Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Iassumed when Millie said do you want to come with me, we were going back to the Hawthorne. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was wrong.
Streaking past the pair of Stormtroopers posted up outside the church, we rush down the stairs and into a limo with the hotel’s crest stenciled on its door.
Diving into the back of it, the door is slammed behind us.
Seconds later, we’re practically catapulted into mid-town traffic.
Looking out the rear window, I see her parents standing on the steps of the church, watching us drive away.
“Help me.”
Turning away from the window, I find Millie sitting on the bench seat across from me, back turned to offer me the complicated row of hooks and laces, running down the length of her back. Sitting next to her is a small, overnight bag.
She had this whole thing planned—down to the smallest detail—but I’d bet my left nut asking me to come with her wasn’t a part of it.
Moving seats to sit beside her, I reach for the laces holding her dress together and start to pull, her dress falling open, inch by inch. “That was some exit, Megatron.”
When I say it, Millie lets out a shaky laugh. “Who would’ve thought I have a flair for the dramatics?” While I work on her dress, she reaches for the overnight bag next to her and zippers it open with a sigh. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. It wasn’t intentional. I just—”
“Wanted to deliver a final fuck you on your way out?” I say, trying to sound flippant, like I think it’s funny.
“What?” Her shoulders tense up and she stops digging through her bag to look at me over her shoulder. “No. I—”
“Look—I get it.” Avoiding her gaze, I keep pulling, my fingers flying down the length of her spine. “It’s fine. Guys like me are pretty useful in the fuck you department.” Giving the laces in my hands a final tug, I drop my hands away from her back. “Done.”
“Done?” Apology and explanation for why I’m sitting here, forgotten, Millie angles her head over her shoulder to see for herself. Looking up at me, she frowns. “That was quick.”
Sitting back on a shitty laugh, I shift myself across the bench seat before looking out the window. “Believe it or not, Princess, you’re not the first woman I’ve undressed in the back of a limo.”
“I believe it,” she says quietly, her wide hazel eyes brushing against the side of my face before she turns away from me completely.
Gaze aimed at the traffic outside the window, I watch in its reflection while Millie shrugs herself out of the top half of her dress, giving me a brief glimpse of soft, lace-covered skin before she drops something over her head, covering herself completely.
Neither of us say anything while she finishes getting dressed. Me, pretending not to watch her while she pretends I’m not even here.
You really fucked up this time, Mercer. Jesus Christ—do you realize what you just did?
You dragged Millie Blackwell away from her own wedding, in front of her father.
A man who can and will absolutely destroy you.
By this time tomorrow, everything you’ve spent the last two years building will be completely ruined.
Deciding I’ll hop the subway or hail a cab as soon as we get to the Hawthorne so I can get the hell away from her and maybe start thinking clearly enough to figure out a way out of the mess I just swan dived into, I watch as we sail right past it. The driver doesn’t even tap the breaks.
What the hell?
Sitting up, I turn in my seat to look at Millie.
She’s completely changed into a pair of soft-knit pants and a matching, loose-fitting top, fifty-thousand-dollar dress kicked into the corner of the limo while she pulls a seemingly endless supply of jewel-encrusted gold pins from her hair. I’d bet my other nut that they’re real.
“Where are we going?”
“I—” Stalling, mid pull, Millie looks past me.
Sees what I see—the Hawthorne, shrinking in the distance.
Realizing that I thought that’s where we were headed, she shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to…” Cheeks pink with embarrassment, she swivels in her seat and raises her hand to knock on the glass partition separating us from the driver. “I’ll ask him to pull over so you can—”
Catching her wrist, I hold it steady before she can signal the driver to stop. “Where are we going?”
Gaze narrowing slightly at my tone, Millie gives her wrist a quick tug, trying to pull herself from my grasp. When I don’t let go, the color on her cheeks deepens from pink to red. “I’m going on my honeymoon,” she bites back on another tug. “Alone.”
“So I get to stay here and deal with the fallout of your little revenge fantasy while you get to fuck off to some tropical island somewhere.” Letting go of her wrist, I give her another shitty laugh while I slouch back in my seat. “Yeah… I don’t think so.”
“What are you saying?” Millie stares at me, brow crumpled like she has no idea what I just said to her. “You want to go with me?” She shakes her head like it’s the craziest thing she’s ever heard. “On my honeymoon?”
“Want is a strong word, Melisandre,” I say, calling her by the name her father used on her, right before we ran. “But I’ll tell you what I don’t want—I don’t want to stay here and clean up your mess while you eat room service and work on your tan.”
Dropping her hand away from the partition, she stares at me like I just slapped her in the face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I just blew up my whole fucking life to help you play runaway bride, Princess—” I flip my hand at the discarded pile of satin and handmade lace laying on the floor between us. “the least you can do is buy me a few umbrella drinks.”