Page 15 of Shattered Hearts
No doubt he’s somewhere in this fancy place already thinking of new ways to use me now that I’ve put myself back under his thumb.
I want to run away from here, get as far from these horrible people as fast as humanly possible. But I won’t get very far in these atrocious, strappy heels. And without my phone, keys, and wallet? I could hail a taxi, but I couldn’t pay the cabbie. I could get all the way home, but I wouldn’t be able to get into my apartment.
I could go to the Zhangs’ and ask for a spare key, but if they see me in this dress? Oh, god. If I thought Finn interrogating me in that limo was bad…the combined force of Jodi, Henry, and Ann asking me a million and one questions would be more than I could handle.
My only other option is to stay here, paste a Harper-worthy smile on my face, and go through with a wedding reception.
I’ll have to talkto people. Me,the anxious wallflower who’s never been good in these kinds of situations. Worse, I’ll have to pretend I’m Harper.
My sister is the bubbliest person I know. On her wedding day, her bubbly setting would be dialed up to an eleven.
Meanwhile, I’ve never been bubbly a single time in all my life.
Just a few more hours.Then you’re done with this. Forever.
In the process of downing half a bottle of champagne while touching up my tear-mangled eye makeup, I cobble together what little courage remains after the most grueling morning ofmy adult life. The intermission is over, and Act Two is about to begin.
Chapter 5
Riley
Untangling myself from Harper’s wedding dress takes fifteen minutes by itself. Getting into her reception dress takes the same amount of time.
Not because this dress is even one third as complicated to climb into as that giant lace carnival tent I walked down the aisle in, but because I need the time to convince myself to leave the dressing room in what is essentially a long white slip.
At first, I thought someone stole Harper’s reception outfit from the garment bag. Surely, my sister hadn’t planned to attend her wedding reception in this very naked, damn near see-through silk nightgown.
But then, I remember who my sister is.
Ms. Look-At-Me.
A halter top that plunges to a deep V. A completely open back. From my shoulders to my waistline, just centimeters above my butt crack, there’s zero fabric.
I’ve never gone out feeling so naked in all my life.
Don’t even get me started on the second pair of death-trap heels Harper chose for this sexy number. I’m very tempted to go barefoot and not even bother with the shoes. But the dress is too long.
With my luck, I’d trip, rip the thing fully open, and flash half the attendees. The odds aren’t much better once I strap myself into the matching shoes, but at least I could fall and break an ankle without completely exposing myself.
Probably.
By the time I totter down the purple, carpeted ramp that leads from this dressing room to an entrance of the reception hall, I gather the party’s in full swing.
Good. Maybe I’ll be able to sneak into the mix without too much fanfare.
I wrap my palm around the handle and draw the door back before I can change my mind. Within three seconds of stepping into the room, an optic white spotlight hits me. I resist the urge to fall against the wall like I’ve been physically struck by the force of the beam.
Raucous applause deafens me.
“Please welcome Mrs. Finn Gallagher!” Someone shouts into a microphone. I make a mental note to beat that person senseless later on, whoever they are.
Shit.
Why did I think I could, as the bride, sneak into this reception unnoticed? I should just be grateful Harper didn’t plan to arrive at her reception on a horse.
The way my heart flaps around in my chest has me worried for my cardiovascular health. My cheeks ache from the smile plastered on my face, and my body is overheated despite my bare back.
Is death from self-consciousness a thing?