CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

brIAR

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H iking my skirt up , I push the window open farther and mentally shake my head at what a cliché this is.

Climbing out the damn window at a wedding.

But I’m not the bride on the run. I’m a married woman running from...everything.

From everyone.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I haven’t lost my mind.

My phone is upstairs, and the only reason I have my credit card in my bra is because old habits die hard. I just always do if I don’t have a purse with me.

So I have money, and I can get a cab home, pack a bag, and then go to the one place I felt truly happy.

There I can think.

There I can work out what the hell I am going to do with my life.

Somewhere no one will think of finding me.

Not even him.

The one man who will know if he truly loves me.