Meant to Marry Me
The Bride Has a Big Mouth

The next morning, the women were asked to attend a brunch while the men were doing something else. Bree wasn't sure what it was, but she had a feeling golf was involved. She didn't even want to go, but Lilly had sent her a text before the brunch started, and she ended up saying she'd be there.

The pictures and video on her phone were burning a hole through it. She definitely didn't want to watch the videos or study the pictures, but she also didn't know what to do with them. If she told Trent they existed, he'd be so mad at Hank-- he might never forgive him. That didn't seem fair to Bree for some reason. Why it didn't bother her as much that Hank had been fooling around with Trent's fiancée as it did that she might mess up their friendship, she wasn't sure. But she didn't want to be the one to drive a wedge between them.

She was dying to tell someone, though. It couldn't be Lilly. That was Monica's sister. She considered calling Christy, but she'd already bothered her once with her wedding nightmare. As Bree finished up getting ready for the brunch, she thought if she didn't say something to someone soon, she'd explode, and likely end up telling Trent.

Brunch was held at a quaint restaurant a few blocks away from the resort, in the same area that the club had been in, so Bree walked over there, enjoying the sunshine and the milder climate of the morning. The whole time, she had to convince herself she was doing the right thing. Monica was on her last nerve, and she desperately didn't want to go at all, but she had promised Lilly she'd be there. The rehearsal dinner was that night, the wedding was the next day, and then she could be rid of all of these people if she wanted to. Including Trent.

But would she ever be completely rid of him? Even if he was married, would she be able to let him go? Especially if she knew that Monica was being unfaithful to him. What if she spent the next ten years waiting for them to get a divorce? That would be no way to live.

Bree decided to duck into the bathroom before she went to replace the rest of her party in the restaurant, which looked like a Victorian tea party.

Seeing the sign for the restroom, she headed down the hallway and stopped. The door was slightly ajar, and she could hear Monica's voice inside. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't help it, especially when another voice mentioned "that singer." It was Hannah, and obviously, she was talking about Bree.

"I mean, she's got a pretty voice and all, but I could've sang myself if it wasn't such a huge faux pas to sing at one's own wedding," Monica was saying.

"Still... doesn't it bother you the way that she looks at Trent?" Clarice was asking. "I'd just wanna slap her little face."

"Please," Monica said with a laugh. "I'm not afraid of her. I bet she had a crush on him in high school or something, but I'm not worried about it. You know Trent is wrapped around my finger."

"True," Hannah agreed. "God! What if the song she's singing at your wedding is written for Trent! Wouldn't that be hilarious?"

Bree felt all of the blood drain from her face as Monica's laughter grew louder. "That would be hilarious. How pathetic would that be?" "Totally pathetic," Hannah agreed.

With her legs shaking, from anger and embarrassment, Bree began to back down the hallway. She turned at the corner and headed out of the hall, back the way she came, almost colliding with Lilly. "Oh, good. You're here. Thank God." "I'm sorry, Lilly. But I have to go," Bree said, pushing past her.

"What? Why?" Lilly called after her. "Bree, are you okay?"

Bree didn't stop to answer her. Instead, she headed outside and didn't stop to think until she was back at her room. She shoved her key card into the door so hard it jammed and didn't open. Frustrated, she pulled it out and tried again. It took three tries, but she finally got it open. By then, tears dampened her cheeks.

Dropping the key on a table by the door, Bree numbly walked over to the couch and dropped down. She now fully understood what it felt like to be bullied and picked on, something she'd never experienced before. Monica was a horrible person, and she didn't deserve to be with someone as kind and loving as Trent. Even if Hank wanted to murder her, she had to replace a way to tell Trent the truth.

With a deep breath, she raised her phone and dialed Trent's number.

It took him a moment to answer, but when Trent did say, "Hello?" she could hear the concern in his voice. "Bree, are you okay?"

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry to interrupt you. I'm sure you're busy, but I need to talk to you. In private. Soon. And no one can know about it, not even Hank."

He was silent for almost a minute before he said, "Okay. That might be a challenge. I'm kind of expected to be here. I am the groom after all."

She didn't need the reminder. "I know, but it's important."

"Okay... I'll replace a way to make that happen. We're about halfway through the course, so maybe another hour or two. Do you want to meet me at the beach at 1:00? Will you be okay until then? We can meet in that little cove where you found Hank last night."

"Yes. That will work." That place was becoming a home away from home for her. She took some deep breaths. "Thank you, Trent."

"Bree, are you at the brunch?"

"No... I went. But I didn't stay?"

"Why not?"

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She wasn't sure how to answer that question, at least not at the moment. "Uh, I'll talk to you about it when I see you, okay?"

"All right." In the background she heard someone calling his name and knew he needed to go. Whoever it was thought he was talking to Monica. They called out in a lilting voice, "Get off of the phone with your woman and let's go." It wasn't meant to be painful, but it still hurt.

"Good luck with the round of golf," she said, upset that she'd interrupted. It would probably throw his entire game off.

"Thanks." She thought he might say more, but he didn't. "Bye, Bree." "Bye."

She hung up and deposited the phone on the coffee table, as if it had betrayed her. Now that she was back in her room and there was distance between her and Monica, she had to wonder if she was doing the right thing or if she was acting irrationally. Her head in her hands, Bree considered her options. She could just tell Trent that Monica had been making fun of her and leave it at that. Or she could tell him the whole truth, that Monica was cheating on him with Hank. With a deep breath, she resolved not to decide at that moment because it wouldn't be a rational decision. She'd meet Trent, at least tell him that she didn't think Monica was right for him, and then see how it would go from there. In times like these, there was only one thing Bree could do to calm herself. She got up off of the couch and went to retrieve her guitar from its case. Settling down on the couch, she set a timer for 12:45 so she didn't get lost in the music and lose track of time. Then, she channeled the emotions she was feeling at the time into her music and began to write a song.

This one was about Trent, too, but rather than taking the path of reality, she imagined what it would be like if she was the one who was going to marry him, the man she'd been dreaming of being with for over ten years. The words and music poured out of her effortlessly, and by the time the alarm on her phone alerted her that it was time to go, she had another masterpiece, she just knew it. "Lead Me Home" encompassed all of the feelings she'd had bottle up inside for so long. Maybe someday she'd have the chance to sing it to him, but only if she could convince him that Monica was the wrong girl for him and that she was the right one.

Bree inhaled deeply and put her guitar back into its case. She went to the mirror and fixed her hair and then corrected her eye makeup that had gotten smudged earlier when Monica's cruel words had brought tears to her eyes. Grabbing her phone and her key card, she paused before her door, saying a prayer for guidance so that she didn't mess everything up for everyone and then headed out to replace the man she loved and potentially pour her heart out to him, which could slide through his fingers and disappear in the ocean waves, never to be found again.