“I can’t… I can’t do it…” As she spoke, a sob erupted. She wrenched her arm from Dylan’s grip and turned towards the church door. Hastily she scooped up her dress, gripping the delicate material and hoisting it to her knees.

She had to get out of there. It was suffocating—she couldn’t be herself while she stood next to Dylan in that church.

She’d die if she had to for another second.

A rapid injection of energy, adrenaline, spurted into her system and she raced forward as fast as she could on her heels.

Olivia’s shocked face whizzed by her peripheral vision, as did Dylan’s mother’s.

Suddenly she stumbled. Her ankle turned and a streak of pain dashed through her tendons as her heel tipped. Her shoe fell off and her bare foot landed on the petal-strewn aisle. But she didn’t let the loss of a shoe stop her, it could have been so much more that she’d lost—herself.

So she continued to run, lopsidedly, but still, she didn’t slow down. The brightness outside was what she needed, the caress of the sun, the birdsong. The heavy stone walls of the church and the golden ring that Sean had in his top pocket were like prison bars, handcuffs.

And she wouldn’t be held captive.

Not by anyone.

Chapter Three

“Well sit me sideways on a bike,” Brendon said. “I never knew you had so much crap, Megan Rose Winter. You’re a secret hoarder.” He shook his head and tutted. “You’ll end up being on one of those shows where you’re living in a tiny burrow in a mouldy kitchen surrounded by junk you just can’t bear to throw away.”

Megan shrugged and looked around at the bags and boxes in her open-plan apartment. “It might be crap, but it’s my crap.” She grinned. It was mainly shoes, paperwork and a mountain of clothes. Brendon was just grumpy because he’d had to help carry it in from Georgie’s car and he’d got sweaty. His brow and nose were also shiny. “And this is only what I had at Dylan’s, this place is still full of my stuff, you know. I didn’t take everything there. What do you think is in those cupboards?”

“Tasteful attire like this.” He lifted a leopard skin sandal into the air—the underside was golden and glittery, except where it had worn on the ball of the sole.

“Hey, every woman should have leopard skin print sandals,” Megan said, snatching it off him and dropping it back into the box. She was damn proud of that sandal and it was selling well.

“It’s bloody freezing in here,” Georgie said, double wrapping a scarf around her neck. “It’s supposed to be August.”