How To Romance A Runaway Bride

He also had far more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. “This is our third runaway bride in the span of a month.”

Ryan nodded. “We also had one about twelve weeks ago.”

No wonder the Times thought the Bennington was cursed. “Once the Vows column goes forward, no one will want to book a wedding here.”

“We’re screwed,” Ryan said.

“No, we’re not.” Zander gave his head a slow, methodical shake. “We’ll just have to prove them wrong.”

He wasn’t going down without a fight. He’d worked too long and too hard to let a runaway bride bring him to his knees.

Even a runaway bride he’d once been foolish enough to love.

* * *

Allegra woke the next morning when the first rays of soft pink sunlight peeked through the ruffled curtains of Emily Wilde’s guest room. Her first conscious thought was how pretty the cozy attic space looked, with its white barrel-vaulted ceiling and antique pedestal sink in the corner. Her second conscious thought was that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a good night’s sleep.

It defied logic. She was homeless, for all practical purposes. Stuck in New York with no belongings, no job and no fiancé. No plan. Yet, she felt more at peace than she had in months. Maybe she’d actually done the right thing, for once. She’d made a good choice in coming back...coming home.

Except this wasn’t home. This was Zander’s mother’s house. His mother’s room. The pale gray flannel pajamas Allegra had slept in didn’t belong to her either. They were at least three sizes too big. She could only guess they’d once belonged to Zander’s father.

Still, it felt nice here. Peaceful. She peeled back the curtain and watched the snow float down from the sky. Slowly, softly, like feathers shaken loose from a pillow. A tiny black kitten tiptoed its way through the white fluff on the sidewalk down below. Everything was so picturesque that Allegra’s heart gave a little lurch.

Don’t get used to it. You can’t stay here. You cannot.

Except where else could she go?

Somehow she’d thought she could figure it all out after she got some sleep. But nothing had changed. Not really. The hotel was booked. Even if they’d had a room and even if she’d managed to locate her purse, her debit card would have only been good for two or three nights. Four at the most. She’d spent every last dime on her dream wedding. There’d been the fancy caterer, the string quartet, the flowers...

An image of her extravagant bridal bouquet falling to the floor of the Bennington Hotel’s ballroom flashed through Allegra’s mind. She squeezed her eyes closed.

Everything is going to be okay. It will.

But when she opened her eyes, she found herself looking at a pouf of tulle at the foot of the bed. Her discarded wedding dress.

Everything was not okay.

She tossed aside the sheets, climbed out of bed and headed down the curved, Victorian-style staircase to Emily’s kitchen. She needed coffee. A gallon of it, if possible.

“Good morning, dear. How did you sleep?” Emily sat at the kitchen table and looked up from the copy of the New York Times in her hands.

Allegra glanced at the front page. She spotted Spencer’s name in a headline just below the fold and pointedly averted her gaze.

“I slept great, thank you.” Allegra looked around the kitchen, with its blue-and-white-toile wallpaper and shelves crammed full of mismatched china teacups. It hadn’t changed a bit since the last time she’d stood in this spot.

“Come sit down.” Emily folded the newspaper closed. “I’ve got your breakfast warming in the oven.”

“You didn’t need to do that, Mrs. Wilde. Honestly, you’ve done enough.”

“Nonsense.” Emily planted her hands on Allegra’s shoulders and steered her toward the table. “And stop calling me Mrs. Wilde. We’re not in dance class. Besides, I’ve known you since you were so tiny that your head didn’t even reach the top of the ballet barre.”

Allegra sat and watched as the older woman removed a breakfast casserole from the oven that looked big enough to feed an army. Just how hungry did Emily think she looked?

“Here you go. Dig in while I get you some coffee.” Emily slid a plate in front of her.

Allegra couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked her breakfast. Or any meal, for that matter. She could get used to this kind of royal treatment if she stayed here for any length of time.

Which she most definitely would not.

She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. “This is delicious. Thank you so much. For everything. I’m not sure what I would have done last night if you hadn’t offered me your guest room.”

“You were in a bit of a pickle,” Emily said.

The understatement of the century. Allegra’s stomach churned. She set down her fork and forced herself to meet Emily’s penetrating gaze.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Maybe.

No, actually. She didn’t. Not yet, and not with Zander’s mother. It was too soon and far too humiliating. “His name is Spencer Warren. But I’m guessing you know that by now.”

Allegra glanced at the folded newspaper and her throat grew tight. Her hands started to shake, and she had to remind herself to take a breath.

Not another panic attack. Not now.

“I’ve made such a mess of things,” she whispered.

“I’m sure you did the right thing,” Emily said, and even though Allegra knew she was just saying it to be kind, it still made her feel a little better. “You can stay here as long as you wish.”

“I can’t.” It was just too awkward. What would Zander say when he found out she was staying with his mother? A lot, probably. A whole lot.

“Of course you can. I’d love to have someone to dote on.”

“But I need to get my life in order.” Starting with a job. And something to wear. And a place to live. “I’m a mess, Emily.”

“Think of it as temporary, just until you get your feet under you. A month.”

“A month?” How many times would she run into Zander if she was living at his mother’s house for thirty days? Too many. “Absolutely not.”

Emily shrugged. “A week, then. Allegra, I hate to break it to you, but you can’t reinvent yourself in one day.”

She had a point.

And a week might not be too terrible. How often could Zander come by in seven measly days? He was a CEO now. He probably spent all his waking hours at his fancy hotel. He couldn’t even make it through a whole birthday party without working, which was a pretty good indication that he didn’t have time to hang around his mother’s brownstone. Plus seven days would give her time to come up with some sort of plan.

Still, something about this didn’t feel right.

You don’t have a choice. Be grateful.

She took a deep breath. “I’ll stay a week, if you’re sure it’s no bother.”

Emily waved a hand. “Why on earth would it be a bother?”

“Because I think I embarrassed your son last night. He seemed upset.” Yet another understatement.

Emily shrugged and sipped her coffee. “He probably had it coming.”

Actually he had. The misunderstanding was 100 percent his fault. He’d assumed she’d shown up in a wedding dress to marry him after all this time. What kind of person made such a nonsensical leap?

An egotistical one. One who was pathologically cocky.

One who’d just walked into the kitchen.

Allegra choked on a bite of eggs. “Zander.”

He stood staring at her from the threshold while snowflakes swirled around his head. A shiver coursed through her, and he slammed the door behind him.

“Allegra? What are you doing here?” Zander’s gaze dropped to her pajamas, then flitted back to her face. His eyes were red, his face wind chapped. He had a serious case of bed head, yet he was still dressed in his suit from the night before. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink since she’d watched him saunter out of his birthday party.

Allegra’s head spun a little. Never in her life had she seen such a handsome exhausted man. His shoulders seemed even broader than they’d been just twelve hours ago. It was baffling. And infuriating. She looked down and stared pointedly at her plate.

“She lives here,” Emily said.

Zander let out a bitter laugh. “Very funny.”

“I’m not joking. Stop being rude to our guest.”

Allegra blinked. Our guest? What did that mean? Then she remembered the enormity of the breakfast casserole. And the pajamas.

She lost her grip on her fork and it clattered to the table. She ignored it and fixed her gaze on Zander as the mortifying reality of the situation dawned. “Wait a minute. What are you doing here?”

“Zander lives here, too,” Emily said far too sweetly. “Did I forget to mention that, dear?”

Chapter Four

For the second time in less than twelve hours, Zander couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He blinked. Hard.

But it didn’t do any good. When he opened his eyes, Allegra was still sitting at the kitchen table—in his chair—with her hair piled on top of her head, staring right back at him. The Princeton coffee mug in her hand—also his—had paused en route to her pillowy lips.

The longer she gawked at him, the looser her grip on the mug became. Zander sighed and reached for it before she spilled coffee all down the front of the pajamas she was wearing, because yes, those were his, too.

The brush of his fingertips against hers as he plucked the mug out of her hand seemed to pull her out of her trance. Wide-eyed, she swiveled her gaze to his mother. “Um, Emily. You did indeed forget to tell me that Zander lives here.”

Zander wholeheartedly doubted it had been an innocent omission, mainly because his mother was avoiding looking him in the eye.

As if he didn’t already have enough going on in his life without Emily Wilde playing matchmaker. Marvelous.

He took a gulp of coffee, forgetting it was actually Allegra’s until her head snapped back in his direction. Her eyes widened, and he took another, more deliberate sip.

His house, his pajamas, his cup, his coffee.

Allegra arched a single eyebrow. “You still live with your mother?”

Technically, it was the other way around. He’d purchased the brownstone from his mother three years ago when the dance school first began to have financial troubles. But Allegra could believe whatever she wanted to believe. He didn’t want to share personal family matters with her any more than he wanted to share his pajamas.

He shrugged. “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Then he drained her coffee cup and set it down on the kitchen counter with a thud.

Allegra’s gaze flitted to the mug, then back to him. Her cheeks flared pink. “So what’s with last night’s suit? Is this some of kind of CEO walk of shame?”

Quite the opposite. He’d been working all night, trying to figure out a way to get ahead of the Vows column. But again, Allegra could believe whatever she wanted. Especially since he could have sworn her deepening flush had a distinctly jealous edge.

He didn’t want Allegra to be attracted to him. But he didn’t particularly hate the idea either, especially since he’d made such an idiot out of himself the night before.

He crossed his arms, giving her a clear, unobstructed view of the unfastened French cuffs of his dress shirt. “I can’t help but wonder why you find that idea so unpleasant.”

She rolled her eyes, but Zander wasn’t buying it. Not this time. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Especially since you seemed so preoccupied with marrying me the last time I saw you.”

Emily stifled a laugh.

Zander loved his mother. He really did. But at the moment, she was trying his patience about as much as the reporter from the Vows column.

He narrowed his gaze at her.

Emily cleared her throat. “Allegra, dear. You’ve got things wrong. Actually—”

“Actually, I sleep at the hotel more often than I do here,” Zander said. He didn’t need his mother to be any more involved with this situation than she already was. He had bigger problems than whatever assumptions Allegra wanted to make about either his living situation or his sex life. And he certainly didn’t want to discuss the latter in front of Emily. That would have been about the only way to make this conversation more awkward than it already was.

He cleared his throat. “The Bennington is full at the moment.”

“So I heard,” Allegra muttered.

“She had nowhere else to go, Zander.” Emily looked up at him.

He knew better than to argue, and a part of him didn’t want to. He cared too much about Allegra to turn her out on the street.

But how had she ended up so alone?

Not your problem. You have enough on your plate, remember?

He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Read anything interesting this morning?”

Emily followed his gaze until she, too, was staring at the folded copy of the New York Times on the kitchen table. “So you’ve seen it.”

“Seen what?” Allegra asked.

Emily shook her head. “It’s nothing, dear.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Zander said, choosing not to examine why his mother seemed to have chosen sides in the matter.

He flipped through the newspaper until he landed on the Weddings page. His throat went dry as he looked at the headline. He’d already seen it, of course. He and Ryan had stayed up until the early-morning edition was released so they could get a full assessment of the damage.

It was extensive.

Familiar or not, looking at the words splashed below the Vows header still made his gut churn.

Is the Bennington Hotel Cursed?

He spread the paper open beside Allegra’s place mat.

“Your hotel is cursed?” She blinked up at him, and for the first time since he’d stumbled upon her sitting at his kitchen table and making herself at home, Zander allowed himself to look at her. Really look.

She was gorgeous in ways that were both foreign and familiar. How many times had she sat in that same spot? More than he could count. But never like this. Never with years of silence stretching between them. Even in his sleep-deprived state, there was a very real part of him that wanted to pull up a chair and just talk. Talk the way they used to.

He wasn’t altogether sure why that wasn’t possible. Maybe because her sudden appearance had just thrown a major wrench in his life, businesswise. Or maybe it had something to do with the way he couldn’t quite keep his gaze from straying to the enticing swell of her curves beneath his pajamas. Either way, they couldn’t just take up where they’d left off. They weren’t kids anymore.

He clenched his jaw. “My hotel is not cursed.”

“Of course it’s not.” Emily waved a dismissive hand. “We know that, dear. I don’t understand how the New York Times could say such a thing.”

“I suggest you read the first paragraph.” Zander turned toward the coffee maker and refilled the mug in his hand. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for him to deal with the mess he had on his hands.

But when he turned back around and saw the color draining from Allegra’s face as she read the article, guilt got the better of him. He set the full cup onto the table in front of her.

She glanced up at him, blue eyes shining bright.

Don’t read too much into it, sweetheart. It’s just coffee, not an invitation to stay.

Their gazes held until Emily broke the loaded silence. “I hadn’t realized there’d been so many runaway brides at the Bennington lately. Zander, why haven’t you said anything?”

“It seemed slightly odd, but calling it a curse never crossed my mind. Probably because I’m a rational person.”

Allegra cleared her throat.

Zander glared at her. “I’m very rational.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said, but he wasn’t buying the innocent act. Not for a minute. “Tell me, did you assume all of the other runaway brides wanted to marry you, too? Or just me?”

He clenched his fists to keep himself from scooping her into his arms, carrying her out the door and depositing her into the nearest snowdrift.

“Four runaway brides in the span of a few months does seem strange,” Emily said.

Great. If his own mom was buying into the Vows nonsense, what chance did he have?

“Until last night, no one seemed to care. Apparently, three runaway brides are acceptable. But not four.” He looked pointedly at Allegra. “The fourth one means it’s a curse.”

Allegra’s gaze narrowed, but Zander couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t quite looking him in the eye anymore. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s completely arbitrary.”

“The fact that your groom is rather high-profile wasn’t helpful. When a political candidate gets left at the altar, people tend to notice.”

Too far.

He knew he’d crossed a line the moment the words left his mouth. The article wasn’t Allegra’s fault. Not entirely, anyway. He had no right to taunt her about her almost marriage. No right whatsoever, especially given how close he’d once come to tying the knot.

He didn’t know why he was acting like such a jerk.

You know exactly why.

Allegra stared down at the newspaper.

Look at me, damn it. Look at me and tell me again that you don’t remember.

“I’m sure each and every one of those brides had a perfectly legitimate reason for walking away,” she said. Her voice had gone calm, but Zander could see the tremble in her fingertips as her hands twisted in her lap.

He hated himself just a little bit then. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He wanted to know. He needed to know. “I’d love to hear what those reasons were. Seriously, I’m all ears.”

It wasn’t the time or a place for a heart-to-heart. He was exhausted, her wedding gown was probably still lying in a heap somewhere and they weren’t even alone. But he couldn’t think straight when she was sitting there looking like that.

So beautiful. So tempting.

So lost.

“Enough.” His mother stood. “Zander, you need to get some sleep. You look like a train wreck. Besides, Allegra doesn’t have time for the third degree right now. We have to get to work.”

Allegra’s head snapped up. “Work? Emily, I’m not sure what you mean.”

His mother smiled. “The dance studio, dear. Surely you remember.”

Zander turned to go. He’d heard enough. Allegra was back in New York. Back in his life. It made sense she’d end up back at the Wilde School of Dance, as well.

It was where she belonged, even after all this time. Once upon a time Zander had belonged there, too. But those days were over.

* * *

Walking into the Wilde School of Dance was as close to going home as Allegra would ever get. It looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago. Same smooth wood floors, same mirrored walls, same old blue record player sitting on the shelf inside the studio where she’d spent the majority of her childhood.

The wave of nostalgia that hit her when she walked through the door nearly knocked her off her feet.

She’d never imagined coming back here again. Ever. But given the choice of either accompanying Emily to the studio or staying back at the brownstone with Zander had been a no-brainer. Still, she purposefully turned her back to the collection of recital photos that lined the wall of the entryway and took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you flip through the records and choose some barre music for the adult ballet class?” Emily slipped out of her coat and turned on the computer at the front desk. “You remember where they are, don’t you?”

“Sure.” Allegra couldn’t quite believe Emily’s dance school wasn’t streaming music for class, but she was happy to have something productive to do. Anything to keep her mind off the last time she’d been in this building.

The record albums were lined up on the shelves beneath the turntable, right where they’d always been. As she flipped through them, she spotted several of her favorites—music that made up the soundtrack to less complicated days, when her biggest concern had been whether or not she’d remember the steps to her competition dance numbers.

She would have given anything to be able to go back to those days.

That was impossible, obviously. She hadn’t realized just how impossible until she’d spotted Zander staring at her from across the Bennington ballroom.

Her throat grew tight. Why did she keep thinking about him?

Maybe because you’re wearing his coat.

Indeed she was. And it smelled magnificent, like cedar and sandalwood. Wholly masculine.

She wiggled her way out of it and tossed it as far as she could throw it. It landed on the chair situated at the front of the room and was now draped over the seat as if Zander himself had just slid it off his broad shoulders.

Allegra’s face grew hot. Again.

Enough thinking about Zander Wilde. She might have slept in his pajamas last night, but that didn’t mean he had any place in her thoughts. No man did. She was starting over. Alone.

She slid one of the albums from its sleeve, placed it on the turntable and gingerly lowered the needle. The familiar sound of the needle scratching against the record’s grooves filled the air. Without thinking about it, Allegra pointed her foot and began sliding it against the polished maple floor in a smooth rond de jambe.

“You always did have the best turnout,” Emily said.

Allegra moved back into a normal standing position and crossed her arms. “I didn’t hear you come in here. I was just messing around.”

“Messing around quite beautifully. You’ve kept up with your technique.” Emily winked. “It shows.”

Allegra laughed. “You can tell that from one rond de jambe?”

“I could tell before you set foot in the studio. I knew the moment I saw you. You carry yourself like a ballerina, dear.”

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