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

6. Stella

6

stella

“I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Duncan Hughes. You may kiss the bride.”

I lean in to kiss Duncan, except he’s not there. Where’d he go? I turn to where the guests are sitting, only to see them pointing and laughing. I look back to my sisters, who are in a line next to me, but none of them are making eye contact. What’s going on? Why are they laughing? Where’s Duncan?

Wait. Is that Nadia standing in the back, swatting a whip against the palm of her hand? And next to her is Bachelorette Barbie, who looks smug as hell. Wait! Is her arm linked through Cap’s?

What in the actual hell is going on?

I let out a gasp as I jolt awake, breathing heavy as I sit up in bed, desperate to leave that hellish dreamscape behind. I pull the fleece blanket up to my chin, like it’s going to protect me from the dream that featured every character from yesterday’s hell.

Wait, why do I have a blanket? Where am I? My head is pounding. There’s a sliver of light coming through the curtains, which allows me to see that I’m in a light gray room with strategically placed pictures on the wall. There’s a couple dressers, but no other furniture. This room screams minimalist bachelor pad .

Wait! Is this… shit …is this Cap’s room? I bet it is. The last part of the night takes center stage in my mind. The singing and dancing, the falling, Cap carrying me out of the bar, then into his house. I remember Sad Girl Stella coming out for an appearance. But that’s the last I remember.

Did I pass out? Did we…no. We couldn’t have. I wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. At least I don’t think.

Right? I mean, I would have remembered something like that. God, I hope I would’ve. Because I have a feeling that man would be unforgettable.

But to be safe, I check under the blanket, just to make sure everything is where it should be.

I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that I’m still wearing the hideous wedding dress.

“Fuck me,” I groan, flopping onto my back as the weight of yesterday starts to crash down.

I got drunk yesterday to forget. To forget about Duncan. His lies. The wedding I ran from. I didn’t want to remember a single thing.

It was a bandage on a problem that needs an amputation.

So now not only do I have to deal with the fall out, I have to do it with a raging hangover.

Super.

Just as I'm wondering if I can ask Cap if I can move in—all in the sake of avoiding my problems—I hear a vibration from the nightstand next to me. By habit I look over to see that it's my phone. And it's plugged into a charger. And it's next to a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt.

Did he do that? He had to have. I don't even remember to plug in my phone at night when I'm sober and my battery is at five percent. And the clothes? Are they for me?

Why is that simple gesture hitting me so hard? I’m talking straight in the feels. Maybe because he didn't have to. Maybe because in nearly four years together, I can't remember Duncan doing anything like that. Maybe because I'm overly emotional as I feel everything starting to come back to life.

But no matter how I feel, it's sweet.

He's sweet.

Oh Cap…poor, sweet, didn't-sign-up-for-yesterday, Cap...

I don't know why he's single, but the ladies of Nashville are missing out. If my drunken memory is serving me right, he said he built this house himself. Which is fucking hot. Oh, and he does nice things like plug in cell phones for drunk girls he randomly meets and gets suckered into taking care of.

This man should be scooped up and accounted for. Not by me. No. I'm a hot mess. But by someone.

And she'd be the luckiest girl in Nashville.

Buzz...buzz...buzz....

Shit. My phone is still vibrating. And another one. And another one.

Without even looking, I'm going to guess the family text chain is in full effect.

"Time to pay the piper, Stella," I say as I grab the phone off the charger. "You've avoided life long enough."

Mom: Stella Leigh Banks. Enough is enough. We let you have yesterday, though I was worried SICK. Answer your phone.

Ainsley: Stella, just send one letter. Or an emoji. Anything to let us know you're alive. I'm really worried.

Quinn: See! You worried Ainsley.

Maeve: Not that I'm not worried about you, I'd just like to say that you ran, and therefore I won the bet.

Simon: Stella, I'm going to need you to come over to Mom's house because I've been wanting to kill Duncan for a day now, but I can't kill him without justification, so I'm going to need to know things very soon or I'm going to be going to jail and then you're going to leave my new daughter without a father. Is that what you want? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, STELLA?

Stella: Sheesh. Enough of the dramatics. I'm here. I'm alive.

Ainsley: Oh, thank goodness. You didn’t have your location on so I was trying to keep a positive outlook. But after a while I naturally assumed you were dead.

Stella: Not dead. Just hungover, so dead would be better.

Mom: Stella! Did you get drunk?

Maeve: No, Mom, she ran away from her wedding and planted a garden. Of course she got drunk.

Simon: Where are you? Do you need a ride?

Yeah, that's exactly what I need: My brother driving to a location I'd drop him because I don't know where I am, only for him to be greeted by the man who owns this house whose name I don't actually know.

Stella: I'm good. I'll call a Lyft.

Mom: Have it come to our house. I'll cook breakfast. Everyone come over.

Maeve: Wow, we get a Sunday breakfast out of this? Thanks, Stella!

Stella: Glad to help the cause. I'll be there in an hour.

Dad: See you then, sweetheart.

I laugh at my dad's last message—he's always the one to end the conversations, and usually it's the only text he sends—as I swing my legs over and reluctantly get out of bed. I somehow maneuver out of the dress, ripping it in the process, and put on the most comfortable pair of boxer shorts and T-shirt I've ever felt against my skin.

Then again, they aren't made of lace and tulle and taffeta, so it has to be a step up.

I ball the dress under my arm and grab my phone as I quietly leave the room. I happen to see a door open across the hall and peek in to see a passed-out Cap on a bare mattress that is way too tiny for him, rolled up in a blanket, his dog laying at the foot of the bed.

He let me sleep in his bed. How in the world is this man single?

I want to thank him, but I also don't want to wake him up, so I tiptoe down the hall of his ranch-style home and luckily end up in the living room. I snag my high heels before walking to the kitchen island. I order a Lyft, and while I wait, I find a scrap piece of paper and a pen because I need to say thank you, even if I can't do it in person.

Cap — Prince Charming is pretty spot on. Thanks for everything yesterday. I'll never forget you -- Tiger.

And it's true. I won't. Never in a million years.

I had a mantra in college: If you're going to do a walk of shame, you better have a good story behind it. And the hookup better have been worth it.

I have the story. It might not be good but it's...something. And even though I didn’t have the hookup, meeting Cap was definitely worth it.

Except now I’m doing a walk of shame at my parents’ house.

In my defense, this is so many degrees above a walk of shame there isn’t a name for it. I highly doubt anyone in the world has had to walk into their childhood home, wearing a strange man's T-shirt and clothes, hair and makeup a mess, and carrying their wedding dress under their arm.

Yup. This is the worst walk of shame to ever shamefully shame.

With one more deep breath, I tuck the dress securely under my arm and enter my parents’ house.

And I’m met with silence.

If there's one thing to know about the Banks family, it's that we're never quiet. Loud is an understatement. With five kids, and one of them being my brother Simon, there was never a moment of peace. I don't even know if it was silent when we were all sleeping.

I was nervous before to tell everyone what happened. Now? I’m slightly terrified.

"Hello?"

No one answers as I walk down the front hallway. That’s when I start to hear whispers coming from the family room.

“What are we going to say? We need to be gentle, especially since we don’t know what state of mind she’s in.” That comes from Ainsley, which makes sense. She's the most empathetic of my siblings.

"How about 'what the fuck did Duncan do so I can kill him?’”

"That's not how we're going to start this, Simon," Maeve says.

"Can we just come out and ask? I feel like a rip the Band-Aid off approach might work." I giggle under my breath at Quinn's suggestion. She's the most blunt of the siblings. A true middle child if there ever was one.

"Really?" Maeve asks. “Just dive right in?"

"No, not exactly," Quinn says. "Maybe like,'Hey Stella. You okay? Want some leftover wedding cake?'"

"Quinn, that is the absolute worst idea I've ever heard," Maeve says. "And Simon is here, which should really say something."

“Well, we have a lot of cake!"

I can already feel the tears, and a little laughter, starting to come as I turn the corner."Cake might help. Booze didn't. Might as well try desserts."

Six sets of eyes snap to me, all wearing different versions of sadness, pity, and worry.The worry is obviously my parents. And looking back, what I did yesterday was pretty stupid, so I really need to apologize for that.

The combination of sadness and pity is from my three sisters. I mean, I’m the baby. I expected them to have these looks.

Then there's my brother Simon. The only way to describe his gaze is relieved with a splash of anger that I'm pretty sure is reserved for Duncan.

But as he walks toward me and brings me in for a hug, and his eyes don’t soften, I wonder if I'm reading him wrong. Is he mad at me?

"One, are you okay? Two, where did you go last night, and does it have any correlation with whose clothes you’re wearing?”

Of course Simon has to point out my walk of shame outfit. "Yes, I'm okay. And I’m safe. That’s all that matters.”

He grunts something under his breath, though I can’t hear him because my mom is tearing Simon away to wrap me in a hug of her own.

No, not a hug. This is a vise squeeze.

“I was so worried,” she says, somehow making her hold tighter. “Are you okay?”

My first instinct is to say that I am, though I think everyone in this room would know that’s a lie. So I say the only thing I know to be truthful right now. “I don’t know.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“No fucking way…”

“Language! We aren’t damn heathens!”

“A hooker! As in a prostitute?”

“I need to call the firm…”

Two hours later I’ve showered, put on clothes that I had in my suitcase from yesterday because I’m an over packer by nature, and have a full stomach of breakfast food. I’ve also given the full post mortem on how Stella Banks became a runaway bride.

I told them about the money.

I told them about the maxed-out credit card.

And I told them about Nadia.

That’s the one that shocked them the most. I mean, I can’t blame them. I don’t think anyone had “catch Duncan getting flogged by a dominatrix in the honeymoon suite” on their bingo cards.

After I wrapped up all the details—and I spared none—Simon and my dad exited the room, likely to come up with a plan to have Duncan conveniently disappear. Which means it’s just the girls now, which I’m grateful for. I love my dad and brother, but sometimes you just need your sisters and your mom to tell you everything’s going to be okay.

Quinn breaks the silence, though she doesn’t have much to say. “I…I just… ”

“Yup.” It’s all I can say. I try to think of something more as I take a long sip of the hot cup of coffee. Normally I’m an iced vanilla latte girl, but today, strong, hot, black coffee is exactly what the doctor ordered. “I do need to say that I’m sorry. I reacted in the worst way possible. I shouldn’t have just run off. I should have sent more than a text. I feel horrible for that.”

“Don’t apologize for the reaction,” Maeve says. “No one could ever know how they’re going to react to a situation that is so out-of-left-field it almost doesn’t seem real.”

“I know it wasn’t something I could have practiced a reaction for, but just sending y’all a text message saying that ‘Duncan cheated. And lied. Wedding’s off. Don’t look for me.’? That was shitty of me. So yes, I do need to apologize.”

Mom leans over and puts her hand on my leg. “You said enough. Plus, I saw your face before you left. You already had one foot out the door. You just didn’t realize it.”

I nod, knowing she’s right. She’s always right.

I think back to those minutes in the bridal suite before my world went upside down. The worry I felt. The uncertainty. Staring at myself in the mirror and not knowing who I was anymore.

She’s right. I did have one foot out the door.

But that still doesn’t give him an excuse to hurt me like he did.

Because he hurt me. He hurt me so fucking bad.

“How could he do this? We were supposed to get married. Why did he do this?”

My last words come out in a scream as the avalanche pours on top of my head.

The money.

The cheating.

The years of manipulation I never saw.

The time I wasted on him.

The parts of myself I let go to make him happy .

The need to have what everyone else had so compelling that I lost sight of who I was.

I knew today everything would come crashing down on me. Once the first tear comes out, I know there’s no stopping them.

And frankly, I don’t want them to.