Falling For The Biker: The Vice President’s Girl

Wren

“Congratula—” I squint at my screen, the caption refusing to settle.

Tilting the phone, I blink hard and try again. The phone automatically refreshes and my stomach dips at the video that pops up.

I ditch the caption and watch the video. There plastered on social media is my fiancé… at the altar with someone that isn’t… me.

I close my eyes, hoping that I’m wrong and it’s just my brain fogging up like it usually does. When I open them again, the video is still there.

“W-wh—” No words come out. Confusion, hurt, anger, they all slam into me at once. In a minute, I shoot to my feet.

This better be a rehearsal dinner, Tristan. It better be a joke.

My phone rings and I pick it up without looking, dragging a dress over my head at the same time.

“Wren!” My friend, Judi’s voice greets me from the other end. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“If you’re talking about Tristan then—”

“Yes, I’m talking about Tristan. What the heck is going on, Wren? Did you guys break up?”

I slip into comfortable shoes. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m about to find out. Read me the address, please.”

She rattles it off then adds, "Don't do anything stupid.”

“When have I ever done anything stupid?” I roll my eyes and step out of my apartment, hailing a cab and getting in.

“I mean, hm,” she hums, the line is silent for a beat. “You’re right. You’re pretty level-headed. Do you need me to come?”

I shake my head but remember she can’t see me. “No, thank you, Judi. I’m just going to figure out what this is about and I’ll call you later.”

“Alright,” she sighs. ”I’m sorry, Wren.”

My throat tightens and my eyes water. I hang up, watching the road go by while I convince myself everything is one big misunderstanding.

The ring on my finger catches the light, the weight settles in my mind. I love Tristan. We love each other. He proposed last month. We were supposed to start planning the wedding.

I pull up the video on my phone again, the wedding is still in motion. And it’s beautiful, almost like my dream wedding. The woman’s face is still in a veil, but Tristan…

He stands there tall, smiley, looking so proud of himself as they recite their vows.

“…Mr Fuller, do you take Miss…”

“Ma’am.” The driver interrupts. “We’re here.”

“Th-thank you,” I stammer, handing him some bills and I scramble my way into the hotel.

The receptionist scans me from head to toe, judging me. I’m sure my simple dress and sandals are not fitting enough for her.

“How can I help you?” She snarks, lips pulled down in distaste.

I ignore her judgmental looks and respond. “I’m here for the wedding? Tristan Fuller and…”

“Your name please?”

“Wren.” I clear my throat. “Wren Carlisle.”

My fingers tap on the cubicle, jaw tightening at the sound of the frantic click of the keyboard.

After what feels like hours, she looks up. “You’re not on the guest list.”

I blink.

Then, I laugh. It just bursts out uncontrollably. A full belly laugh that has me bending at the waist.

I’m not on the guest list for my fiancé’s wedding.

“Okay,” I nod, sniffling and wiping an imaginary tear. “Where is the wedding happening?”

The receptionist stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have.

“Urm, well, it’s in the garden. Back through there.” She points.

“Thanks.” I head in that direction.

She rushes toward me. “No ma’am, we can’t let you go back there—”

I spin around, and she backs up, eyes wide.

“My fiancé—” I raise my ring finger, “is getting married to someone else. I deserve to talk with him.”

For the first time her eyes soften. “I’m sorry about that. But you’re not allowed—”

“Don’t stop me, please,” I beg. “I just want to talk, nothing else.”

She looks around the empty lobby, and then sighs. “I’ll give you ten minutes, if you’re not out by then, I’m calling security.”

“No problem.”

Her glare pierces into my soul. “I can’t lose my job, ma’am.” She warns through gritted teeth.

“You won’t. Thank you…” I glance at her name tag “Stephanie.”

“Ten minutes.”

I jog toward the direction she pointed at. No one stops me, no one questions me until I burst through the double doors.

Judi’s warning filters into my head, but I ignore it. Maybe I might just do something a little stupid. I just have to know.

“Tristan!” I yell, storming down the aisle decorated with flowers. All eyes swivel to me, gasps and chatters fill the air.

Tristan and his bride—a woman I don’t recognize—stand behind a large cake, looking ready to cut it.

His eyes widen when he sees me but then he recovers immediately.

“Wren.” He states dryly when I’m close enough. “What are you doing here?”

“Baby, who’s this?” His bride asks.

“I should be asking that,” I say to her, then turn back to Tristan. “What’s going on?”

“I’m getting married,” he replies, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Well, it is.

I swallow. “Yeah, I can see that. B-but we’re engaged… it’s supposed to be me.”

“Engaged?” His bride gasps.

He leans to her. “She’s the one I told you about, babe. Please let me sort this out, go sit.”

And she obeys. What does he mean by that? What did he tell her about me?

“Tristan.” My heart breaks, voice breaking alongside. I blink back my tears.

“I changed my mind, Wren.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

His nonchalance rubs me the wrong way. He’s not even sorry, not in the least.

“The moment you decided to make this public, you practically invited me,” I snap, then sigh. “Baby, come on, did I do something?”

“No.”

“Okay, can we talk about it? I don’t understand, Tristan.” I reach for him. “Help me—”

He grips my hand before it reaches his face, his fingers curling tight around my wrist. “Don’t touch me. Go home, Wren.”

”You’re hurting me,” I whisper.

His face hardens, scowling. “You’re ruining my wedding.”

“I’m ruining your wedding?” I yank my hand from his grip, glaring. “You’re ruining my life! My plans!”

“Leave, Wren!”

Anger surges through my veins, bubbling in my chest.

“You don’t have the decency to break things off with me? You proposed to me last month!” I shout.

The crowd gasps.

“I’m not interested anymore!” He screams back. “You don’t know how to take a hint, this wedding is a big hint, Wren.”

“Wow,” I scoff. “You’re a real piece of shit!”

His eyes darken, and before I can blink, his hand shoots out, cracking across my cheek. Hard.