My chest lifts as I consider her suggestion. The airport? “Where would I go?”

She chuckles. “The fuck outta here? I don’t know. You just don’t look like you want to be here. You can stay and ask God for guidance, or you can get a free lift to Eugene Airport. Choice is yours.”

A thrill chases down my spine as I consider her offer. My phone is tucked into my bra—the only way to hang on to your phone with three sisters—so I wouldn’t need my wallet. But I don’t even have a jacket.

Or my freaking passport.

My heart sinks. No one’s letting me on an airplane without ID. I chew on the inside of my lip. It’s in the safe in the honeymoon suite—the room I just left. Frank made me apply for my passport when he told me we were going on an overseas trip. Why didn’t I bring it down with me?

Because I wasn’t planning on Polly Gifford offering me a ride out of my life.

Polly taps the roof of the cab. “Enjoy your wedding day, Rosey Williams.” She opens the cab door.

“Wait!” I say. I don’t have a plan. Or a place to go. I just know that I don’t want to get married. Not today. Not to Frank. “I need to grab my ID. It’s upstairs. Can you wait five minutes?”

She looks at her watch. “That’s all I can wait. If you’re not back in five, I’ve gotta go.”

“I’ll be back.” I turn and run across the lobby toward the elevators. “God, if you’re listening, you better have me back down here in five minutes,” I mutter.

The elevator’s waiting and I jump in, suddenly filled with energy and purpose. On the way up to the suite, I don’t second-guess myself. Not once. As much as I like Frank, the idea of me jilting him at the altar isn’t as horrifying as actually marrying him. I can’t go through with it. I just can’t. Maybe I should stay and face the music—look Frank in the eye, listen to my mother’s chastisement and blame. But I can’t face it.

I just need to get away. Escape.

In no time at all, the elevator doors open. Full of determination and a steel I don’t recognize in myself, I let myself back into the honeymoon suite, hoping no one notices.

“Oh, you’re back, finally,” Mom says, from the chair where Kitty did my hair. Armed with a can of hairspray and a teasing comb, Kitty stands over Mom. Anything could be about to happen.

“I gotta get Frank my passport,” I say, heading for the safe. “He needs it to check us in apparently.”

“You saw him?” she asks, horrified, only narrowly missing a squirt of hairspray to the eye.