Chapter 4 Runaway Winter Bride
RUNAWAY WINTER brIDE
LILAH
“That’s new.” I regarded a large metal sign on the wall outside the restaurant’s main entrance. The crews must have installed it this morning before evacuating ahead of the storm.
Gleaming in brushed bronze, with dramatic backlighting and bold, pretentious typography, it read:
QUEST by WEST
I blinked at the beauty of the word quest, quite fitting with the mission. Reaching for the impossible dream of receiving a Michelin rating, the top echelon of restaurant notoriety, was a monumental quest indeed.
I hated to admit the name was awesome—despite West in it. Of course, a wealthy man like Holden would build an entire resort and slap his own last name on the fine-dining experience like he’d invented food. He might as well have named the entire mountain after him. His ego would love that.
“Mount Holden. West Peak. Slopes of Nice Ass,” I muttered, brainstorming potential mountain names under my breath. A tiny chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.
I wandered into the dining room, and the reality of it hit all at once. Ego aside, this place was real. Holden genuinely believed it could be something extraordinary. Quest by West wasn’t just a restaurant—it was an experience, obsessively curated down to the last fork.
Soft ivory walls with a subtle geometric pattern soothed the eye. Rich walnut panels hugged the corners. Marble tabletops veined with gold caught the light like bourbon swirling in a glass. Even the greenery felt intentional—miniature pines placed just so, bringing the mountain indoors.
The branding was on point. The space glowed, chic and seductive. All of it annoyingly perfect for the elevated menu I’d been dreaming of. For whatever reason, Holden believed in me and the food I’d create here. He admitted he’d tracked me down to offer me the job.
Whether or not I liked him, I wanted to prove him right—and everyone else dead wrong, from the smug chefs across Europe, to all the food critics and industry authorities who’d written me off, saying I didn’t live up to my grandfather’s standards of excellence.
I squared my shoulders and pushed through the kitchen doors. The room was eerily silent when I stepped through, though, with everyone gone for the holiday.
Since starting here, I’d trained Ridley into my perfect right hand and, hopefully, earned the respect of the staff too.
“I expect you to work clean, smart, and fast,” I’d told them on day one. “And in return, I’ll give you everything I’ve got. We’re aiming high. Together, we’ll build a reputation that matters.”
Being here felt like coming home. Back in my element. Commanding a kitchen. Loving every minute of it.
Occasionally, I’d catch Holden spying on me through the glass of the swinging doors, curiosity etched across his face.
Every time our eyes met—just for a second—a thrill slid down my spine. But nope. I didn’t have room for him in my kitchen. Or my head. Or my life. Not after the past.
You’re here to rebuild. Not to repeat history with another cheating playboy.
I inhaled once, slowly and steadily. Christmas. New Year’s. The Grand Opening. I’d survive it all. And I’d keep Holden West exactly where he belonged—on the other side of that door.
My phone buzzed from the family chat. My siblings were spending Christmas with our parents in the city. A few photos came in of Chandler, half-asleep in a recliner, his infant tucked on his chest in a Santa onesie, melting my heart.
Lilah: He gets bigger by the day.
Milo: Chandler or our nephew?
Monica: Chandler will get mad if we tell him he’s growing a dad pooch.
Mom: Perry is the sweetest baby.
Dad: How goes the new job, Lilah?
I debated how to answer, finally opting for very few details for now.
Lilah: Promising.
Dad: You’ll always have a job with us. Wish you would take it. We miss you.
Mom: Can’t wait for Christmas night to see you again.
Monica: No pressure, but Perry needs to meet his other aunt. And then we can compete for rights to be called his favorite.
My parents never believed in my dreams of following in my grandfather’s footsteps.
Which was why I’d flown straight from Europe to New York, rented a car, and driven to Snow Quest Lodge without seeing them.
My work always came first. Or maybe I’d delayed the family visit due to Chandler announcing his ex had his baby.
They weren’t in love. They’d decided to co-parent.
The first photos he’d sent of my tiny nephew scraped straight across my old wounds. The life I’d thought I’d have by now flashed sharp and clear—culinary acclaim with the restaurant Brad and I had opened in Lucerne. A devoted husband. A family.
Instead, I’d left Brad at the altar, bounced across Europe chasing jobs, running from rumors he spread about me… sometimes running from myself.
Coming back to New York without a single dream achieved was like admitting my parents had been right all along, that I should have stayed in New York, worked at the diner with them, or the bagel company with my brothers and sister, and married some guy in Queens.
I pressed a palm to my chest. It hurt that badly. Why now?
The answer came fast. Seeing Holden again had cracked the door I’d sealed shut.
I texted Mom a quick apology for missing Christmas and tossed my phone aside. Tears blurred my vision as memories surged.
Harp music floated up through the old chapel. Monica had gone to fetch Dad, who would escort me down the aisle toward Brad beneath an arch of red roses.
I stood alone in the stone room, bouquet trembling in my hands, minutes from marrying the man I thought was my forever.
I stepped onto the balcony and peeked down at the guests who’d traveled all the way to Switzerland for our Christmas wedding. Mom and Dad were there, worry etched on their faces.
How I wished Pops had been too.
As the oldest, I’d spent summers cooking beside my grandfather. Two kindred spirits with a shared love of food. He was why I became a chef. Why I believed excellence mattered.
I retreated into my room and, after adjusting my veil in the mirror, I was ready to get married. I headed carefully down the stairs, waiting at the bottom for Dad, when voices carried to me from the room where the men had been waiting.
Brad’s laughter drifted to me. I shifted closer and strained to hear, thinking I’d catch how excited he was to become my husband. Instead, I got the shock of my life.
“I can’t believe you brought Chantal as your date to my wedding. Lilah and I argued about her last night after the rehearsal dinner.”
That was Brad’s voice.
“Oh, right. I forgot the two of you used to date.” I recognized that as Holden’s voice. He and Brad had gone to college together and had vowed a bachelor life after graduation. Gorgeous and rich, they made the perfect playboys—until I came along.
The first night I met them, Holden’s eyes had gold flecks that danced when they held my gaze, stirring the butterflies in my stomach.
But it was the connection Brad and I instantly had over food, given his family’s international restaurant business interests, that sealed my fate. We quickly found common ground with our shared dreams to open restaurants across Europe.
“Used to date?” Brad laughed. “Chantal and I still hook up now and then.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“What about Lilah?” Holden asked.
“She has no clue about my occasional indiscretions.”
“Then should I arrange for you to meet up with Chantal later tonight after you put your bride to bed?” came Holden’s reply.
I gasped. Brad had been cheating? Who the hell was I marrying? How could I not know this man at all?
The bouquet slipped from my hands and hit the stone floor. I stumbled into the chapel.
“The wedding is canceled. Go home!” I screamed, veil whipping behind me as shock rippled through my parents’ faces.
Brad rushed in and didn’t say one word, didn’t advance toward me or try to talk me out of this… only stared at me with emotionless eyes.
I tossed my veil and ran out of the abbey through a side door. My heels stumbled through snow and slush. A taxi waited conveniently at the curb. I gathered my gown around me and dove in, slamming the door closed.
The driver asked in German, “Meine Dame, wohin gehen Sie?”
“Drive! Fahren!” I cried.
“Lilah!” I man yelled for me.
I turned to glare out the back window, thinking I’d see Brad, as if he could right all his wrongs somehow. But it was Holden sprinting after me, shouting my name, as the taxi pulled away.