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

7. Stella

7

stella

Even when I was shit-faced drunk on Saturday night, delusional enough to pretend like I didn’t have a care in the world, I knew the real tears were going to come.

I didn’t realize they weren’t going to stop.

Don’t you run out at some point? I mean, how much can one person cry in a twenty-four-hour span?

The answer is apparently all day, all night, through eating and sleeping and everything in between. Though after breakfast yesterday, I haven’t eaten anything. And calling what I did sleep is laughable. Every time I think I’m done with the tears and I can move on to the next stage of grief, which is anger, they start again. Which sucks, because I really want to be in the anger stage. I’d pay any amount of money to be in the anger stage. Breaking shit right now sounds fan-fucking-tastic.

Like Duncan’s nose. Or his precious bottles of rare vintage Jameson. That would hurt him more than anything else.

But no…I’m sitting here in the crying/denial stage, where I can’t believe that instead of leaving for my honeymoon today, I’m wondering what my next step should be. When do I have to go back into the world? What will people say? What are people saying? How do I show my face at work? Will Duncan still have a job or will my dad call in a few favors and get him fired? Can that even happen?

And if he does get let go, would it be worth it? Sure, I wouldn’t have to see Duncan every day, but the not-so-subtle comments about me getting everything because of my dad will fire back up with a vengeance. That’s all I heard when I got hired. I was the nepo baby of Carter, Banks, and Fairchild. It took me a full year to prove myself. If Dad pulls strings to get Duncan fired, I have a feeling the talk will be worse than before. Not only would it remind everyone that I’m a partner’s daughter, but that I’m also a real-life runaway bride. One I can handle. Two might break me. A woman can only tolerate so much when trying to put on the brave face.

“Stella?” The whisper and light knock comes from Ainsley. “Can we come in?”

Ugh...she said we. That means all of them.

It’s time for a meeting of the Banks Sisterhood.

Ainsley I could handle. She’s gentle. And even when she disagrees with you, she does it in the nicest way possible. But the other two? Them I’m not sure about.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my sisters with my entire being. I’d give them kidneys. I’ll fight for and with them any day of the week. Hurt one of us? You hurt us all. But I don’t know right now if I can take Maeve’s need to be the second mother or Quinn’s directness.

Then again, I eventually need to get out of this bed, and if anyone can help me do that, it’s my sisters.

“Come in,” I say as I push myself to a sitting position. I know my hair is a mess, and I’m sure my face is an absolute train wreck, but bless their hearts— they don’t say anything. Instead they circle me on the bed, each giving me some sort of comforting gesture.

“I’d ask how you’re doing, but I know the answer is ‘shitty’ so I’ll skip the formality.”

Yup. Direct Quinn is here. “I appreciate it. ”

“Even though we know the answer, that doesn’t mean we’re not worried about you,” Maeve says as she wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Stella Banks doesn’t cry like this, which means I’m guessing there’s more to the story.”

Leave it to all my sisters to see right through me. Which isn’t surprising. There are no other people on this planet who know me better than the three women sitting on my bed. There might be roughly eight years between me and Maeve, with Quinn and Ainsley falling in the middle, but the differences in age have never stopped us from being in tune with each other.

And many times doing it sitting in one of our beds, just like this.

I remember the first council meeting of the Banks sisters happening when I was around eight. Maeve was going into her senior year of high school and Ainsley and I heard a sound we’d never heard before—Maeve was crying.

Maeve didn’t—and doesn’t—cry.

So, being the curious little sisters we were, we walked into her room to see her with her head in Quinn’s lap, crying like we’d never seen her before. Ainsley and I laid next to Maeve, holding her hands as Quinn brushed her hair off her face. It was over a boy—because they sucked then just like they suck now. I don’t remember what was exactly said during that first bed talk, or even who the guy was that made the big bad Maeve Banks cry, but I do remember the feeling of knowing that we had a bond that was rare.

We were friends. Best friends.

And God help the man that fucks with one of the Banks sisters.

“Yes, I’m mad at Duncan. The money and the lying and the cheating were obviously the reasons I ran. But I’m more mad at myself.”

“How on Earth are you mad at yourself?” Maeve asks. “You did nothing wrong.”

I shake my head. “That’s where you’re wrong. ”

“I’m going to need you to elaborate,” Quinn says. “Because unless you hired the woman to spank him, then I don’t see how this falls back on you.”

I grab a tissue to blow my nose as I gather how I want to tell this to my sisters. “It’s not the lying and the cheating that are my fault. I know that. But, part of me wonders because I let go of who I was during this relationship that maybe if I hadn’t, I would’ve seen clues to his lying and cheating. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Maeve says. “I think. Before I weigh in, I want you to elaborate. I don’t want to assume your headspace right now.”

I do appreciate Maeve wanting clarification. She usually just weighs in whenever she wants. “I don’t know if there are specific examples. I just know who I was when Duncan and I met and who I was days before the wedding. I found out he had stolen thousands of dollars from me, and us, and I was going to stay with him. I told him we’d figure it out. All because I needed to get married so badly that I was willing to ignore a glaring red flag.”

“That’s not a red flag,” Quinn says. “That’s a full-on flashing neon sign that was saying ‘get the fuck out of this.’”

“Exactly. It was inches from my face, and I completely ignored it.”

“The Stella I know wouldn’t have done that,” Ainsley says. “You once chased a frat boy down the street because he walked out on a tab and you felt bad for the waitress. You jumped on his back and started beating him until he agreed to come back and pay.”

“She didn’t deserve that,” I say hotly.

“And neither did you,” Maeve says. “But I want to ask you about something you said. You said you needed to get married. Why?”

I wasn’t expecting that question. “What do you mean, why?”

I know the answer, I just really don’t want to say it in front of my sisters because I know how it’s going to sound .

Pathetic. Weak. Sad.

And those aren’t the words we use to describe the Banks sisters.

“No. You’re not going to get off that easy,” Maeve says. “Why did you need to get married? Who was pressuring you?”

I shake my head. “Me. Only me.”

“Why?”

How do I say this that doesn’t make me sound completely pathetic? “Because everyone else was.”

“Oh, Stella…” Ainsley’s sympathy makes me feel slightly better.

“Who’s everyone?” Quinn asks. “It sure as hell wasn’t us. And Maeve was already divorced by the time you and Duncan got together.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Maeve says dryly.

Quinn brushes her off. “Oh, like you miss being married.”

“You’re right. I don’t. Good riddance to bad orgasms.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” Ainsley deadpans, which of course makes us all laugh.

“It should,” Quinn says. “But back to Stella. Who was getting married that you needed to marry the first guy you dated seriously?”

I look down and suddenly become very focused on the pillow next to me.

“Stella?”

“Everyone,” I say. “Everyone was. Every sorority sister. Every person I went to high school with. You know how many weddings I went to the year before I met Duncan? Seven. I’d seen six of my friends get engaged just in that holiday season. And there I was, no boyfriend. Barely dating. Thinking that I had all this time to have fun, when clearly I didn’t. And then along came Duncan…”

“Oh, Stella,” Ainsley says. “I hate that you felt that way.”

“Me too,” I say. “Because that feeling has led me here. ”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Quinn says. “This is who you are. You’ve always thought you wanted what others had.”

Now I know Quinn is the blunt one of the four of us, but that dagger she just threw hurt more than others. “Excuse me?”

“What our sister meant to say with more tact...” Maeve gives Quinn a glare before turning her sights back to me. “You’re the little sister. You grew up wanting what we had. You wanted to dance because Ainsley did. You wanted to ride horses because Quinn took lessons. When I said one time at dinner that I was becoming a vegetarian, you quit eating meat too.”

I laugh at the memory. “That only lasted a week. I missed chicken tenders.”

“Exactly. That’s the point. They weren’t your ideas. They were ours. Some of them you stuck with. The dance choice was great. Meat and the horses? Not so much.”

Ainsley reaches over and takes my hand. “We love you. And you’re one of the most amazing people I know. But you’ve always had a tendency to follow. To just want what others have wanted. What does Stella want? Without thinking of anyone else, what does Stella Banks want right now?”

Holy shit, when they put it like that, everything makes so much more sense. I have always been a follower. I’ve always wanted what my big sisters had. Or thought was cool. But it didn’t stop there. I pledged a sorority because it was the one my sisters were in.

But even in college, the need to not be left behind, or not have what others had, didn’t go away. I was smart, but never the smartest. I never had the popular boyfriend. Or any serious boyfriend at all. I was always scrounging up dates for formals because I refused not to go while my friends were taking their significant others.

I’ve always felt a step behind. That I needed to have what others had to measure up.

And I was willing to get married to fill that hole in my life .

“Fucking hell,” I say, falling back to the bed. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Quinn says. “You are who you are, and we love you. And now that we know the problem, the next step is how we fix it.”

“Yes. How does Stella get her groove back?”

I sit up, wondering why Quinn is snickering at Maeve’s comment. “What?”

“You’re too young,” Quinn says. “But just know it was a wonderful, well-timed joke.”

“I’ll believe you,” I say. “But Maeve’s right. How do I get my groove back? Because now that all of this is out there, I feel even more lost than I was an hour ago.”

Silence falls over the room before Quinn throws her finger in the air, like an actual lightbulb just clicked on in her head. “You go on your honeymoon.”

“What? I’m not doing that.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not,” I say with authority. “I already feel like shit and pathetic. Now you want me to go on my honeymoon alone?”

“One, it’s not pathetic, it’s empowering,” Ainsley says.

“Two,” Maeve continues. “It’s not like you were going on some super inclusive, romantic honeymoon where you have to be reminded of what didn’t happen. You’re staying at a vacation house owned by your brother because your fiancé wanted to drive to fucking Florida.”

“So don’t think of it as a honeymoon,” Quinn says. “Just think of it as a solo vacation. Which is badass. You took the time off work, and it would be better if you didn’t jump right back into that swamp. Get away from here for a few weeks. Lay on a beach, read a filthy book featuring blue alien dicks with a horn in just the right place, get a tan. Hell, maybe get laid.”

“Quinn!”

“What? I’m just saying rebound sex isn’t a bad idea.” She gives me a wink. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Am I right?”

“Ignore that last part,” Maeve scolds. “But she’s right. Pack your bags. Book a flight. Get out of here and clear your head. I think it’ll do you some good.”

I think about it for a minute. “I’ve never traveled by myself before.”

“Even better,” Ainsley says. “This will give you the time to find yourself. Not Stella who thought she was going to be the future Mrs. Duncan Hughes. Or Stella who thinks she needs to follow the pack. But find out who Stella really is. And more importantly, what Stella really wants.”

I look at my sisters, who are giving me nods and looks of encouragement.

They’re right. I do need this. I need to get out of here. I need to find myself. I need to figure out what’s next. And I can’t do that here.

I need to get my groove back.

“All right, then, that settles it,” I say, rolling out of bed for the first time in hours. “Destin, here I come!”