Chapter 1
IVY
Blinking as fast as I can, I do everything in my power to keep the tears at bay.
I tried to convince the makeup artist to put some waterproof mascara on me, but she insisted the non-waterproof would be better.
The curvy girl with the puffy white dress running out of the church isn’t inconspicuous at all, and I don’t want to add mascara-stained cheeks to that math.
My mother calls after me. My father threatens me, his voice rising as guests gape at me running up the aisle. I leave Eaton with the priest, both shocked into silence. Phones point in my direction, but I don’t stop. This is my one chance of escaping this gilded cage.
My parents always insisted they gave me everything I’ve ever wanted. They forget I never asked for the expensive dresses and the horse and the red convertible. I don’t even like red. Like every other person in this world, I only ever wanted love, and that’s the one thing they never cared about.
They might say they loved me in their way.
I’m not convinced. Not when their way of showing love is marrying me off to Dad’s business partner, a man thrice my age with leering eyes.
The age is much less a problem than the way he looks at me and every other woman in the room. Even after we were engaged.
I rush out of the church and down the block as my heart punches my ribcage.
My ugly convertible waits for me, too bright, too eye-catching.
My heels clatter to a stop on the pavement.
There’s not much time now. Father will come running after me, and when he said he’d drag me into church if I made a scene, I know he meant it.
At least my brother is away on some business trip.
He would be fast enough to run after me and do what Dad asks him.
Jerking the car door open, I jump inside.
The dress poofs up around me, creating a diversion, a problem.
A new problem. Fumbling with it, I dig into a hidden spot under the seat to find my waiting keys.
I slam them into the ignition and turn. The car, brand new and barely used, purrs into life, and I bury my foot on the gas pedal.
As I drive away, the sound of surprised voices flies past me.
Half an hour after I left, the beat of my heart still throbs in my ears.
It takes me forever to calm down. My hands shake as I grip the wheel too hard, and I slide a glance at my reflection in the mirror.
The veil flies behind me in what would be a beautiful picture-perfect scene.
Something out of a romcom. But it’s just me, running away from the prison my parents think I deserve.
Tears threaten to spill again. I blink them away.
The battle against the tears is one I’ll eventually lose.
The sadness, the despair inside me is too big.
Once I’m by myself, somewhere safe, I’ll allow the tears to come crashing down.
I have no plan apart from running away. Maybe my parents will find me and force me back to Eaton.
Maybe this is just me, flailing uselessly before I have to go on with my wretched destiny. I still hate every second of it.
I don’t slow down for two hours. It’s only when my stomach rumbles and I can’t handle my parched throat any longer that I stop at a gas station.
Things have to happen fast. I hop out of the car and fill the tank to the brim again.
I run into the convenience store and grab several bottles of water and snacks, and I pay for everything under the wide-eyed gaze of the cashier.
Just out of Orlando, I yank the veil off and let it trail in the wind.
Veering onto the highway, I change directions and drive towards Miami City.
My parents may think of searching for me there, but it’s too big of a place to easily find me.
And by then, I will have a plan, another escape, a new place to go.
The first thing I want to do is get rid of this car.
It will give me enough money to buy an inconspicuous one and support me for some months while I settle and find a job.
Though never given the chance to prove myself, I was never afraid of working. My parents wouldn’t let me. They thought it was absurd for a girl with my powerful parents to work out of home.
More tears. I shake my head and focus on the road. No time for them now.
The drive takes me almost four hours. The sun dips low on the horizon, and the glinting of the blue ocean makes me breathless for a moment. It almost makes me forget how much I need to pee.
The shitty realities of being on the run.
I aim for downtown, pressing my thighs together.
I could try to find a free spot to park, but I’ll explode if I don’t get to a bathroom in the next two minutes.
Taking the first spot in front of a diner, I turn the engine off, grab my wallet from the glove compartment and jump out of the convertible.
The parking payment will have to wait a moment.
A woman with hoary hair stands behind the counter.
She lifts her head and opens her mouth in greeting, but shock takes over her face when she sees me.
I shoot her a smile and make a beeline to the bathrooms. I slam my hand on the female one’s door, but it doesn’t budge.
Again and again. Oh, God. Why now? My bladder is threatening to burst, and I don’t want to add ‘peeing on myself’ to this awful day.
I glance at the masculine one. The diner is pretty empty. Maybe I’ll just hop in and out? My bladder tightens and I know that’s the only solution. I slam both hands on the door and push it open, running inside and aiming for a stall.
An outline catches my eye at the urinal.
I turn my head to see a man standing there, his face turning in my direction.
It’s like time slows down. Black jeans hanging low around his hips and a white shirt that sets off his golden skin.
He has short dark hair, the same hue as his eyes, now fastened on me.
Broad shoulders and a barrel chest. The man is built like a column or a truck.
My jaw drops for a second. He’s all sharp angles, rugged edges, and stubble scattered across his chin.
He’s also peeing. I should not be gawking.
I avert my eyes, heat blooming across my cheeks as I run to one of the stalls and lock myself inside it. Shit. That was peak embarrassment. Fumbling with the ridiculous dress, I squat on the toilet and let relief wash over me. Silence, blessed silence, shatters two seconds later.
“This one is new,” the man says. “If you wanted to see my cock this bad, you could have asked.”
My face warms up further, and I refuse to accept it’s because his voice is velvety and sultry even in the harsh bathroom echo.
I grip the dress, my thighs hurting with the effort to keep squatting.
“Oh, my God,” I reply, not stopping my activities.
“Get a life. Who cares about your ugly dick?” Not that I saw it, because I didn’t.
He chuckles. “Apparently you do. Bad enough you burst into the male bathroom to look at it. It’s okay. I’ll let you see it.”
I scoff. “Hard pass. The female bathroom is locked.”
“Sure,” he says, not believing me for a second. I grind my teeth together but ignore him. I have never met someone with an ego so big. Why would a girl burst into the male bathroom to peek at some random dick? As if I couldn’t use Google if I had such an urge.
He finishes off, washes his hands, and leaves.
Pretty sure he checked the female bathroom to see if I was lying.
With my luck, it’s probably unlocked now.
Doesn’t matter. I’ll buy some coffee to make up for using their bathroom, and I’ll leave.
Find a small inn somewhere in the outskirts of town to hide for a few days while I plan my next move.
I exit the bathroom and refuse to check the other door.
Making my way to a bench, I plop down in my ridiculous dress, the white tulle making it hard to lean on the table.
My priorities have changed. I’ll have to find a clothing store around, and I must change out of this.
A thrift store might buy the dress. I nod to myself.
Good idea. The money will come in handy.
The lady behind the counter approaches with a coffee jar in hand. “Hello, dear. Running from your wedding day?”
I smile. “That I am.”
She chuckles as she pours the coffee. “Wish I did that.”
I laugh back and decide I should stay a little longer. She’s been kind enough to let me use the bathroom, after all. “Can I get some pancakes?”
The lady ambles away and into the kitchen, and the diner falls into silence.
I allow myself to relax. When I raise my eyes, I find the man from the bathroom sitting at the table across from me.
I narrow my eyes, expecting him to tease me and make another joke.
He says nothing, his phone pressed to his ear.
Though his gaze focuses on me, he doesn’t say a thing.
Looking through me instead of at me, pretty sure, focused on his call.
I look away, at the street, at the people passing by, enjoying the last rays of the sun.
Steps announce him and I lift my head to see the man standing right next to me. He holds his phone in front of him, then he looks at the screen and at me. The relaxed stance is gone; his shoulders are now squared. He stands in such a way I couldn’t get up and pass him. A shiver races down my spine.
“You Ivy Cooper?” he asks, in that delicious, rough voice that... Wait. How does he know my name?
My brows shoot up. “Have we met?”
He makes a sound deep in his chest, a grunt that should not make butterflies set flight in my stomach. He bends close. Every muscle in my body tightens as I gawk at him, getting nearer, his eyes on me, his warm breath touches my cheek...
He grips my leg under the dress, dragging me off the bench, then hauls me up over his shoulder. Air rushes out of me as his shoulder hits my stomach, my hands dangling as I stare at his butt. I’m so freaking confused; I don’t understand what’s going on until we’re out of the door.
“What the fuck?” I cry out, breathless.
He plops me down on the passenger seat of my convertible. My head goes dizzy as I search for him, finding the mysterious man sitting behind my wheel. My heart races. Is this a kidnapping? Oh my God, what’s happening?
The man takes the keys from me. He turns my car on, then slides a glance at me. “Don’t worry,” he says, maybe because he sees I’m about to freak out. “I’m your brother’s friend. He told me you ran off.”
My jaw drops. He drives off the spot. “My brother?”
The man doesn’t look at me again. Uninterested, like every other man in my existence. “He’ll be coming to get you.”
And just like this, my escape plan goes down the drain.
I could scream for help, but if my parents called the cops, the police would just contact them, too.
Closing my hands in fists, I stare out the window and analyze my chances of jumping out.
As if reading my mind, the man closes the roof and the windows.
He doesn’t even look guilty as he whisks me away.
Back to the nightmare that is my life.