Chapter 2
Silvie
The cab smells like stale coffee, and the driver has “Jolene” by Dolly Parton playing. I start laughing uncontrollably at the irony.
“You can’t drink in here,” the cab driver calls out as he eyes my champagne bottle in the rearview mirror.
Our eyes meet and I take another swig from the bottle, defiance gushing through me kind of like the tears that have unhelpfully began falling.
I don’t want to cry over what happened, but now that I’m free of them—of that life—I can’t help it. They’re tears of relief. I almost made a horrible mistake marrying Tyler.
The cab driver frowns as he skims his gaze over my cheeks that are no doubt streaked in mascara.
Considering the lipstick stain on the back of my hand, I imagine I have that smeared across my face as well.
And, when I sat down in the cab on my veil, I felt several bobby pins rip the hair straight from my scalp.
Do I look like I’ve crawled my way out of a battle? Sure feels like it. The champagne bottle is my prize.
“Okay, okay,” the man mutters, shaking his head. “You can drink in here. Looks like you need it.”
My muscles lose some of their tension and I relax before taking another hearty swig from the bottle. I lean back against the seat with relief to be free.
The driver twists around in his seat to study me curiously. He’s older with a gray mustache and kind eyes. “Where to, miss?”
“I don’t know. Just drive.” I reach up, grab the edge of my veil, and rip at it.
The rest of the pins tug painfully at my scalp, and I yank until the whole thing comes loose.
I then fling it out the window, which ultimately inspires him to take off, because people are honking behind us and someone is taking pictures.
Let them. I have no more shits to give today. None.
My blonde hair spills down around me in loose waves, finally free. I feel lighter. My life just got insanely complicated, and for once in my life, I have no plans, and I don’t care.
He glances at the paparazzi and says, “Are we running from the groom or them?”
I blink. “Both.”
What I don’t tell him is that I’m racing to get away from the hurt that keeps clawing its way up inside me. Belladonna causes chaos. I know this. And, yet it still somehow took me by surprise.
Tyler, though?
That one cuts deeper. He was supposed to love me.
Sure pretended to anyway. The entire betrayal is humiliating.
They paraded around, practically in my face, and I was too distracted and overworked to notice.
It’s only fair Tyler has to deal with the embarrassment of telling everyone he got left at the altar for sleeping with the bride’s sister.
“Definitely both,” I say firmly.
The cabbie nods like this is just another normal day. “Got it.”
I bark out a laugh, and it comes out as if I’ve officially lost my mind. “Okay, hypothetically speaking,” I say. “If you were a runaway bride, where would you go?”
He chuckles as if this question takes him off guard, but entertains him, nonetheless.
“Depends,” he says, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, as he merges into traffic.
I lean forward, grinning, despite the way my mind races in a thousand different directions. “You act like this isn’t your first runaway bride situation.”
The city blurs past the window, and I watch my wedding venue disappear behind us. Good riddance.
“Honey, I’ve been driving a cab for thirty years,” he says. “I’ve picked up three runaway brides. One groom. That was a weird one.”
It’s oddly relieving to know I’m not the only one out there eager to leave their bad decisions behind them, even at the very last minute.
“Where’d they go?” I ask.
“Two went back to their wedding,” he says. “One went to Vegas and married a bartender. That one still sends me a Christmas card every year.”
I sigh and take another swig from the bottle. For the girl who has every inch of her life planned out, it feels so freeing to have no plans. None. It’s better than marrying that cheating asshole. And this is big. Because I’m type A. I have everything planned. But right now, all I feel is free.
He glances at me in the mirror. “You don’t look like you’re going back.”
I shake my head. “I’m definitely not going back.”
“Good,” he says. “So, do you want chaos or peace?”
My stomach tightens painfully when I think about Belladonna’s smug, stupid face and Tyler’s lame excuses—a glimpse of what was going to become my future.
My mother’s voice telling me not to embarrass the family.
I try to remember what my dad’s face looked like, but I can’t recall.
I was too busy running away. He’s probably so mad, too.
I try to suck in a breath of air, so I don’t hyperventilate. This is overwhelming to say the least.
“Peace,” I immediately respond. Always peace. I’ve had enough chaos.
He merges onto the freeway, and I lean my now-throbbing head against the seat, suddenly feeling exhausted. The adrenaline has drained out of me, and I am so tired.
He hums. “Mountains or tropical?”
I close my eyes and picture the beach with endless waves, cocktails, and peace.
“Tropical,” I answer, dreamily. Then I sit up straighter. I know where I’m going.
Birdie.
I pull out my phone and groan when I see seventeen missed calls from practically everyone. And so many text messages. I ignore them all, pull up Birdie’s contact, and hit dial.
She answers on the third ring cheerfully. “Hey, there, sugar. How’s the wedding?”
Just hearing her comforting voice sends another wave of emotions rippling through me. My chin wobbles and more tears form.
“Birdie, I can’t do it,” I choke out. “I’m coming to Coconut Beach.”
Birdie is my safe space. The place where I can be me. Or at least find the real me. I don’t know who I am anymore.
Did Birdie know? Not the betrayal, because I’m sure she didn’t, but about how this wedding would turn out? It hurt my feelings when she declined to attend the wedding, but there was the whole “Mom thing,” so I got it. Now I wonder if there was more to it.
I hear her exhale, and she sounds relieved, further indicating her feelings about the marriage. “Sugar, I’m here. Just get here safe.”
She doesn’t ask what happened. She doesn’t need to. She knows I’ll tell her everything.
“Okay, I’ll text you when I get there,” I promise. My phone beeps with an incoming call. A quick glance tells me it’s my dad. “Gotta go, Birdie. See you soon.”
After ending my call with Birdie, I sigh, knowing that it’s inevitable that I’ll need to speak to my father. I hit the answer button and wait for him to light into me.
“Dad,” I say, voice raw and quivering.
He’s quiet for a beat. I close my eyes, but then pictures of Belladonna and Tyler in various stages of undress flood my mind, so I snap them back open.
Instead of yelling, he says in a calm tone, “JFK. The jet is waiting.”
Emotion tightens my throat, and at first, I can’t speak. I blink back tears, trying desperately to find words.
I whisper, “Thanks, Dad.”
He grunts and lets out a tired, staggering breath. “I’m sorry. About all of it.”
I nod though he can’t see me.
“And Belladonna…” He curses under his breath. “It was wrong, Silvie.”
Sniffling, I nod again, grateful to have at least someone in my family on my side.
“I never liked Tyler anyway,” he grumbles.
Despite the tears silently falling, I let out a small, choked laugh.
“Please don’t tell anyone where I’m going,” I say quietly.
He chuckles. “Honey, I don’t even know where you’re going. Just be safe, okay? And call me when you get where you’re going.”
“I will. I’m sorry I let you down. I promise I’ll figure out a way to make it right. I just need some time.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assures me. “Take care of yourself. Love you, honey.”
“Love you, Dad,” I say and disconnect. Then, to the driver, I say, “JFK, please.”
As I put distance between me and my almost-wedding, I can’t help but momentarily feel like a failure. Is Dad disappointed in me? He was counting on me to save our company’s family.
And now I’m destroying it all by running.
I chose me, not them. Despite the hardship that it put on my family and how scary that is, it’s freeing. I won’t be a pawn in their game anymore. I’m better than that. I deserve a real life. I deserve respect.
I down the rest of the champagne bottle and then curl up against my seat, already feeling the buzz of the alcohol. It’s the first good thing I’ve felt all day.
I’m coming, Birdie.
“Miss Montclair, we’re beginning our descent into Coconut Beach,” a flight attendant says as she lightly touches my shoulder.
I open my eyes and sit up, realizing this was, in fact, not just a bad dream. It’s real life, and it really sucks.
“Oh, thanks,” I croak out, voice hoarse from sleep.
Heat floods my cheeks as I, once again, take in my current state. I’m still wearing my wedding dress, mainly because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it off by myself, and my face is a mess.
Thank God this is Dad’s jet. His staff is paid well to be discreet.
It’s not lost on me that having the Montclair name comes with certain privileges.
Getting to sit on a plane, half-drunk and looking like a racoon who stole a wedding dress and not get openly judged for it is one of those privileges.
Holy shit. It’s beginning to truly sink in. I really left my own wedding, downed a bottle of champagne on the way to the airport, and slept all the way to Florida. I sit up and look out the window as the plane changes angles, just enough that the world outside opens up.
I press my forehead to the cool glass, soothing my throbbing head.
The bright blue ocean stretches out far as the eye can see. Every shade of blue possible. Navy blue farther out. Teal and aquamarine are closer to shore. Pale, sandy beaches where sunlight makes the sand sparkle like glitter. Palm trees lining the small beachy town, making it feel like paradise.
Paradise, also known as Coconut Beach, is home to my Birdie.