Chapter 2
INEZ
2
Iset the payphone handset back into its cradle and rub a clammy palm over my jumpy stomach. I watch the train I just got off whisk down the tracks toward its next destination.
It feels symbolic in a way. Like I’m standing here, watching my golden opportunity at love slip from my grasp.
Life was finally working out for me. I had it all figured out. For once, everything was going my way. I was moments away from marrying the most well-loved bachelor in America. And what did I do?
I ran.
I got cold feet and I ran and I sabotaged everything.
A Chance with Vance has been one of the most highly-rated television shows in the country since it premiered a few months ago. Tonight, all of America is waiting for me to walk down the aisle and give them the fairytale finale they’ve been tuning in for.
But here I am, standing on the platform of my hometown’s train station, battling against an incoming panic attack.
Oh my god. What have I just done?
“Comin’ through, Cinderella. Outta the way,” some drunk dude hollers, kicking my oversized suitcase as he staggers past me in a haze of alcohol fumes.
“Hey, watch it, will ya?” I mumble under my breath, weakly defending the honor of my poor, attacked luggage.
Then I realize that he’s a familiar face—a regular from the bar I used to work at—and I immediately try to hide my face. I’m not ready for all the questions yet. But it’s really hard to go under the radar in a small town like Starlight Falls.
Especially when I’m wearing a freaking wedding dress.
But the man has already forgotten all about me. He’s hunched over a nearby garbage can, noisily emptying the contents of his stomach.
Just as well. I’m not so keen on drawing any more attention to myself at the moment.
Back to the wedding dress. Yes—in my mad rush out of the wedding venue, I didn’t even bother to change clothes. After approaching Vance in his dressing room, returning the engagement ring and blurting out that I couldn’t marry him, I just stuffed my things into my suitcase, threw on a random zip-up hoodie and took off like a bat out of hell before my would-be groom—or anyone else for that matter—could try and talk me out of it.
Needless to say, I earned a lot of stares and ‘interesting’ comments in the past few hours as I jumped into the nearest taxi and boarded the first available train, ditching my impending nuptials like a burglar fleeing the crime scene.
I’m starting to wonder if it was a mistake to come straight here in the midst of my mess. And I’m more than just a little embarrassed over the fact that Nolan Brighton—of all people—is the one I had to call for help tonight.
My former boss. My ever-serious, always-grumpy, irritatingly handsome former boss.
Nolan may not be a beaming ray of sunshine. But he’s a solid guy. Stable. Trustworthy. Dependable.
And hot-as-hell. But I never allow myself to think about that part too long.
I’m definitely not proud about having to turn to him in my lowest moment. But who else could I have called? I don’t have anyone else to lean on or anywhere else to go.And that’s just a sad fact.
Pulling my hastily-packed suitcase behind me now, I wobble across the quiet train station and lower onto a bench facing the parking lot. The white tulle of my wedding gown puffs out all around me.
I’ve never been a huge fan of traveling solo. I chalk it up to being a woman in a world full of creeps. But I put my big girl pants on whenever it’s for something important.And I’d say running away from my TV wedding is ranked pretty high up there. I’ve definitely got my big girl panties on under all these miles and miles of fabric tonight.
I’m inwardly cursing myself for selecting this extravagant silk and lace drop-waist ballgown. I should have gone with a simpler, more low-key style. The only upside is that this dress is secondhand vintage so I won’t have to sell a kidney to pay the production studio back when they come after me down the road.
My mind wanders back to the elaborate wedding venue. The thousands of cream and white roses decorating the elegant hotel ballroom. The chamber orchestra. The massive production crew.
All that money down the drain. Because of me.
Shit. I should have spoken out sooner. I should have never let it get this far.
And I totally regret not having a lawyer review my contract before I signed it. Or at any point before hitching up my wedding dress and running for the hills. Crap.
I am so getting sued over this. By the TV network. By the production studio. By Vance. By all of them.
But that’s a bridge I’ll have to cross some other day.
Heaven knows I have enough problems to worry about in the here and now. I try to swallow but my throat is too tight and my mouth is too dry. I stare up at the pitch black night sky, willing myself not to cry. But the tears come anyway, cascading down my cheeks in long, mascara-tinted streams.
So much for those seven hours I spent in hair and makeup earlier today. I swipe blindly at my wet cheeks with the train of my gown. The lace hem is tinged with dirt from dragging along the ground.
Luckily, there aren’t that many people hanging around the train station at this time to witness me in my pathetic state.The place is practically deserted for the night.
Unluckily, that leaves me sitting here alone, self-reflecting instead.
I shouldn’t be here, a little voice at the back of my head reminds me.
I really screwed this up.
I left Starlight Falls, looking for love. And now I’m back, disappointed and empty-handed, with nothing to show for my efforts. I feel like a failure.
I was so sure of myself when I ditched my small town life a few months ago to find my fairytale. But now, here I am, running back home with my tail tucked between my legs.
Inez Machado—runaway bride. That’s a title I could have lived without in this lifetime.
Maybe I should have just sucked up my trepidation and gone through with the wedding. I mean—maybe it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. But something about it felt so wrong.
From the beginning of taping, I tried to ignore my nagging intuition. But at the last minute, the warning sirens in my head were too loud to ignore. Vance Cavendish is not the man for me. No matter how badly I wanted him to be. And the more I tried to force it, the less I felt like my authentic self.
Still, I never wanted to hurt him and he doesn’t deserve the embarrassment coming his way when America learns—on live television—that I left him at the altar.
I feel so rotten over this.
With the glitz and glam of the reality show behind me, I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life.
Family.Career. Housing. I’ve got none of it in sight.Everything is a mess. One big mess.
The only thing I do have is a little cash in the bank. Not that much. These reality shows don’t actually pay as much as people would suspect. But I didn’t go on the show for money. I didn’t go for fame. I went for the one thing my heart has been craving since I was a little girl.
Love.
And I can’t put into words how much it hurts that I had to walk away without it.
The tired rumble of a piece of shit engine fills the night air. I glance up and instantly recognize the approaching pair of headlights. The beat-up old car that’s barely holding its shit together with duct tape swerves into the parking lot and pulls up at the curb not far from where I’m sitting.
And Nolan Brighton hops out from behind the wheel.
My heart rate quadruples at the sight of him. Because apparently, I forgot just how good-looking this man is. I guess it makes sense. I went from seeing him practically every single day for six years, to never seeing him at all. Now, my brain cells need a minute to adjust to all the yumminess.
Disheveled. Scruffy. Maybe a little tired-looking. But sheesh, so damn hot.
He’s totally not my type, though. He’s too damn cranky. Perpetually annoyed. The poster child for ‘tall, dark and emotionally unavailable’.
Nah. Totally not my type.
His dark blue eyes zero in on me across the distance and—surprise, surprise—an irritated crinkle forms between Mr. Grumpy’s thick eyebrows. His broad-shouldered, six-foot-three frame rounds the vehicle, urgency in his hurried strides.
The russet brown strands of his hair flop over his eyes, the harsh overhead fluorescent bulbs highlighting the golden streaks. He needs a haircut. Desperately. And a shave, too. But his scruffiness somehow just adds to the overall yum factor.
Feeling self-conscious under Nolan’s intense stare, I rake my fingers through my hair and they promptly get caught in the bird’s nest on my head. My hair is frozen stiff with styling product and I plucked out all the bobby pins on the train so I’m willing to bet that I look like a scarecrow come to life.
While my tummy is still doing flips, I bolt up from my bench. I hold my head high, ready to confidently stride toward the curb.
But I’ve somehow forgotten about the yards and yards of poofy fabric my legs are tangled up in.
And then Nolan goes and says my name in that deep, gruff tone of his—“Inez…”—and, whoa!
Suddenly, my knees give out beneath me. And I find myself in the middle of a not-so-elegant nosedive.
Nolan leaps across the remaining distance between us, his long arms outstretched. I land in his arms with the grace of a limp fish hitting the sidewalk.
The mild fragrance of his woodsy deodorant blends with his subtle laundry detergent, oozing from his plaid fleece. Combined with the warmth of his body heat and the strength of his grip on me, my brain can’t produce one coherent thought.
My former boss frowns down at me.
Way too serious. Way too grumpy. Way too familiar.
I should be embarrassed over the predicament I find myself in. But as I stare up into Nolan’s face, I don’t even care.
I’m so grateful to see him. So grateful that he came to pick me up. So grateful to be home.
And I can’t help the major grin that breaks out across my face. Because for the first time in forever, I feel like myself again.
I bite down on my lip to keep my smile under control. “Hey, Boss Man.”