Chapter One

Sam

The church bells ringing outside of the window send a shiver down my spine. And not in the ‘I’m so excited, I can’t believe we’re finally doing this’ sort of way.

No.

It’s in the, ‘Am I really sure I’m going to be doing this?’ way.

The weather outside is perfect—a nice breezy 65 degrees, sunny with not a cloud in the sky. Absolutely killer for wedding photos, as my photographer keeps saying all morning. All I can think, though, as I look out the window and listen to the sounds of the bells tolling, is that I’m not supposed to be here.

“Oh, Sammy. You look beautiful.” My make-up artist, Lydia, leans back from me with a smile. “Frank’s going to die when he sees you.”

I fake a smile and look at myself in the mirror. She’s put in a lot of hard work to cover up the massive bags under my eyes and brought new life to my dull skin, with the highlighters and blush actually giving me somewhat of a skin tone.

Coming in this morning, she’d joked that my big day had gotten me too excited to sleep the night before, and that she’d have her work cut out for her.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I haven’t been sleeping for a week straight—my body running on nothing but pure adrenaline at this point.

This should be the best morning of my life, but instead I can’t even pretend to be excited.

“Sam!” Nicole, one of my bridesmaids, pops her head into the room. “You finally get your makeup done?”

“She’s all set.” Lydia tells her.

“Wow!” Nicole slips through the door, a mimosa in her hand that’s already halfway gone. “Damn, girl! Look at you.”

I force another smile at her. “You guys all set too?”

“Yup. Just got Lisa zipped into her dress. You excited?”

What a loaded question. “Yeah, of course. But before we get ready for pictures, I’m just going to step outside for a sec. I need some air.”

Nicole’s brows pull together while she takes a big swig of her mimosa. She along with the rest of my bridal party have been preoccupied with getting themselves ready all morning, and chatting away in between rounds in the makeup and hair chairs, leaving me to my own devices.

And while normally, I’d be a little jealous of them having fun without me, I’m kind of glad. Putting on an entire mask in order to pretend I’m ready to walk down that aisle would probably make me pass out from the stress.

“You want me to come with you?” Nicole asks.

“No, no. Go take photos. I’ll literally be just a minute.”

She nods and then gives me a stern look. “No running off to sneak a peek at your groom. That’s bad luck, you know.”

Ironic she says that. “I won’t.”

With a satisfied nod, Nicole steps back to give me space to gather the long train of my dress and stand up from where I’d squashed myself in my chair. My heels clack softly against the stone floors when I slip out the door to my private suite and head down the long hallway. The church we’re getting married in is right across the way. It’s a giant cathedral that my fiancé’s mother, Martha, insisted on us getting married in since she’d wanted her only son to carry on the family tradition of getting married there.

I didn’t have a lot of feelings about the venue for our wedding, but a church hadn’t exactly been on top of my list. I’d always imagined some kind of beach wedding, keeping it low-key with a small and intimate ceremony, not getting hitched in some church that I had no connection to and with 150 guests in attendance.

Actually, there were a lot of things that I hadn’t really been keen on, but it made my fiancé and his family happy, so I gave in. What difference did it make when at the end of the day, I’d be marrying the man I’ve been with since I was twenty?

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself over the past few months as this sickening feeling inside me has gotten worse. Going back now isn’t an option, though. Things are paid for, guests have arrived, and our families have made the effort to meet and get along.

Rounding the corner, I spot the doors leading out to the small courtyard behind the guest house and push them open. The warm breeze hits my face, relieving me instantly. I take in a few lungfuls while I step out into the sun, finally feeling a little bit of my anxiety melt away.

Never in my life did I ever think I’d be getting cold feet at my own wedding. But here I am, trying to talk myself into not doing the whole runaway bride thing.

I don’t even remember when it started, maybe months ago when I found out about my soon-to-be husband losing his job and lying to me about it for a solid two weeks. Or maybe when my mother-in-law made me feel bad about them paying for more than half our wedding, even though I never asked for that in the first place.

There have been so many things in between that have slowly built up this tension in me, warning bells that have been going off and telling me that what I’m about to do is stupid.

But Frank got another job, my mother-in-law apologized for making me feel bad, and things had gotten better.

So then why do I still feel this way?

The doors behind me swing open, causing me to dart around the corner to hide myself from whoever it is coming out. Knowing my luck, it’d be Frank sneaking a last-minute cigarette before our ceremony—yet another thing I’ve been begging him to quit.

“What do you mean?” I hear my mother-in-law, Martha, say.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Frank says, his voice frustrated. “It’s gone, ma. I’m fucking screwed.”

“Don’t use that language with me.”

What are they talking about? What’s gone?

Peeking around the corner, I watch them walk in the opposite direction, stopping right under one of the shade awnings. Frank is in his tux with his hair gelled back from his face, looking quite handsome. Aside from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, that is.

His mother is dressed in her maroon mother-of-the-groom dress, the beads on it catching the light as she moves.

“I thought you said it was a solid investment?” Martha says.

Frank digs a lighter out of his suit pocket and lights up his cigarette, taking a few puffs before talking again. “Yeah, I did too. The guy who sold me the course had a 100 percent guarantee on an investment return.”

“So then ask him for the money back!”

“I can’t, ma. It’s all gone.”

Money? What money?

Even without the context, my heart is beginning to sink. Frank has never been good with money, always trying to find the next best thing in whatever side hustle he can manage to get his hands on.

Since getting engaged, though, he’s stopped cold turkey. Or at least that’s what he promised me he’d do. Losing his job had been a hard blow and with it taking him almost three months to find another one on top of planning the wedding, it had been hair-pulling levels of stress.

And now this?

“How much was it?” Martha asks.

Frank doesn’t answer for a long moment, taking a few long drags in order to avoid answering her. My heart pounds hard. It’s his tell-tale sign that things are bad. If he won’t even tell his mother.

“A lot, ma.”

“How much, honey? Dad and I can cut you a check. You can pay us back.”

“Two hundred thousand worth?” He shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

My jaw drops.

Two… two hundred… thousand dollars?!

I’m going to be sick.

“Was it a loan? Is someone after you for the money?”

He shakes his head again. “It’s not like a loan shark, ma. It was all online. You ever heard of crypto?”

I stumble away from the wall, further distancing myself from the conversation.

Two hundred thousand. Two hundred thousand dollars he’s out.

How the hell is he going to afford that? How is he ever going to pay that back? We can’t get a house now—not with that kind of debt on his name.

“Doesn’t Samantha have savings?” I hear Martha say. “Take some of it and pay off the loan that way. You guys can work off the rest of the difference.”

“She’s not going to let me do that.”

Martha huffs. “She’s about to be your wife, Frankie. Your debt is her debt. That’s how this works.”

Absolutely no fucking way.

My savings are my hard-earned money and no one else is allowed to touch it. His mother can try and guilt me all she wants. I worked too damn hard for that money to be thrown away because my fiancé was too pig-headed to back out when he should’ve.

“Yeah,” I hear Frank say. “You’re right. I’ll get her account info and use the money to pay some of it off. She won’t let me if I ask her.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than ask permission,” Martha says.

Anger burns in my veins at their words, along with crushing sorrow.

I can’t believe I’m going to marry this man.

I can’t believe I’m going to walk down the aisle and promise him my future when there clearly isn’t one. How the hell are we supposed to pay back two hundred thousand dollars with the jobs we have now? We’ll go bankrupt.

I head back to the other side of the building, getting far, far away from that conversation. My heart is hammering so hard it’s making me dizzy. Stumbling around the corner, I spot the parking lot and my old beater car sitting there just as I’d left it this morning.

Slowly, I pat the hidden pocket of my dress, feeling my phone tucked along with the spare key my dad had given me when he’d come to visit during my hair styling.

Before overthinking it, I run across the parking lot to my car. I’m out.