Runaway Daddy (Billionaire Baby Daddies #11)

Prologue

Lainey

My makeup sponge scraped across my face as I worked it hard. With only moments to go before my father knocked on the door and told me it was time to walk down the aisle, I was panicking. Though the entire day had felt off-kilter, anyway.

"Dear, you're going to make your face raw. You look so beautiful already. I don't know why you’re doing that."

I scowled at my future mother-in-law, Murial’s, reflection in the mirror, but stopped short of making gagging noises. The makeup artist Brandon hired to do my hair and makeup today had been a disaster. I couldn't get her out of there fast enough.

"Mom," I huffed, turning toward my mother, who stood at my right hand holding my bouquet.

The whole afternoon she'd been right there beside me, nudging my best friend Mandy out at times and making Wren sit back and watch.

Her baby girl was getting married today, and she was just as much of a nervous wreck as I was.

"I'm right here, baby," Mom cooed. "You look beautiful now. Okay? It's all better." She held out the expensive long-stemmed white roses—purchased at Brandon's insistence, because God forbid I try to choose any flower that cost less than twelve dollars each—and I took them with trembling hands.

Murial sighed and backed away, giving me the same look her son always gave me when he was disappointed with my reaction. But I wasn’t marrying her. I was marrying Brandon and after dating him for so long, I already knew how to handle his mother.

"Can you see if they're ready?" I asked her, trying to make her feel important. Like a magic switch was flipped, she nodded and scurried off with a smile on her face.

But the instant she was gone, Mandy was there, fussing over my veil. "Babe, you're acting weird. Are you okay?" Her black hair dusted her eyebrows as she gave me a worried look. "You've been looking forward to this since you were a freshman in high school."

The guilt was consuming. Mandy was right.

I took the flowers and turned away from both of them, tugging at the ridiculously beaded gown Brandon had insisted I wear.

Apparently it was tradition in his family to make the bride gain fifty pounds just because she put on a dress.

It wasn’t that I didn't like the gown or hated white roses.

I just wasn't sure this was even what I wanted.

"I'm fine," I told her for the umpteenth time, but the gaudy and pricey dress was on the verge of making me cry. The thing cost more than my car did. I felt so out of place walking down the aisle to marry my high school sweetheart wearing it. I wanted simple and tactful, not this. Not any of this.

"What's wrong, honey?" Mom stood behind me with her hands resting on my shoulders, watching my face shift in the mirror.

How did I, the goody-two-shoes of this family, tell my mother that after dating my boyfriend-turned-fiancé for the past seven years, I no longer knew if I wanted to marry him? And on my wedding day while I stood in the dress, no less?

"Oh God," Mandy groaned. "You're gonna back out..."

"No!" I hissed, rounding on her. The dress made it difficult to move, but I managed to toss it aside and suck in a few deep breaths. "I'm just... nervous."

"Oh, baby," Mom mewled, pulling me into her arms with a smile. "Every bride gets nervous on her wedding day. You're worried about if guests will like the food, and if the music will be right, and how your wedding night will go and—"

"Mom, God!" Mortified, I pulled away from her and shoved the roses into Mandy's hands as she snickered.

My cheeks burned under my hands as I covered my face.

I wasn't a virgin by any means, but Brandon was my only partner. We’d made that pact when we were still just teens.

It was the least of my worries about today.

"Sorry, dear, it's just a normal part of life that—"

"Mom, please. I'm not worried about my wedding night." I shot Mandy a pleading expression and she saved me.

"I think Bridezilla is trying to say that she hasn't eaten, her blood sugar is deathly low, and she's ready to get hitched and party." Mandy winked at me. "And I'm starving too, so let's get a move on."

I whimpered under my breath and took the bouquet back from her as she ushered my mother out the door, leaving me standing there ready to cry.

It was like my entire life passed before my eyes.

Every dance, every school event, I never had to ask for a date.

I never had to wonder like other girls if I'd end up being alone.

Brandon had been a constant in my life since I was fourteen.

We were best friends. We did everything together, we grew up together, and we were each other's first and only when it came to so many things.

It was a fairy tale I should've been happy with, but I wasn't.

I’d woken up two days ago realizing I’d never done an adventurous thing in my life, and once things got rolling, I never would.

Murial would plant seeds in Brandon's head about grandbabies and a white picket fence, and I'd end up barefoot and pregnant, trapped in a three bedroom high-rise condo overlooking the Grand Canyon while Brandon played pro ball for the Cardinals or something.

Dream life?

When Mandy returned to my side, her eyes were accusatory. "I swear, you need to tell me what's going on."

There was nowhere to sit down. I had to stand and take this like a man, and I hated it.

"Gah!" I grunted and felt like collapsing. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life and it was turning into my worst nightmare. There were too many doubts. It was happening too fast. I wasn't ready.

"I'm not ready. I don't think this is the right choice, Man. I've never had a chance to be me and find out what I really want. Now I’m just supposed to walk down the aisle and marry him? But what if I don’t want to be the good girl anymore and I want something crazy?"

"Woah, babe, slow down…. You love Brandon." Her eyebrows dipped and she took my hand, clutching it tightly.

"I do... it's comfortable, but..."

“Lainey.... What's going on?" Mandy was the only person in the world that I knew would support me no matter how crazy I got. She was the textbook definition of crazy herself. She’d moved to SoCal on her own six months ago, and I wished I was a little more like her. "Is comfortable what you want?"

Tears pricked my eyes. I blinked hard. It’d taken me twenty minutes to fix my makeup after that train wreck. I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. Maybe it really was just wedding jitters. Mom did say all women got them.

"I don’t even know anymore," I muttered, but my grumbling was cut off.

"Sweetheart," I heard, and I turned to see my father's eyes welling up with tears. He was in the doorway, staring at me. "You look so beautiful. My God, what a gorgeous young woman you've become."

My heart melted as he walked closer to me, careful of the train, and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek after Mandy backed away. I could tell she wanted to save me, but he lingered there, holding my shoulders and pressing his cheek to mine. "I'm so proud of you baby. You're such an incredible woman."

I watched her melt out of the doorway as Dad's arms wrapped around my waist. The tears burned hotter, and I looked up and blinked hard to keep them back.

"Thanks, Daddy..." I sighed, hoping he didn't catch the tremor in my tone. He had been looking forward to this day too, almost as much as Brandon had. The idea of letting either of them down because I had doubts made me feel sick. I didn't let people down. It wasn’t in my nature.

Even when it meant doing things I didn’t want to do or things I hated, I still brought my A-game because that's who I was.

I knew if I failed or backed out of something my parents would always forgive me, but the idea of enduring that momentary shame made it impossible for me to choose myself. Ever.

"Ready?" he said, pulling back, and I forced a smile, blinking back the rest of the tears.

"Ready," I told him, hooking my hand around his elbow.

"Good. The wedding party is lining up. When I walked in here they had just sent the first one down.

We've got a few minutes…." He chuckled, and I knew it was in reference to my massive wedding party.

Brandon had insisted that our altar look more like the starting lineup for the UNLV Rebels, not the simplicity of a maid of honor and a best man like I preferred.

It took me six months to nail down the ladies I'd have walk for me.

As an introvert, I had literally no one.

On my father's arm, being escorted out of the bridal suite toward the chapel that hosted more than five hundred of Brandon's "closest family friends,” I started to feel sick.

So sick I knew I would throw up. I burped a few times, wobbled a bit, and knew if I didn't tell my father that I was having second thoughts, I would die on the spot and melt into a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West.

I opened my mouth three times, hoping to choke the words out, but they wouldn't come.

We lined up behind the wedding party, with three pairs down and four more to go, and I watched the flower girl—Brandon's cousin—twirling and spinning.

Oh what it would be like to be that child again, so carefree, without this pressure on my chest.

Dad was gabbing with Mandy about how to walk with my train tangled around his legs. I heard Trevor’s voice and craned my ear toward it. It almost made my heart stop.

I could tell he was trying to keep his voice quiet, but my senses were on high alert, and it was as if karma itself was trying to free me from a prison of my own choosing.

He leaned in toward Beck and snickered. "Think Brando told the old ball and chain he screwed the stripper?"

My throat constricted and I felt the color drain from my cheeks.

"Hell no!" Beck snorted. "You think a man tells his wife he cheated at his bach party? He's not stupid, yo."

It felt like a knife slicing into my chest, severing every connection I had to the man I thought I would grow old with.

Twenty-one years old, and I had never dated or looked at another guy.

Not so much as a kiss with anyone except those fantasies of Hugh Jackman in my dreams, and I was learning my fiancé had sex with his stripper at a bachelor party I never approved of?

The answer I had been praying for had manifested in the form of an ice cold shock that made me forget why I’d ever doubted my intuition.

"Dear, are you okay?" I blinked a few times, dumbly looking at my father, who seemed concerned.

"Uh... no. I have to pee, and this thing could last for an hour. Can you hold my flowers? I need to go."

"I'll go with you," Mandy offered, handing Dad her flowers too, but I shook my head firmly. This was my way out. No way she was ruining it for me.

"I've got it. You'll be halfway up the aisle before I'm back," I chided, hiking up my skirt.

I didn't have time to unbutton all the fasteners on the train to remove it.

Underneath was a cocktail dress—the one I'd have preferred for the entire ceremony.

Brandon had said was unacceptable to his family's inner circle, but we’d compromised.

"Girl," Mandy hissed. "You always wait until the last minute." She chuckled, which eased some of my tension, but I didn't wait another second.

I turned and started walking as fast as I could.

As soon as I was around the corner I picked up the pace and jogged, and eventually I found myself feeling strong enough, thanks to the adrenaline, to run.

I found my purse and keys in the bridal suite, and then bolted for the exit before anyone came looking.

The funny thing was, in that moment I wasn't mad at him.

I didn't hate him. I didn't want to pry his eyeballs out with a spoon or cut his dick off. All I wanted was to put as much space between me and that altar as possible. The Bellagio was beautiful, but it wasn’t the place for me to get married. At least not today.

I burst into the hot air of the Las Vegas August sun and kept running, lugging the ridiculous six-foot train behind me. And I didn't stop running until I was packed into my tiny Toyota Corolla, heading away from the nightmare to find a place to hide.