Chapter 2
two
Jenna
It’s been ten days since my sister ran away from her arranged marriage. She hasn’t called or even sent me a text. I’m beginning to believe that her spur-of-the-moment decision to run away on her wedding day was planned.
Thinking back to that day, she arrived at the church in yoga pants, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes, with a backpack slung over her shoulder, while the rest of us were in dresses and high heels, as Edward’s mother had requested.
I didn’t think anything of it until my parents, and I searched the church’s bridal chamber for her and found only her wedding dress, a pair of white satin high heels, and a one-word note scribbled on the back of an advertisement: “sorry,” in Journee’s elegant handwriting.
My father was so angry that he crumpled the note and threw it away. While he wasn’t looking, I dug it out of the trash and hid it in my purse as a souvenir of my sister’s path to self-discovery.
The arguing and finger-pointing in the church courtyard lasted forty-five minutes, and it took another fifteen minutes to search the church for the missing bride.
By the time the police arrived two hours later, after my parents reported Journee missing, she had a three-hour head start.
It helped that the groom and groomsmen were all too drunk to search for her, which led to another fight.
After a while, the guests grew anxious and began to leave, none of them offering to search the wooded area for Journee.
Even the police refused to search for her, since, by all accounts, she had left willingly.
The police chief suggested hiring a local mountain man to lead the search, but my parents, in their usual snobbish way, turned their noses up at the idea.
Instead, they decided to hire a private investigator from the city to search for Journee.
The private investigator has been worthless, only feeding my parents scraps of information to keep them paying for his services. The only real lead is the wedding I’m about to crash.
My parents dismissed the idea of Journee marrying again so quickly, but after remembering the paper, Journee scribbled her apology on the back of it, with the advertisement for the Forever Yours Mail Order Bride Company on the front. The lead the private investigator gave my parents makes sense.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself to stop my sister from making a mistake.
Even if she did find her Brad Pitt in ten days, that’s way too soon to get married.
And without telling me first, that’s definitely not like her.
If anything, she must be being forced into this marriage by some half-crazed mountain man she either met in the woods or through a mail-order bride service.
Glancing out my rental car window, I spot a large man in a suit at the church’s front door, glowering at another equally large man in a suit. They seem to be arguing about something, or at least the first guy is. The second guy is smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.
No, I have to save Journee no matter the cost.
I push open the car door and step onto the parking lot's gravel, careful not to shut it too loudly and draw their attention. By the looks of the packed parking lot and the lack of people standing outside, the wedding must be almost ready to begin.
As luck would have it, the first guy pushes the second guy into the church, then closes the door behind him as I’m almost to the steps.
He turns around, scanning the parking lot.
When his eyes land on me, I stumble in surprise.
He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, with his dark brown hair and a matching five o’clock shadow.
I’m not close enough to see what color his eyes are, but his broad chest is something out of a romance novel.
He rushes down the steps, catching me in his strong arms before I land on my ass in the gravel.
“Are you okay?” His deep voice sends a shiver through me, settling in my core and making my panties damp.
His face is inches from mine, his warm breath caressing my cheek, when I notice his eyes are a bright, crystal blue, the color of the ocean on a sunny day.
“Blue.” I lift a hand to his face, touching his cheek to confirm he’s real and not a figment of my overactive imagination.
“Excuse me?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, which might be true, because I can’t remember what he asked me or why I’m still here, lost in his eyes.
Luckily, I snap out of it before I embarrass myself further. “I’m here to stop the wedding.” I try to wiggle out of his embrace, but his arms tighten around me.
“Like hell you are.”