So Toxic(Bad Boy Next Door Book 4)(45)

My mouth is as dry as a Texas summer as I take my place in front of the minister.

A sea of people have come to witness my marriage, something I never imagined I’d do. My gaze falls on my father.

He’s alone. Thank God.

I wonder what my dad thought as he stood before a similar crowd all those years ago.

My mind trips over memories of my childhood.

Mother screaming at the top of her lungs at Dad for any number of things he didn’t get right that day. She would go weeks without speaking to anyone in the house if we disappointed her or made her angry. The belittling and berating of her husband as she emasculated him on a daily basis for everything from sitting somewhere she didn’t think he should to the way he pronounced words or wore his clothes.

Nothing was good enough for her. Nothing made her happy.

On the day he married her, did Dad know how things would turn out?

If he had, would he have gone through with it?

Does he regret saying I do every day of his miserable existence?

The band strikes up the Bridal Chorus.

Oh, God. I should call this off. What was I thinking? This is the worst plan ever.

The audience turns in their seats, everyone anticipating the first glimpse of the woman I’m supposed to marry. The woman who will likely hate me before this is over.





Stevie adjusts the veil for what seems like the eightieth time since she placed it on my head half an hour ago.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror. A stranger gazes at me from the oval glass. A beautiful bride, ready to start the next adventure of her life. Makeup flawless. Hair artfully styled in a loosely braided up-do. Nails tipped in nude polish. The only thing that is wrong with this picture is the bride’s face—it belongs to me.

Terri approaches from behind, smiling at me in the mirror. “Well, it’s not The Gown, but you look lovely.”

I’m glad it’s not The Gown. After all, I’m not really getting married. Not to a man who loves me. Not for forever. Not even for a year. I’m playing dress-up, dancing down the yellow brick road that isn’t leading me home but into a fantasy—a fantasy that will end abruptly.

Stevie swipes her hands down the fluffy, overly lacy confection I’m swaddled in, as though there’s something to straighten. “Are you ready? Here Comes the Bride is starting.”

I lean closer to the girl in white who stares at me. I whisper to her. “Let’s not forget that none of this is real. The man doesn’t want forever. He doesn’t plan to have and to hold from this day forward. He isn’t concerned with times that are better or worse. He’s already richer, and he won’t stick around long enough to go through times that might be poorer. He won’t be there in sickness and in health. And he certainly doesn’t love and has no intention of cherishing, not now, and especially not until death do us part.”

Stevie steps between me and my reflection, taking my shoulders in her hands. “You don’t have to do this, Jo. You can still walk away. I’ll go out there right now and tell the whole lot of them to go to hell.”

My lungs tremble as I pull in a great breath. “No. I’ll be fine. That girl in the mirror and I—we understand what’s happening here.”

I take the bouquet Terri holds and move toward the door—toward the next step in paying off my debt. One step today, and a couple more soon, then I’m done.

Stevie tugs me backward as I take a step. “Wait. Just wait a minute. Think about this.”

The music stops.





The door to the small building that houses the dressing room remains closed.

The musicians look to me, silently questioning what they should do now.

I turn to Jake, my stomach twitching. “She’s not coming out of there, is she?”

The leaves in the trees rustle all around us as the breeze turns into a light wind.

Jake whispers, “Give her a few seconds. Maybe she got nervous and had to go pee or puke. If I were marrying you, I’d have to puke.”

Under my breath, I say, “Ha. Ha. Mother fucker.”

The guests shift their focus from the dressing rooms to me. Pity is written all over most of their faces. Others smirk as though my being jilted will be the best story they’ve had to tell in a long while.

The minister clears his throat, his brow wrinkled. “Sir?”

I cough and tug at my too-tight collar. “Give her another minute.”

Scrubbing the back of my neck, I wait.

The doors show no sign of opening. No one pokes their head out to give any indication of what’s going on inside.

I whisper to Jake. “Can you go check with Terri? See if this is even happening today.”

He gives a quick nod and heads around the side of the audience.