![]() ![]() Don’t know why my chest feels tight at the mere insinuation that a wedding might’ve happened somewhere, at some point, a wedding where he was the groom but I wasn’t present. “That Johnny Cunning and Serena Markson eloped.” Her skin is a deep tan, like the woman lives on a beach somewhere.īelow the photograph of the pair is a massive caption, written in bold: ![]() Black leather covers her supermodel frame, while red lipstick accentuates a set of pouty lips. ![]() ![]() While he shies away from the camera, she’s wide-open, looking right at it, her green eyes vivid in the photo. He’s standing beside a woman with platinum blonde hair. My gut burns, twisting and coiling and ugh ugh ugh… Even wearing a black hat and dark sunglasses, ducking his head, he’s easily recognizable. All at once, my insides freeze, ice running through my veins, the cold striking me straight to the bone. “It was so long ago that I really can’t even say.”īethany counts out my change, and my eyes drift to the magazine she’s been reading as I grab my bag. I can tell by the curious gleam in her eyes, but I have no desire to get into that story. The way she says that makes me laugh, although I probably should be offended by her incredulous tone. My friends and I are hoping to go down and maybe, you know. There’s a film that’s supposed to be shooting in the city. “Yeah… I mean… sort of.” She blushes as she shoots me a look. ![]()
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