The Rebound - Stefanie London Page 0,1

someone who has a master key. Shit. I need a few more minutes to get out of this stupid freaking dress.

“I, uh... I’m doing a meditation.” I shake my head. Will she ever believe that? “I need a few minutes to get into a loving headspace so... I can bring good vibes to the ceremony.”

“Awww.” Her sweet croon makes me cringe. “That’s so lovely. Okay, I’ll tell the celebrant you need a few more minutes.”

My fingers work frantically and I’m almost tearing the buttons open now. Eventually, I get far enough that I can wriggle out of the dress, shoving it over my hips and awkwardly stepping out of the giant pile of fabric. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face is pale, even enhanced with photo-ready makeup, and my hair is a little askew. Extra strands have escaped the up-do, loosened from my battle with the dress. I’m wearing a mini corset, skimpy baby-blue lace underwear—because of course I needed to do the whole “something old, something new” thing—and a pair of towering white stiletto sandals with a delicate strand of crystals at my ankle.

My eyes prickle with tears, but I blink them away. Now is not the time to fall in a heap. I can cry my eyes out after I’ve gotten myself out of this mess. I kick my shoes off and scan the room. The only thing I can find to even remotely cover me up is the gauzy chiffon shawl that my mother brought with her. It’s pale blue and very see-through.

Where are you even going to go?

I don’t have any money with me, because who brings cash on their wedding day? I don’t have my keys because we were going straight to a hotel room after the reception tonight, and they didn’t fit in the stupidly tiny clutch I bought to match my dress. In any case, home is the first place people would look for me. And I don’t have my phone—because I didn’t want to be that bride taking selfies on my big day. The only things in my clutch are my lipstick and breath mints.

Super useful, Presley. Well done. You’re ready to give a blow job but not get out of this bloody building.

“Think, dammit,” I mutter to myself.

My twin sister was right all along. She’d warned me about Mike, sensing his bullshit a mile off while I acted like a happy, naive little lamb trotting all the way to the marital slaughterhouse. All the way to a loveless union and a lifetime of misery.

Drew!

An idea hits me suddenly and I spy my sister’s evening bag sitting on an overstuffed couch, next to the bouquets. I snatch it up and inside is her phone and the keys to the apartment she’s been staying in on her trip home for the wedding.

Twenty-One Love Street. Thanks to the cutesy name, I remember the address. If I can flag someone down and convince them to drive me there, then I can get inside and...

I’ll figure the rest out when I get there. For now, all I know is that I can’t be here. I wrap my mother’s shawl around my lower half, knotting it hastily at one hip like a sarong. It’s still mostly see-through, but it’s the difference between flashing a vague hint of ass and showing the full moon. And a half-naked woman is not in a position to be picky over fashion choices.

Laughter floats into the room from down the hall.

“Crap crappity crap.” I push the window open as far as it will go and swing a leg over the windowsill. Thank God these old buildings don’t have fly screens.

“Pres?” Someone’s knocking at the door again. “Are you almost done? It’s time. Everyone is waiting.”

I swing my other leg over and jump down, wincing as my feet land on something sharp—a stick, most likely. There’s something crawling on my arm and I brush it away, my heart hammering in my chest. My leg throbs. I think I’ve scratched myself, but none of that matters now. How the hell have I ended up in this position again?

I’d overheard my soon-to-be-husband just minutes before we were supposed to walk down the aisle.

We only need to stay married a few years, long enough for Dad to hand the company over to me. After that, I’ll think about whether I want to keep her or not.

Fuck you, Mike. I hope your Dad doesn’t give you a cent.

My stomach knots as if