Just Drive, Just Us

The air inside the bridal suite smelled of roses and hairspray, and the laughter of women bounced off the walls like clinking glasses. It was everything a bride should want—warmth, beauty, joy. But Amara felt restless. The kind of restless that butterflies couldn’t explain. She sat in front of the ornate mirror, dressed in ivory silk, lace sleeves hugging her arms, a veil pinned gently to her curls. A thousand pins had secured the look, yet her heart felt unfastened. She stared at her reflection—her smile looked picture-perfect, but it didn't reach her eyes. “Ahn ahn, you dey fine like ten brides in one,” Bisi had said earlier, fluffing the back of her gown. Her voice had carried all the pride and mischief of a best friend. “Tayo go faint when he see you.” Amara had smiled then, but it didn’t last. Not because she doubted her beauty, but because something deeper whispered: Look for him. Tradition forbade it. The bride must not see the groom before the wedding, her mother had warned. Bad omen. But something in her chest stirred. She didn’t want words or rituals. She wanted him. Just a moment with Tayo, to remind herself why she was doing this. Why she was trusting again. “Where are you going?” her younger cousin, Ada, asked as she noticed Amara inching toward the door. “I forgot my bracelet in Tayo’s suite,” Amara lied smoothly. “Don’t tell anyone.” Before Ada could object, she was gone. The corridors of the hotel were quiet, lined with white orchids and gold chandeliers. Her heels clicked softly against the marble tiles. Room 606. She knew it by heart. The suite he’d gotten for the night before the wedding. Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob. Her heart pounded. Something about the silence behind the door was off. She turned the handle gently. Unlocked. The door creaked open. And her world caved in. At first, her brain refused to make sense of it. The low moan. The bare skin. The rhythm. Then clarity struck like a blow to the chest. Tayo. His muscular frame. His mouth against the neck of the woman beneath him. Bisi. Her best friend. Her maid of honor. Her sister in all but blood. “Ahhh—Tayo, stop. Someone might—” Too late. Tayo froze. Bisi’s eyes snapped open, wide and gleaming with guilt. Amara stood there, rooted. Eyes wide. Gown shimmering like betrayal under the soft light. For a moment, no one spoke. Time hung heavy, like wet laundry on a limp line. “Amara,” Tayo began, scrambling to cover himself. “I—it’s not what it looks like.” Bisi sat up, clumsily wrapping a sheet around herself, face pale. “Ama, I—listen—please, I can explain—” But Amara didn’t hear another word. She turned and ran. The hallway stretched like a nightmare. Her heart beat in her ears, matching the rhythm of her hurried footsteps. Tears blurred her vision. The white of her gown flowed behind her like a ghost’s tail. Down the staircase. Past stunned guests. Ignoring the whispers. Her mother called her name somewhere behind. The wedding planner gasped. But Amara didn’t stop. Her lungs burned as she burst out of the hotel lobby and into the afternoon sun. The street buzzed with life—horns honking, vendors shouting, cameras flashing—but she couldn’t see any of it. All she knew was that she had to escape. From this place. From that memory. From them. A black SUV pulled up beside the curb, the engine idling. Without thinking, she lunged for the back door and yanked it open. The man behind the wheel turned in surprise, his brows furrowed. “Please,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Just drive. Anywhere. Just get me out of here.” The driver looked at her for a moment — at the tear-streaked makeup, the lace gown, the trembling lips. “Are you in danger?” he asked, voice low, almost too calm. “Yes,” she breathed. “I mean—no. I don’t know. Please.” He hesitated for half a second. Then nodded. “Seatbelt.” He pulled off. Amara slammed the door shut and collapsed against the leather seat. The interior smelled like expensive cologne and faint citrus. The windows were tinted, the AC humming, the world outside already becoming a blur. She didn’t look at him again. She just cried. Deep, ugly sobs that ripped from her chest, louder than she wanted, messier than she could contain. Mascara bled into the satin. Her veil slid off. Her body trembled as though it was trying to shake off the betrayal lodged in her bones. Tayo and Bisi. Of all people. Of all days. The one person she had trusted with her heart. The other she had trusted with her secrets. Why now? Why today? “Do you need water?” the driver asked gently. She shook her head. “Want to talk?” She shook harder. Silence filled the space like fog. Heavy but not oppressive. He didn’t press her. Just drove. Amara stared out the window. The city moved past in a swirl of color—shops, trees, people—none of it registering. Minutes passed. Or hours. She wasn’t sure. Eventually, her sobs quieted. Her throat ached. Her hands trembled in her lap. She glanced up at the rearview mirror. His eyes met hers. Dark, calm, unreadable. “I’m Amara,” she said, surprising herself. He blinked once. “Dante.” There was something solid in his voice. Not warm, not cold. Just steady. Like an anchor. She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Dante,” she whispered. “You’re welcome.” ***** The car kept moving. Away from the hotel. Away from the altar that would never see her vows. Away from the people who had shattered her. Her phone buzzed in her purse. She ignored it. She would figure everything else out later. Her mother’s reaction. The canceled wedding. The shame. The whispers. The headlines. For now, she was a runaway bride in a stranger’s car, chasing anything but what she’d left behind. And maybe, just maybe, that was the best decision she’d ever made.