Match Me

Match Me

Liz Appel

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead,  is entirely coincidental.

MATCH ME

All rights reserved.

Copyright @2012

Cover Photograph by LuminaStock

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

First Edition: August 2012

ONE

I wasn’t the kind of girl to crash a wedding.

Truly.

But Chase Somers wasn’t the kind of guy who should be marrying the wrong girl. And Angela Biltmore was absolutely, positively, the wrong girl.

I couldn’t get the Taylor Swift song out of my head. It was probably a good thing. A distraction. Well, no. The song was telling me what to do. Motivation, then. That was it.

I smoothed the skirt of my yellow sundress and ran trembling fingers through my hair and tried not to freak as I peeked around the corner of the church foyer.

Gauzy white bows adorned the sides of the dark wooden pews. A ridiculous amount of white roses—like, a million of them—spilled like a waterfall from the steps of the pulpit area. A pianist sat primly, her fingers gliding over the keys of a polished baby grand piano as she filled the sanctuary with froo-froo music. It didn’t mesh with the song on replay in my head. People streamed into the church, all dressed in their finest. And I recognized every single one of them.

I gulped, wishing as much for air as for water to moisten my parched throat. An image of Angela crowded my mind, an angelic vision in white, her dark hair swept up in a massive up-do of curls. I almost gagged and shook my head, trying to erase the image. Angela didn’t belong with Chase. She didn’t belong with anyone.

I rubbed my palms together, hoping the friction would evaporate the sheen of sweat coating them. There was no doubt in my mind that Chase was about to marry the wrong girl, but was I really the kind of person who was going to crash someone’s wedding? Not just anyone’s wedding, but my ex-boyfriend’s wedding?

A door opened on the right side of the foyer and I stiffened. I slipped behind one of the doors leading into the sanctuary and listened.

“It’s almost time.” A woman’s voice.

“Is Chase here?” A different voice.

“In the basement.”

My pulse quickened.

She continued. “Said something about a missing cuff link.” The woman laughed. “He probably shook it right off, he’s so nervous.”

The other woman giggled. “Probably. OK, I’ll tell Angela. We can get them lined up here in the foyer as soon as Chase finds his courage. I mean, cufflink.”

There were more giggles as their footsteps retreated and the door closed shut.

So Chase was downstairs, almost ready. Almost ready to make the biggest mistake of his life. I knew this was it, the moment I’d been waiting for. This was my one chance to tell him he was making a mistake. He might listen. Maybe. It was the only chance I had.

And it was now or never.

I stole from behind the door and crossed the foyer at a run, hoping no one would see me. I thought of all the ridiculous female spy movies I’d watched over the years and wondered how they managed to sprint in high heels. I could barely do it in low-heeled, rhinestone-studded sandals. I opened the door to the basement and descended the steps quickly, lifting my dress so I could navigate the steep, linoleum steps. The last thing I needed was a twisted ankle.

The basement was quiet. A dim light lit a hallway lined with classrooms and church offices. It was musty and slightly damp and I almost smiled. It was a fitting place to wait for someone intending to marry Angela. Sort of like a holding cell before being marched off to prison.

But Chase didn’t deserve that. He deserved me.

I scanned the darkened rooms, searching for the boy I loved. Man. The man I loved. It was easy to fall back on the boy/girl thing. I mean, we’d known each other since we were babies—had dated the last two years of high school. I’d watched him go from a puny, freckle-faced kindergartener to a blue-eyed dreamboat who could play basketball with a vengeance and write love poems just as easily. I’d known him all my life. And I’d loved him all my life.

He belonged with me.

Except I couldn’t find him. After a thorough search of every creepy room down there, I came to a horrifying conclusion. I was the only person standing in the basement of that church. Which meant that Chase Somers was already upstairs, waiting to marry Angela Biltmore.

How had I missed him? I was like a bloodhound. He hadn’t come up the stairs. I knew I would have seen him, would have heard something. I clunked down the hallway, gripping my sandals with my toes, peering into the last few offices and classrooms. Nothing. There was one door left, tucked into the right side of the hallway. A door with no windows. I reached for the doorknob and pulled it open.

A melody drifted down a stairwell I didn’t know existed. It was as if the piano was right on top of me, the music was so loud. I froze as I listened closer to the tune playing above me.

It wasn’t just any song. It was the Wedding March. And it did sound like a death march.

Hearing that song meant one thing. I was too late to stop the boy of my dreams from marrying the wrong girl.

TWO

I tripped up the stairs, my heart hammering loudly. If the Wedding March had been a rock song, my heartbeat would have been the pounding bass behind it.

I was too late. My haphazard planning had been for nothing. I could feel the tears begin to pool, could feel the sob catch in my throat. How could he be so stupid? And how could I have been so dumb? I knew then that I should have called him. Should have gone over to his house. Should have done something, anything other than be inspired by the love song of a teenage pop star to crash the wedding of my beloved in hopes that I could somehow stop it.

Chase stood ten feet away, his back to me, his gaze focused on the aisle in the center of the church. Groomsmen, three of them, stood by his side, their heads facing the same direction. To my right, three bridesmaids dressed in Tiffany blue stood at attention, their hands holding bouquets of white roses, their eyes on the center aisle, as well.

I scrunched myself lower, trying to take up less space, and craned my neck for a better view. And I saw her. Angela. Disastrously beautiful in a white beaded gown with a plunging neckline and a train that went on for miles. She wore her hair up, just like I’d imagined—a riotous mass of dark curls entwined with delicate ropes of diamond-like gems. Her veil was pushed back already and she smiled as she approached the rest of the wedding party, smug and confident.

He deserved more, I thought miserably as I watched her approach. They’d been dating for less than a year. How could Chase possibly know that he wanted to marry her, spend the rest of his life with her? He’d been blinded by her looks and her money. I was sure of it.

Determination began to filter in, drowning out some of the sadness. This was the reason I was here. It was my responsibility, not as his ex-girlfriend but as one of his best friends, to protect him. To make him see he was making a mistake. To make him see they weren’t meant to be. To tell him I knew, without a doubt, that they’d be divorced before the end of the year.

But what could I do? I’d lost my chance. I wasn’t going to stand up and voice my objections with the entire town looking on.

Or was I?

I heard the lyrics again, urging me to stand up and speak now.

I shook my head. No way. Nope. Even I couldn’t be so bold as to do that. But I could try something else. One last-ditch effort to get him to change his mind. I owed it to him. And I owed it to myself.

How could I get his attention? His eyes were glued to the woman he was about to marry and I was stuck behind him. I looked around frantically, trying to find something that might get his attention.

I swiveled back and forth, searching. No fire alarm. No container of incense to use like a smoke bomb. There was nothing. I looked down at the carpeted floor I stood on. It was thick and plush, the kind your shoes sank in to. Stomping my feet would do nothing. Besides, I didn’t want everyone to see me. Just Chase.

And then inspiration struck. I stared for a second at my rhinestone-encrusted sandals before making my decision. I slipped my left foot out and reached down to grab the sandal. I dug my fingernail underneath a rhinestone and wrenched it free. And threw it at Chase. It pinged the leg of his black tuxedo but he didn’t turn around.

I pulled off a few more. Maybe a handful showering him would get his attention. I watched as the five gems sailed through the air, hitting the back of his jacket.

Angela was at the steps. Her father was giving her a hug, wrapping his massive arms around her shoulders. Maybe he’d hug her really hard and choke her. The wedding march rose to a crescendo, signaling the end.

The rhinestones weren’t going to cut it. In desperation, I used the only artillery I had left. I positioned the sandal in my hand and threw.

It spiraled through the air like a football and hit Chase squarely in the head and he crumpled to the ground.

THREE

I watched in horror as all hell broke loose. The song ended abruptly, the last note suspended in the air. Angela screamed. Gasps rose from the crowd as groomsmen huddled around the fallen bridegroom.

“What happened?” The ring-bearer, Angela’s youngest brother,  stooped down. “And whose shoe is this?”

I shrank back into the stairwell.

“Is he OK?” Angela shrieked, clutching the sides of her gown. Her bouquet lay haphazardly in the aisle.

Paul, Chase’s best friend and one of the groomsmen, made his way over to her. “He’s fine. I think he might have passed out.”

“What?” she cried.

“Why don’t you go get some air,” he suggested, guiding her away from the altar. “Jenna, take her, will you?” He motioned to one of the bridesmaids.

Jenna hurried over, clucking and murmuring. She held Angela by the waist and they walked down the aisle together.

Paul resumed his position next to Chase. “If everyone could step out, give him some space, that would be great.”

No one moved. The pianist sat at her bench and the other groomsmen and bridesmaids were frozen in place. The guests stood by their pews, twisting and turning for a better look at the man splayed out on the floor. Even the pastor seemed unable to move. Or help.

Chase groaned.

“Really,” Paul said, his voice elevated. “Give us a minute.”

Slowly, the sanctuary emptied. Paul knelt next to Chase, doing his best to block him from view. After a few moments, the room was silent and empty.

“What happened?” Chase’s voice was weak and disoriented.

Paul grunted. “I think you’d better ask
her
.”

I peeked around the corner of the door. Paul’s eyes were fixed on me. And he was holding my shoe.

I covered my mouth with my hand.

“Ask who?” Chase asked. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

Paul jerked his head in my direction.

I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed and took a tiny step into the open.

“Bonnie??”

“I…I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Chase stared at me, dumbfounded. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I turned to look at Paul but his eyes were cast downward. I stared at the top of his head, looking for support in his brown locks. I wasn’t going to find it.

“I…” I faltered. “I…”

“You what?” he snapped.

“There’s this song…” It sounded ridiculous. I knew it. It
was
ridiculous. I couldn’t tell him, couldn’t explain that a stupid song had inspired me to try to stop his wedding. Because it wasn’t ending up like the song.

He shook his head, like he’d just gone swimming and there was water in his ears and he hadn’t quite heard me right. “What?”

“A song,” I swallowed. “A Taylor Swift song.”

“Oh my God,” Paul muttered under his breath.

Chase’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “What?”

“A song.” But my voice came out as a whisper, so quiet I wasn’t sure even a mouse could hear.

He pushed off the floor and stood. “You’re here to stop me from getting married?”

Slowly, I nodded.

“Oh my God.” He slapped his forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I didn’t say anything, just shifted my weight from my sandal to my bare foot, feeling lopsided and uneven. It was a fitting analogy, I realized. Everything about me was lopsided and uneven, including my behavior.

Paul cleared his throat. “I’m going to get a drink of water.”

He left and it was just me and Chase.

Chase glared at me. “So, now what?”

I shrank back, leaning into the back wall of the altar. The edge of a large wooden cross dug into my back. It felt like I was about to be crucified. And I probably deserved it.