The Spanish Millionaire's Runaway Bride

Realizing he had no clue where he was going, he took his phone out of his pocket, set it on the dashboard and said, “Directions to Lake Justice, New York.”

After a few seconds, his GPS told him to turn around. He glanced at the green road sign up ahead and sighed. “We’re going the wrong way.”

Morgan didn’t reply.

The GPS took him to the first street where he could make a right. He turned around and headed out to the strip again, except in the opposite direction.

“Okay. Now, we’re on our way.”

She said nothing.

Fine. They could spend the next four or five days in total silence and he’d be happy. She’d probably be happy, too. She’d said she wanted time to think things through. Well, he would give it to her. Jailers or guards or even accountability police didn’t try to make friends with prisoners. They just got them to their destinations.

He refused to feel guilty.

Refused.

Except she’d said her fiancé didn’t listen to her. The idiot had thought she was angry, when she was hurt. Hurt enough to run out on a wedding with eight hundred guests.

Curiosity begged him to ask her about it. Especially since this was nothing like his own past. His fiancée had gone back to the love of her life. Morgan had run to nothing. No one.

The fact that she was quiet made him feel like scum. Even more than when she called him her jailer.

It didn’t take long until they were on the highway, headed northeast to pick up the roads that would take them east. When they left the lights of Las Vegas, the world became eerily dark. Time passed. Riccardo wasn’t sure how much because he’d been so concerned with getting Morgan into the car that he hadn’t checked his watch to see when they’d started out.

He shifted on his seat, uncomfortably aware that he’d awoken at six o’clock that morning in the eastern time zone. And it was now after ten at night, mountain time. Midnight in New York. No wonder his eyelids were scratchy. And he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten.

“Want to stop to find someplace to stay for the night and get dinner?”

“Sure.”

Her reply wasn’t exactly perky or happy, but she didn’t sound sad anymore, either. Ten minutes later, the road signs for a town began to appear, including one that named the available hotels and restaurants. He took the exit and drove to the first hotel.

With Morgan standing beside him, he booked a room for each of them using his own credit card. When he handed her key to her, she gave him the cash to cover her room. Then she took the handle of her suitcase and headed for the elevator.

“Don’t you want dinner?”

She stopped and faced him. “I’ll eat breakfast.”

She turned toward the elevator again, got in and disappeared behind the closing door.

He almost cursed. But not quite. She might not be angry with him but upset with the situation. And the situation was her doing, her problem. Not his. It was not his fault she had no support system. He’d rescued one damsel in distress—Cicely, who had been heartbroken over losing the love of her life—and that had ended in him being humiliated. He had learned this lesson and refused to fall into the same trap. He was a driver—he’d settled on that instead of jailer—not a knight in shining armor.

Besides, he needed something to eat. He didn’t even have a suitcase to drop off in his room. He could go now.

He walked to the sliding glass door of the popular chain hotel. It opened automatically and he turned to the right. A twenty-four-hour, diner-type restaurant was within walking distance. He strolled over, found a booth and ordered a burger and fries.

When his food arrived, his stomach danced. But when he picked up the hamburger and opened his mouth to take the first delicious bite, he remembered that Morgan had been in a restaurant, menu in front of her, when he’d barged in on her and reminded her that he’d always be able to find her because of her credit card. She’d been in that restaurant because she was hungry. No matter what she’d just said.

He sighed, put the burger back on his plate and hailed the waitress again.

“Is something wrong?”

He smiled. “Actually, it looks and smells delicious but I left my friend back at the hotel. Could I get a burger and fries to go for her?” The waitress nodded but before she turned away, he lifted his plate. “And could you put this in a to-go container, too?”

She took his plate. “I’ll be glad to.”

Twenty minutes later, he arrived back at the hotel with a bag containing two orders of fries and two burgers. Remembering her room number, he pushed the elevator button for her floor and inhaled deeply as the little car climbed. When the bell chimed, he stepped out and walked down the hall.

He hesitated at her door but only for a second. His nanna would shoot him for letting anyone go hungry, especially a woman in his custody.

He knocked twice and waited. After a few seconds, her door opened as far as the chain lock would allow.

“Checking up on me, Mr. Jailer?”

“No.” He displayed the bag of food. “I bought you a hamburger.”

“Leave it outside my door. I’ll get it.”

“Come on. Let me in. I’m sorry for my part in this but I made a promise and I keep my promises. If you’re angry, it’s because you don’t like the idea of going back and facing the music.”

She closed the door, undid the chain lock and opened it again. “No. I’m angry because I honest-to-God thought I’d get almost two weeks to think all this through before I had to go home and settle things with my dad and Charles.” She motioned him over to the small table at the back of the room. “I should have laughed at the best man’s dumb wedding toast, but what he’d said was true. My dad had groomed Charles to be his son-in-law and I’d fallen in line like a fluffy sheep. I would like a few days to consider all sides of the argument I’m about to have, so I’ll know what to say and I can win.”

His curiosity about how she hadn’t seen what was going on and had been a sheep almost overwhelmed him. But if he asked for specifics he’d become involved and he didn’t want to be involved. Rescuing Cicely had been enough.

He pulled the containers out of the bag and set them on the table. “You can think the entire drive.” She didn’t reply, but he noticed she also didn’t say no to the food. “The orders are the same. Bacon burgers and fries.”

She smiled stupidly. “I haven’t had a burger in years.” She peeked over at him. “Not since college.”

“Really?”

“There’s a lot of fat in beef.”

“I know. I love it.”

She shook her head then sat on one of the two chairs at the table. “At least I don’t have to worry about fitting into a gown.”

Taking his cue from her, he sat on the chair across from her. “There is that.”

She bit into the hamburger and groaned in ecstasy. “That’s so freaking good.”

He laughed.

She tried a fry and her eyes closed as she savored it. “I can’t eat like this the whole trip. We have to have a salad now and again.”

“Noted.” He also noted she hadn’t called him a jailer again and she was making small talk. He bit into his burger and his stomach sighed with relief. He ate three bites and four fries before he realized she’d gone silent again.

She did have things to work out before she talked to her dad. But his curiosity rose again. Plus, he didn’t want her to be sad for five long days. Surely, he could hear the story without wanting to jump in and fix things for her.

“What did your fiancé’s best man say in the toast that made you feel like a sheep?”

She shrugged. “That my dad had groomed Charles to be his son-in-law. Not even my husband. His son-in-law.” She shook her head as if she could shake away the anger. “But it wasn’t all about the toast. The toast merely confirmed odd, disjointed thoughts I’d been having for a few months before the wedding. My first doubts appeared while we were planning. I realized that Charles insisted on his own way a lot.”

“Were you one of those brides who’d planned her wedding when she was six and got mad when he asked for a few changes?”

“No. It was more that he had this grand, elegant event planned, and since I was sort of clueless about what I wanted, I went along.”

“Makes sense.”

For the first time in hours she held his gaze. The sadness was gone from her pretty blue eyes, but not the confusion.

“Yes. At the time, it did.”

“But eventually it didn’t?”

“No, eventually I saw that he got his own way a lot. That he always told me what we’d be doing. Everything from vacations to whose Christmas parties we’d attend.”

“Ah.”

“Then I noticed that if I tried to get something my way, he’d bulldoze me.” She suddenly closed the lid on her container of food, which was still half-uneaten, and bounced out of her seat. “You know what? That’s enough about me and my almost wedding to Charles.” She tossed her container in a wastebasket under the small, wooden desk and turned to him with a smile. “I’m tired and I’m talking about things I haven’t even worked through.”

He understood why her realizations infuriated her enough that she was done talking. Cicely had been all about getting her own way about their wedding, too, and he’d wanted so much to make her happy that he always fell in line.

“I knew somebody like that. We were engaged.”

“What happened?”

“She called off the wedding.”

She grimaced. “Like me?”

“No. She called it off a few days before so we had a chance to cancel things like flowers and the caterer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell you that to make you feel worse. I wanted you to understand that I’ve dealt with someone who was selfish, too. Cicely didn’t let me have a say in our wedding and though she didn’t exactly bulldoze, she did have a knack for always getting her own way.”

Morgan laughed.

He smiled. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Her head tilted and her eyes met his. “I don’t feel better. I may never feel better. I was suffocating in that dress, walking down the aisle. Turning and running was like saving myself...like a survival instinct.” She drew in a breath and huffed it out again. “But I upset people. And I’m not used to that. I’m not used to putting myself first at the expense of others. When I turned and ran, I lost the girl who would never in a million years hurt another person. So, no. I don’t feel better. I may never feel better again.”

* * *

The next morning, he brought breakfast sandwiches to her room. Morgan suspected that was to keep her moving, but he need not have worried. She didn’t intend to slow him down. She wanted him to trust her again. When they reached the point in the highway when one simple turn would take them to Chicago, she wanted him to be willing to take it.

“Can I help with your suitcase?”

A week ago, she wouldn’t have minded a man being deferential to her. Now? She just wanted to do things herself. To be herself. But she wouldn’t argue something so stupid and risk alienating him. She let him wheel her bag out to the parking lot.

When they had settled in the car, she pointed up the road. “I see a few stores along there. Do you want to drive over and get a pair of jeans? Maybe a clean shirt or two?”

He laughed. “Do I smell bad? Or are you prolonging the trip?”

“Neither.” She pulled in a breath. There was no time like the present to start the campaign to get him on her side. “As I told you last night, I’m normally a very considerate person. Now that the shock is wearing off, part of the real me must be coming back.”

He glanced over. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I thought about what you’d said about how you felt when you bolted, and I realized there probably isn’t a person in the world who doesn’t understand the feeling of suffocating when you’re with someone who always has to have their own way.”

Though he didn’t know that her dad was really the one suffocating her, she smiled. “Thank you.”

The conversation died as he drove them to one of the big-box stores. As they got out of the convertible and headed for the door, she realized she was okay in her jeans and canvas tennis shoes, but in his expensive white shirt and black trousers he looked like he’d just stepped off the Las Vegas strip—at one of the better hotels. People were going to stare.

The automatic doors opened as they approached. When they walked inside, he got a cart.

She frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“I need clothes for three or four days.” He nodded at his shiny handmade Italian loafers. “I’m not wearing these anymore. I want tennis shoes. Even with two of us to carry things, there’ll be too much for us to tote around.”

“I’m not talking about the clothes. What are you doing being so familiar with a shopping cart at a retail store?”

He laughed. “I came to this country a few years ago. And I’ve been exploring ever since. I don’t shop at stores like this often but I’ve investigated them.”

It was a real struggle not to laugh, then she wondered why. If she moved to Spain, she’d probably investigate things, too. At least she hoped she would. Lately, she was beginning to realize she didn’t know herself at all. Oh, she knew she was kind, a decent human being. But she’d taken a job at her dad’s vineyard that wasn’t even remotely challenging. She’d let it blow by her that her dad had thrown her and Charles together. And she’d been complacent with Charles. Where was the little girl who’d wanted her life to be an adventure?

She didn’t even have to wait for the answer to pop into her head. That little girl had grown up and realized she had only one parent and if she displeased him she’d be all alone.

That was really the bottom line to her battle. Her dad was her only family. She loved him and didn’t want to fight or argue. But she was an adult now, not a little girl, and she couldn’t let him go on telling her what to do and how to do it. She had to take her life back.

Still, her dad was a brilliant, powerful man, accustomed to getting his own way. Could she make him see he was suffocating her? And if she did, would he stop? Could he stop?

Or was the real solution to her problem to leave? Permanently. Pack her bags. Get an apartment. And never see him again.

The thought shot pain through her.

That’s why she needed the few days. To adjust to the fact that the conversation she needed to have with her dad just might be their last.

* * *

Riccardo recognized that his familiarity with the store totally puzzled Morgan, but within minutes he was preoccupied with getting himself enough clothes for what would probably be another four days on the road.

They returned to the rental car, drove back to the highway and were on the road for six hours before they stopped to get a late lunch. They drove and drove and drove until afternoon became evening and evening became night and—honestly—his backside hurt.

“I think we should stop for the night.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“I thought I’d shower and put on clean clothes, then we could get something to eat.”

“Sure.”

Her one-word answer didn’t annoy him. It simply made him feel funny. After almost two days together, hearing bits and pieces of some of the most emotional, wrenching parts of her life, it seemed weird that she was back to behaving as if they were strangers. It was good that she was no longer calling him her jailer, but he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. He’d thought through her scenario—her dad grooming her fiancé and her fiancé being clueless—and nothing about that screamed running away and needing almost two weeks to get your head straight before you could go home.

Something bigger troubled her.

Except for the times they’d found radio stations, the inside of the car had been silent. She’d had plenty of time to confide in him. But she hadn’t.

When they reached another hotel chain at a stop just off the highway, they got out of the car, registered and went to their rooms.

Showering, he told himself that it was stupid, maybe foolish, to want to hear her full story. Once he dropped her off at her father’s vineyard, he’d probably never see her again. At the same time, he thought it was cruel to put her in a car and drive her home, and then not say anything to her beyond “where do you want to eat?” If they’d flown, they could have stayed silent for the hours it would have taken to get to Monroe Vineyards. But driving was a whole different story. The long days of nothing but static-laced music or the whine of tires should be making her crazy enough to talk if only to fill the void, but she kept silent.

He stepped out of the bathroom and put on a pair of his new jeans, a big T-shirt and tennis shoes. They had dinner at the diner beside the hotel, where she focused on eating her salad, not talking, then he went back to his room and fell into a deep, wonderful sleep. He woke refreshed, took another shower, put on clean clothes again and firmly decided Morgan’s life was her life. Her decisions were hers to make. He wasn’t going to ask her about either.

Just as he was about to pick up his wallet and the rental car keys, his phone rang.

He looked at the caller ID and saw it was Colonel Monroe.

He clicked to answer. “Good morning, Colonel.”

“I’d expected to hear from you yesterday.”

“Things weren’t exactly cut-and-dried with your daughter.”

The Colonel sighed heavily. “What did she do?”

Not about to admit how easily she’d duped him, Riccardo turned the conversation in a different direction. “You know she bolted from her wedding for a reason.”

“What reason? Seriously? What could be important enough that she’d humiliate herself that way?”

He’d never thought of the fact that a runaway bride humiliated herself. Especially not with Cicely. He’d only seen his side of the story—that two days before his wedding the woman who was supposed to love him told the world she didn’t by calling off the wedding. It had been humbling, but worse than that, it had hurt. Hurt to the very core of his being. He’d seen himself as her knight in shining armor. The real prince she was supposed to marry. The guy who would make her life wonderful. And in the end, she’d thrown it all back in his face and left with the man who had crushed her. She’d proved that good guys don’t win. Bad guys do.

“You think she humiliated herself?”

“Sure, Charles and I might be left holding the bag, but we’re also the ones talking to confused guests. What we’re hearing is that everybody thinks she’s a little crazy or selfish...or both.”

He pictured the small town of Lake Justice, filled with concerned friends and neighbors, all expressing sympathy to Charles and questioning Morgan’s sanity. But he knew Charles had hurt her. Now the idiot was sucking up sympathy, at the expense of Morgan’s reputation.

“She’s got a lot of explaining to do, and I sure as hell hope she’s got a reason that doesn’t make things worse. She already looks like a fool. Has she said anything?”

Riccardo winced. If she looked like a fool it was because Charles and her dad had made her into one. At least Riccardo wouldn’t betray her trust.

“No. She hasn’t really said anything.”

“This is so not like her. None of it is. She was always so quiet and so quick to do what needed to be done.”

Another picture began to fall into place in Riccardo’s head. A picture of Morgan taking orders from her famous, powerful dad. Never arguing. Never complaining. Just falling in line.

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