he’s your standard late twenties/early-thirties lawyer in Nashville. Which is probably why I never really paid attention to him. He just blended in with the rest of the associates. In fact, and I’ll never tell him this, sometimes he looked so young a few of us thought he was an intern. I mean, he’s five-foot-seven on a good day, in his good shoes, and has a face that takes two weeks to sprout stubble. On the outside, he wasn’t my type: he wasn’t at least five-foot-ten with perfectly styled blond or brown hair who could rock a suit during the week and had his country club look down for the weekends. In college I went after the frat guys who smelled like daddy’s money. As an adult, they became finance bros. The more expensive the cologne, the more attracted I was. And if he was a few years older? Your girl was down bad.

Duncan had a few of those qualities—he’s three years older than me, has sandy brown hair, and is from a well-to-do family—but that’s where the list ended.

That was until the day I realized that a list is nothing more than an arbitrary piece of paper.

It was the company Christmas party on December 23, nearly four years ago. Everyone at the firm was laughing, drinking, and dancing. Everyone except me. I was sulking at the bar.

Why? Because yet another of my sorority sisters had gotten an engagement ring for Christmas.

That was six so far during the holiday season, with ten days to go before the new year. Then there were the three weddings I’d been in that summer and the four others I went to as a guest—a dateless guest, nonetheless.

And there I was. So single I didn’t even try to get a date to the party. Hadn’t even been on a date in months. Serious relationship? Never heard of it. While my friends were leaving the University of Tennessee with their M.R.S. degrees, I was leaving with a degree in marketing and memories of good times but not long times.

But that was the story of my college experience. In a sorority, but not on the board. Good grades, but not graduating with cords. Good internship, but didn’t feel real because my dad set it up with one of his clients.

So when it came to my personal life, I felt on the outside looking in—again. Granted, I thought I was good with being single. I loved my life. At the time, I was twenty-three, living in Nashville, working a job I loved. I had friends, went to concerts, and saw my family frequently. I had the occasional date, and the occasional overnight guest, but no one I was bringing home to Sunday dinner. But deep down I had wondered when it was going to be my turn.

Normally, I was good about keeping those feelings of loneliness and “why not me” at bay. That Christmas, I couldn’t do it anymore. When was it going to be my turn? Why hadn’t I met someone? Was something wrong with me? Was I too short? Too blonde? Not pretty enough? Too pretty? Did I go too hard on the halcyon ho days of college and my early twenties? Was I not smart enough? Did I have a piece of toilet paper permanently stuck to my heel?

Seeing yet another engagement social media post was a wakeup call. A slap in the face that it was time for me to get serious about dating. I wanted the happily ever after, I wanted what my friends had, so that meant I had to be done with my wild days. It was going to become my New Year’s resolution to start seriously looking for a relationship and moving into the next part of my life. Becoming a real adult.

And like he could hear my thoughts, there came Duncan sliding up next to me at the bar. His shy smile hit me right in the heart, and all I could think was that Santa had brought me an early Christmas present.

He made me smile. He made me laugh. And me made me grow up, which was a good thing. I couldn’t be crazy party girl Stella forever. And I was good for him. If for no other reason than I started making him style his hair and expand his tie collection.

We took trips. We went to wineries and drove to Knoxville to tailgate for UT games. He was a good guy with whom I’d share a good and comfortable life. Stable. Sure, there weren’t a ton of sparks or fireworks, but who needs that when you’re planning for the rest of your life? He was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

But now I’m not so sure.

Because I can’t see me kissing him at the end of the aisle. I can’t see us celebrating tonight at the reception. I see portions of good times, but as soon as I see those they are replaced by last night, when he told me that he lost all our money. And that he’s never sent me flowers. Or given me an orgasm without the help of my own hand.

I’m confused. I don’t know which way is up. Which is the only reason I decide that there’s one way to put an end to this mind fuck.

“I need to see Duncan.”

“What?” Ainsley exclaims as the rest of my sisters let out audible gasps. “It’s bad luck for you two to see each other!”

“I’m wearing this dress, can my luck get any worse?” I leave out the part where we’re also broke, so clearly luck has already taken a backseat. “I’m not scared of a superstition.”

“Stella,” my mom begins as I go to my bag and grab my cell phone and the keycard for the honeymoon suite. It’s where Duncan and I are staying tonight, but today it’s where him and his groomsmen are getting ready. “Are you sure?”

I nod, suddenly feeling more confident about this decision than any I’ve had to make for months. “I am. This is probably just cold feet and wedding nerves. Once I see him and talk to him, everything will be much better. I just know it.”

“If you say so,” Maeve says, though her tone doesn’t sound very confident. “If we don’t hear from you in thirty minutes, we’re going to assume you ran away.”

I laugh as I unlock the door. “Don’t you worry, big sister. Even if I wanted to, these red bottoms were not made for a sprint. They were made for getting married.”