I hated the comparison she threw down, because it played into all the insecurities Lincoln and Renee had dredged up. But still . . . that didn’t change the facts.

“I don’t love Ricky.” I lifted my gaze to Jackie’s and expected to find her face stricken, but I was wrong. There wasn’t a single trace of shock in her expression.

“You only think that matters because you’re still too innocent to know any different. You don’t have to love him to use him as your ticket out of this town. He’s already got a song on the radio, and we both know why that is. Use your brain, Whitney. You get him more songs on the radio, get that money rolling in, learn to play the game, and you’re going to be taken care of forever. This is the best life I could hope for you to have. Don’t screw it up over something as stupid as love.”

My last hope of avoiding my fate evaporated like drops of rain on desert sand. There wasn’t a single person in this church who would understand me if I ran out the front door instead of rushing down the aisle to say my vows to a rising rock star.

But even if I did, it wouldn’t change anything. I had to marry Ricky to save Lincoln.

My only choice was clear.

“Now, you about ready to get this done with?”

I’ll never be ready, I thought, but it doesn’t matter.

I met Aunt Jackie’s gaze and lied. “I’m ready.”

My aunt pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Good girl. Your mama would be proud. I’ll go get your brother, and we can get this over with before anything goes wrong.”

Two

Whitney

With every step down the aisle of the church, I dreamed of someone rushing in to save me. Not just someone. One very specific person. But when Asa kissed my forehead and handed me over to Ricky, my stomach knotted once more.

No one was coming to save me, because I was doing the saving.

Ricky said his vows and the preacher moved on to me. I must have said the right things, because he nodded approvingly.

That’s when it happened.

The doors to the church flung open and everyone inside spun around, me included.

Oh, Lord in heaven.

Instead of Lincoln sweeping in to carry me off like a white knight, he stumbled through the doors wearing clothes that looked like he’d slept in them for a week. His jaw was covered with thick stubble, and his eyes were so bloodshot, I could see the redness from twenty-five feet away.

“I object.” The words came out slurred, and there was no question he was completely hammered.

For some reason, that fact hit me like a backhand to the face. My white knight, my love, my savior . . . showed up to interrupt my wedding drunk.

Because I’m not the kind of girl who gets carried off into the sunset by a prince on a stallion. I’m a Gable.