The Fall of Bradley Reed by Morgan Elizabeth EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Morgan Elizabeth
- Language: English
- Genre: Men, Women & Relationships Humor
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
SATURDAY, AUGUST 19
Something isn’t right.
I don’t know what it is, but I feel it in my bones.
In my gut.
Some people don’t have that sense, the ability to know when something
is just wrong, even when you have no substantial evidence to back it up.
I’m convinced those people must not be people pleasers.
People pleasers have some kind of genetic makeup deep in the marrow
of their bones that just knows when something is off.
It’s like when your fiancé is in a shitty mood and even though you’ve
barely seen him all day, you just know he’s mad at you. Some self-saving
instinct tells you tonight is the night to make his favorite steak, put on the
pretty undies, and say yes to watching the incredibly boring documentary
about Abraham Lincoln on the History Channel.
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But now is the absolute worst time to have a gut feeling like this.
I’m standing in front of a mirror in a bright white dress (I don’t love it,
but my mother told me would look good in pictures), holding a bouquet of
deep-red roses (I wanted sunflowers, but my mother said they weren’t
classic enough), my hair in a sophisticated updo (again, better for pictures
than the beach waves I hoped for), and I know in my heart of hearts,
something is so very wrong.
“Did someone die?” I ask, looking over my shoulder in the mirror to
where my mother is fixing her lipstick at the vanity.
“What?” Cici, my best friend since elementary school, asks from the
floor where she’s smoothing out my cathedral-length train.
I didn’t want that either. I worried I’d trip and break something on it,
which would make for a bummer of a honeymoon.
But think of the impact, Olivia! my mother had said months and months
ago in the bridal shop, so full of excitement and joy, I had no choice but to
say yes to a dress I wasn’t in love with.
And now, she’s groaning at me, the exhausted, annoyed sounding one
I’m much more used to hearing.
“God, Olivia. Can we please have just a single day where you don’t go
on your strange little . . . tangents?”
“I just . . .” I take a deep breath, moving my eyes back to the mirror.
“Something is off,” I insist again, this time quieter.
“Off?” Cici asks.
“Off. Like . . . that feeling when you can’t remember if you turned your
curling iron or the oven off and you’re going away for a week.” It’s twisting
in the pit of my stomach, unable to be ignored. I wish it were as easy as
turning the car around and running up to double-check or calling your
neighbor who has a key.
“It’s just cold feet, Olivia. It happens to all brides. I felt it before I
married Huxley. You remember, don’t you? I snapped at poor Staceigh
about her dress?”
I do remember, but mostly because Cami and I had orchestrated the
entire dress debacle.
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