Take Three (The Jilted Bride #2)(2)

We looked into each other’s eyes as Stevie Wonder serenaded us with “Ribbon in the Sky,” as the pastor recited words of wisdom, and as his mom lit the eternity candle.

It looked like we were really in love, like we really believed it was the happiest day of our lives.

The pastor smiled and looked directly into the camera before addressing me. “Selena Ross, do you take Matt Sterling to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?”

“I do,” I beamed at Matt.

“Matt Sterling, do you take Selena Ross to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for—”

“No. I’m sorry. Just stop,” he sighed. “I can’t marry you, Selena.”

The pastor shut the Bible and quickly stepped away from us both. There were loud gasps and groans from the celebrity-filled audience: “Oh my god!” “What did he say?” “Is this really happening?”

And then there was silence. Deafening silence.

The OWN network’s cameras panned over my face—watching, waiting for me to say something.

“Excuse me?” I dropped my bouquet. “What did you say?”

“I can’t marry you. I can’t do this…I don’t want to be with you anymore,” he looked relieved, like he’d been waiting to say those words forever.

I nodded my head and glared at him, looking him up and down. I drew back my hand and slapped him as hard as I could.

I paused the DVD.

That was the part that got me every time. Every. Single. Time. It was the “slap heard ‘round the country,” and thanks to that incident, I was on top of the world.

I was soaking up the sorrows and sympathies from fans and media outlets worldwide.

I was being mentioned in nearly every paper, gracing the covers of the most popular magazines. All the headlines were in my favor: “Selena Left at the Altar: How Matt Betrayed Her Trust,” “Selena Ross in Deep Depression, Miscarries Baby,” “How Will Selena Move On?” “Selena’s Pain: Every Woman’s Worst Nightmare.”

I was doing interviews on all the hottest shows—crying and relaying how I felt when he left me at the altar. I even did a separate special with the OWN network, a segment that featured women who were unexpectedly ditched by their fiancés.

Everything in my life was going perfectly. Until now. Supposedly.

My publicist Katy had called and said she had some really bad news, news that was “so bad” she needed to come over and talk about it. Of course, in her world of over-exaggerations, a low earning movie at the box office qualified as bad news so I wasn’t really worried—just annoyed.

As I was rewinding the best part of the wedding, my personal assistant wandered into my bedroom without knocking and dropped my breakfast onto the floor.

I sat up and saw that my favorite crystal plates and glasses were now useless shards.

“Really Samantha?” I glared at her. “Those dishes cost more than you’ll make this year! Why didn’t you knock?”

“I’m so sorry Miss Ross,” she whimpered. “I’ll be right back.”

Ugh. What a waste! Maybe I need a new assistant…

Ten minutes later, she walked into my room at a snail’s pace and set my breakfast on the table. She avoided my eyes and took her time pouring the juice.

“Thank you Samantha,” I rolled my eyes and shooed her away. “Find out who made the shoes Carrie Underwood was wearing last night and order me a pair in every color.”

“Yes, Miss Ross.”

I sliced the crepe in half and dipped it in yogurt, my favorite thing to eat. Whenever reporters asked what my favorite food was, I always lied and said “spinach and ricotta gnudi” or something else Italian. I wanted all my fans to think I actually knew the intricacies of fine food.

“Selenaaaa!” Katy’s high pitched voice bounced off my apartment’s walls.

“I’m back here!”

“I got here as fast as I could,” she rushed into my room and plopped down on the sofa.

“And you didn’t have time to change clothes?” I looked over her tacky yellow pajamas. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m actually glad you’re here in person. Is there any way I could not go to that charity thing tonight? I don’t feel like playing with dirty little kids. They creep me out.”

“You might want to stick to all charitable events from now on. It might be good for your image.”

“My image? I’m a saint. I was left at the altar eight weeks ago. Or did you forget that already?”

If she did, she’s fired…

She slid me a large manila envelope and sighed. “Us Weekly is releasing the photos tomorrow. They were nice and decided to give you one day’s notice.”

“Is this about me eating McDonald’s instead of Burger King? I already apologized to—” I pulled out the first picture and gasped.

I flipped through the entire packet. Everything was in chronological order and it was definitely me in the photos. They were all crystal clear.

“Like I was saying,” Katy shook her head, “you may want to go through with the charity event tonight. Then I need you to disappear for at least six weeks.”