CHAPTER 2 ALEXIS
I press my lips together and nod, but I’m not nodding at Gregory.
I’m nodding because I’ve made a choice.
Left to Brooks or right to Danny?
It doesn’t escape me that Danny is to the right…as in the right choice.
My eyes meet Gregory’s. “I need your keys.”
His brows crease together. “You…what?”
“Give me your keys.” My voice is a firm command representative of the strong woman I’ve turned into over the last twenty-eight years. I hold out my hand and set my other hand on my hip as I wait.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks quietly.
“Yes. I’m positive this is the right thing.”
He nods once, and he pulls the keys out of his pocket. “I know he’ll take care of you, Alexis.”
I know he will, too.
“I’m in the first spot by the door. You should be able to sneak out without being seen.” He pulls off his tuxedo jacket. “Wear this. It’ll cover the dress from the shoulders down so nobody suspects anything.”
I shrug into the jacket. “I have a Christmas Eve performance in Los Angeles I have to be at,” I say quietly. “I will be back for that. I’ll leave your car at the Ritz in Santa Barbara. Keys will be at the front desk. Give me a head start.”
“Of course. I’ll stall. Is an hour enough time?”
I nod, and I lean forward and wrap my arms around the man who has become so much more than a security guard and driver to me.
He’s like a second father.
He’s one of the only people I trust in the entire world…more so than my actual father.
“I love you, Gregory,” I whisper on a quiet sob, and he squeezes me back.
“And you, Alexis,” he says.
“Do you have Danny’s mom’s number?” I brush away some tears as I pull back from his embrace.
He nods.
“We’ll be in touch with her,” I say. “I’ll leave my phone in the car so I can’t be traced.”
“I don’t think that’s a good—” he starts, but he stops short when he sees the death stare I’m giving him. “Of course, ma’am. Take care of yourself.”
I reach out and squeeze his hand. I want to make sure he knows this isn’t permanent. I know I have responsibilities to come back to. Filming will resume in a couple of weeks, and I’m not missing my chance at the Academy Award, and I will continue to need Gregory in my life.
I slip off my engagement ring that never meant anything to me and place it in Gregory’s palm. I tighten his hand over it and squeeze his hand one last time.
“Don’t you forget that I am the one who hired you, Gregory,” I say. “Not my father. I just need the next nine days, okay? Tell my dad you left the keys in my bridal suite, and I snuck out the bathroom window and stole the car.”
He nods, and I give him one long last look before I grab my purse and bolt the hell out of there, white wedding dress and all.
I see security guards in the parking lot—extras hired to make sure nobody can get in.
But they didn’t say anything about people getting out.
I should have grabbed some clothes or something since all I have on me now is my wedding gown, but I was just thinking about how I needed to get out. I figured I’d take the rest as it came.
I find the Yukon exactly where Gregory said it would be. I look left and right before I run to it, and I start the ginormous SUV.
I glance out of the windshield and spot the helicopters circling, the paparazzi doing anything they can to steal the first peek of my big day.
Fuck that.
Even they don’t deserve the complete and utter lie this wedding is.
I peel out of the parking lot, determined to make this right.
Determined to make my life right again.
It takes me a minute to get used to this thing. It’s about four times the size of my little white Audi, and it’s been probably two years since I’ve even driven that. How the hell does Gregory ease in and out of traffic so easily the way he does?
I get to the main road and merge onto it, getting as far away as fast as I can. I know Gregory said he’d stall, but we need to move.
I use the digital assistant function on my phone to ask for directions to the Ritz in Santa Barbara, and the map magically appears on the audio interface in front of me.
And then I cruise.
I’m probably speeding.
I don’t care.
I’m in a race against the clock. I’m in a race for my life.
The car estimates it’ll be twenty-three minutes until I arrive, and I push the gas pedal a little harder, hoping to gain a little more space between my dad and whatever comes next.
I know he will search for me. He will do everything he can to find me.
But I will do everything I can to stay hidden.
Thoughts start to creep in on me about what I’m leaving behind.
Did I make the right choice?
I’ll know when I show up at his room, I guess.
Will Gregory be okay?
He will be. Just as I assured him that I am the one who hired him, I know he’ll be waiting for me when I return. But I also know my father. He won’t be happy that Gregory let me get away.
I don’t want him to bear the brunt of my father’s wrath, but at the same time…he’s protecting me even if he’s not with me. And he’s damn good at his job.
My mind wanders to what’s happening at the wedding.
Are the guests gathered there waiting for the bride to walk down the aisle? What are they thinking as the wait that should have been a couple minutes is stretching into more?
I wonder what’s going through my dad’s head right now. Has he realized I’m gone yet? Likely not, since Gregory said he’ll stall.
I wonder what Brooks thinks. I wonder if Brooks will even care if I don’t show or if he was just along for the ride the way I was.
I wonder what Gregory is doing right now.
I picture him walking up the aisle solo and the guests looking around as they start to realize that something is wrong.
I imagine the look on my dad’s face, the set jaw, and the angry, cold eyes as Gregory delivers the news that I’m gone and so is his car.
I don’t think he will deliver that news quite yet.
I wonder if he crafted a story about how I’ve locked myself in the bathroom and won’t come out, and then they’ll break open the door and find the window open because Gregory is smart enough to cover all the bases.
And maybe worst of all, I wonder what my dad will say when I finally return home.
Because as much as I want this to be forever, I know it can’t be.
I have responsibilities to return to. I can’t stay on the run forever.
Nine days. We have nine days.
But right now, as I lower the driver’s side window and let the California breeze whip my hair around, I’ve never felt more free in the last twelve years—and maybe in my entire life.