by Nina Levine
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Runaway Princess
Corinne Mazille
1
Sofia Winters
My mother straightens my crown, her fingers clipping in my long veil just underneath my family’s treasured rubies. Looking in the mirror before me, I try to pull up a smile, but I can’t. Instead, I stare at the person reflected back at me while looking like a replica of myself—it couldn’t be further from who I feel like inside. I’m standing here on what should be the happiest day of my life, but instead I’m miserable and hopeless, even while draped in a Vera Wang original. A lace ball gown with a high halter neck and layered skirt in a romantic princess bride cut.
Some snobby, fancy makeup artist to the stars has spray-painted my face on so thick with expensive products, I hardly look like myself. The one thing I do like is the half updo of my hair, secured with a million bobby pins, but with some strands of hair pulled out at my temple and curled, perfectly framing my face.
“You look beautiful, Sofia.” A single tear falls to my mother’s cheek. “Show me that stunning smile of yours.”
I turn around to face her, my lips tight. “Mom…”
“Sofia,” she replies sternly. “There will be none of that today. Today is happening, and in time, you will learn to love your husband.” She pats my cheek, then walks out.
My mother is a cold-hearted bitch. At events, in front of company, in front of paparazzi, you would think she was the most loving and caring mother, but as soon as the cameras are gone, as soon as company has left, she becomes her unloving self. Egocentric. Growing up, it was always the nannies and house staff that looked after me.
“Knock, knock,” my wedding planner, Tara, announces herself as she walks in, her diary permanently attached to her hands.
“Wow, Sofia, you are gorgeous on any given day, but today you are breathtaking.”
“Thank you, Tara. Is it time?”
“Yes, it’s time. Why do you sound like you’re walking to your doom? If I were getting married to an Adonis like Thomas, I'd practically be running down the aisle.”
If only she knew how stuffy he was—just like both our fathers. He may be handsome, but that’s as far as it goes. Behind closed doors, he is the most narcissistic man I know, and that is saying something given the circles I run in.
She presses her finger to her ear before saying, “We’re on our way.” Her eyes meet mine. “Ready?”
“Yes.” As ready as I’m ever going to be.
As we walk along the long hallway, then down the spiraling staircase, my heartbeat starts to echo in my ears. My hands lift the hem of my dress, so I don’t trip over it, my palms sweaty. As we near the bottom step, I stop for a moment to compose myself. Tara is mumbling behind me, my train in her hands.
“Everything okay, Sofia?” she asks. I look to the right, where two massive doors are, a flower arch in front of them. My pending doom is that way. Looking to the left, I see double doors with a lit-up exit sign.
I close my eyes and take in some much-needed deep breaths to try and calm my pounding heartbeat.
“Sofia.”
I open my eyes to Tara, now standing beside me.
“You’re not having cold feet, are you?”
My eyes go wide, and I fervently rock back on my heels. Little does she know I’ve had cold feet since the day my and Thomas’s parents declared we should get married. They didn't stop to see if it was what we both wanted. The wedding planners were called the next day, and that was it.
“Sofia, keep it together,” I chant to myself.
I offer her a small, tight smile. “No, Tara, but I could do with some water. Can you please get me a glass and then I’m ready to do this.”
She nods and walks to the kitchen, and as she leaves, I move toward the exit door.
Sofia, don’t do this.
My body is not currently listening to my brain. It has a mind of its own. Praying the doors I’m about to open don't have alarms, I press down on the handle, looking behind me before I push it open. Seeing the coast is clear, I walk through the doorway, quickly pulling my dress and train before closing the door behind me, my back and palms flat against the smooth, metal surface.
I inhale deeply. Are we doing this?
I exhale and look around. These doors have opened to the parking lot on the side of the church.
Maybe I should… I turn around, my hand going back to the handle. What I should be doing is what is expected of me—go back in there and get married.
But I can’t.
Pulling my hand away, I take a step back, looking in both directions. Going right will take me to the church's front, the first place they will go to look for me, and going left will take me toward somewhere—I don’t know where.
Making the decision that will, hopefully, not end with me being caught or seen, I choose left. Lifting my dress and train layers, I run as fast as I can on my Jimmy Choos until I reach a line of palm trees at the end of the parking lot. Just beyond them is a street. Perfect. I weave around the parked cars, then the trees, until I hit the road. Looking both ways, I don’t see any traffic, so I glance back at the church to make sure I haven’t been seen. Dropping the train and hem of my dress, I put my hands on my waist to try to catch my breath.
Please, God, please. I need a lift. Please.
Looking back at the church once again, I don’t see or hear anyone coming this way. Not yet anyway. But it won’t be long. Tara will know I’m missing by now and will have reported it to my mother. How am I going to get out of here? An engine roars behind me. Not a car engine; a higher-pitched engine of a motorcycle.
Just my luck.
The motorcycle rounds the bend—some black and chrome monstrosity—and slows as it nears me, coming to a stop at the curb by my feet, the bike idling.
A guy with broad shoulders, wearing washed-out jeans and a white tee that’s mostly covered with a weathered leather jacket, lifts his aviators off, his incredible blue eyes twinkling, his lips curling up in a grin.
“Are you running late to your wedding, princess, or are you running away from one?”
I look behind me, then back to the rough but surprisingly hot stranger in front of me. “Running away from one. I was hoping to find a lift. In a car, obviously.” I motion to my long dress.
“Hop on, babe.”
I look at his bike and back to my dress. “But…”
“If you scrunch you dress around your waist and throw a leg over, it’ll work. But, princess, you’ll need to lose that long thing attached to your head.”
My veil? My hand goes to my head.
Looking back to the church once more, I know I don't have much longer before they realize I’ve left, so I rip it off and throw it over my shoulder. I gather my dress in my hands, lifting it as best I can around my waist. I glance quickly at the church before I turn back around to see hot biker guy looking at my legs. The way his eyes move slowly, like he’s caressing them from my ankles to my…
“Shit, how am I going to do this without flashing everyone?” I mumble.
His eyes find mine. “You have two choices, stay here and be found, or jump on the back and risk flashing a few people.”
When he puts it that way, I don’t hesitate to jump on awkwardly. When I’m straddling the bike, I yell, “Where do my feet and hands go?”
He turns his head to the side, his large hand cupping my leg, lifting it up. My skin sears where his hand touches my thigh. “See that peg there.” He helps me position my foot.
I do the same on the other side.
“Now, as for hands, keep hold of your dress and hold on to me.”
“Tight,” I think I hear him say as he revs the engine before taking off. And I do, because he takes off fast. My arms wrap around his waist, landing on what feels like a taut, flat stomach, hugging him this tightly. My head turns, my cheek resting
on his back. From this angle, through the trees, I see some people come around the corner of the church.
“Go, go, go,” I scream, squeezing him as I close my eyes and mumble, “I’m so sorry, Thomas.”
I have never been on a bike before. I was raised in a way that it should not be done. But the lightness I’m feeling, the way the breeze is blowing through my hair and on my face, it's the most incredible feeling in the world. The powerful machine vibrating between my legs, mixed with the buzz of the stranger touching me, is intoxicating.
My exhilarating joyride comes to an abrupt end quicker than I want when I see us pull up in front of a Target. Sexy biker puts down a stand and turns off the engine, tapping my thigh.
“Need you to dismount, babe.”
“Oh, ah, sorry.” I unceremoniously let go of the semi death grip I have around his waist and lift my leg over the bike, looking around to make sure I’m not flashing any nearby families.
I settle my dress down and watch him dismount. His legs and arms are thick as tree trunks. This guy is seriously built. When he stands in front of me, I have to look up at him.
He takes off his aviators and tucks them inside his jacket. “What are your plans now?”
Oh, crap, why didn't I make a plan? What do I tell him? I ran from the church and jumped on his bike, with no phone, no purse, nothing.
He takes a step forward into my space.
“You have none, do you?”
I bite my lip as I continue to look into his blue eyes.
He lifts a hand to me, brushing my cheek with his knuckles. I shiver at the electricity that courses through me at the unexpected contact.
“Well, babe, do you want me to leave you here, or do you want to keep going with me?”
I look down at my dress, then back at him.
“I gotcha, princess.” He cups my chin.
“You go inside and get some casual clothes. Jeans, a tee, something like that, yeah? I’ll make a call and meet you inside.”
I nod and turn to go into the store when I find all eyes on me. I guess it's not every day you see a bride walk into your local Target. I walk toward the women's clothing racks, my head held high, ignoring the open stares. Not knowing where to find what I need, I seek an employee. “Hello.”
“Well, hello there. You’re gorgeous. What are you doing here on your wedding day? You look just like that Sofia Winters.” She gasps. “You’re not her, are you?”
“Yes, and it’s a long story,” I start, smiling at the old lady smiling back at me. “I need something to change into. Maybe jeans and a tee?”
“I can help you. What size are you?”
I tell her and she walks away, me following right behind her. When she has found what I need, she steers me to the changing rooms.
I lock the door behind me, taking in my reflection. My cheeks are rosy from the ride, and my hair is windblown, but I like it.
I unzip my dress and step out of it.
My hand runs down over the strapless bodice of the lace teddy with matching garters and cute flowers on my hips. Deciding to leave it all on, I pull on the first pair of faded skinny jeans. They fit perfectly. I pop on the plain white, scoop-neck tee before slipping my heels back on.
My reflection in the mirror surprises me. Jeans are not a part of my wardrobe, but I love these, they seem to mold to my body and feel incredibly comfortable. Picking up my dress, I place it over my arm and walk out. The biker man is leaning against the door, arms crossed, his eyes giving me the once-over. When they stop on my chest, my cheeks flush.
“I have a feeling you look good in anything.”
2
Jett Reed
Fuck, this chick is smoking. She looked incredible in that damn wedding dress and now she’s in jeans that hug her ass, showing me all her curves.
We come to a stop at my bike, my SUV parked beside it, Ryder leaning against the cab.
He lifts his chin in greeting, a smirk on his face.
“Ryder.”
“Boss.”
I pull open the back door, placing the wedding dress inside.
“What are you—” she starts.
“Can’t carry that on the back of a bike, babe.”
I walk back to my ride, lifting a leg over and settling down.
Turning on the Harley, I see Ryder has walked around and is now behind the wheel of the SUV.
“Your choice, princess. You can go with Ryder; he’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Or you can jump on the back with me.”
She takes a moment before coming to me. She lifts her jean-clad leg over the bike. Her arms go around my waist, and my hand squeezes her leg, then returns to the handlebars. I flip up the kickstand stand and pull out.
As we pull out of the parking lot, Ryder salutes and turns left. I salute and turn right, deciding to take the scenic ride home.
I don’t normally let anyone on my bike, but today, right now, this feels amazing—her perky breasts pressing against my back, her thighs gripping mine, her pussy hitting my ass. I drive down the highway, heading farther away from the church. Why a stunning woman like this would want to run away, blows my mind. But I’m going to take this gift I’ve received for as long as she needs.
After cruising the highway for about an hour, I see the turnoff for South Brentwood. I indicate and take the turn. Going by memory from a previous ride out this way, I pull up outside a diner with the best burgers I’ve ever had.
Helping her off, I take her hand in mind. Her eyes go wide in shock as she looks down at our joined fingers, but she doesn't say anything, instead curling her fingers around mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.
There are people at nearly every booth. A waitress with a nametag that reads “Dorothy” approaches us and gives us a menu. “Take a seat at a clean table. I’ll be back to take your order.”
Scanning the dinner, I see a free table at the back. Tugging on her hand, I walk her toward the table. She takes a seat, and I slide in next to her.
She’s looking around everywhere, taking it all in, her expression adorable.
Her large, vivid blue eyes, cute button nose, and full lips, light up at different things around us.
“Not a place you would normally come to is it, princess?”
She turns her gaze to me, shooting daggers. “No, it’s not. You can stop calling me princess now.”
“Nah, I like it. You standing by the road like you were, you looked like a princess.”
She huffs but doesn't say anything, as Dorothy is all of a sudden standing by our table.
“Sorry, guys, it’s a busy afternoon here today. Are you ready to order, or would you like more time?”
“We’ll have two Coors beers and two cheeseburgers with fries.”
She nods as she writes it down. “Coming right up.”
She tilts her head at me, an eyebrow raised. “Did you just order for me?”
“Yep. They have the best burgers you have ever had in your life.”
She pours herself a glass of water from the bottle in the middle of the table. “Did you want one?” she asks, looking a little lost but also at ease with me.
I shake my head. “So, princess”—she frowns at me while taking a sip from her glass—“you going to give me your name?”
“Sofia.”
“Sofia… no surname?”
She shakes her head at me. “Just Sofia.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that.” I twist so I can offer her my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Sofia. I’m Jett. Jett Reed.”
She takes my hand, a smile forming on her pink lips. “Nice to meet you too, Jett. And thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it. What kind of man would I be if I left a damsel in distress on the side of the road?”
“I wasn’t exactly a—”
“Yes, you were. Dress and all.”
We both chuckle.
“Okay, maybe I was a little.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Our server places our beers on the table, and I nod my thanks. Passing a bottle to Sofia, she takes it and looks at it like it’s a foreign thing.
“Have you ever had a beer?”
She shakes her head but lifts it up to her lips. Watching her tentatively wrap her lips around the bottle and taking a sip, her throat swallowing, has me wishing it was my cock in her mouth. I adjust my pants, not wanting her to see how she affects me.
Her face grimaces at the taste.
“The answer to both your questions is no.”
Fuck, what did I ask her?
“No, to wanting to talk about what happened, and no to having had a beer before. But now I think I’ll be drinking it from now on.” She taps her drink to the top of mine before she lifts the bottle to her lips again.
I don’t get a chance to stare at her, as Dorothy chooses that moment to serve our food.
“Thank you,” Sofia and I both say.
She takes a fry into her mouth. “Mm, I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
I’m glad I’m sitting beside her and not across from her, otherwise I would stare at her the whole time. I need to break this new obsession with her. I face forward and take a bite of my burger.
Just as good as I remembered.
“Oh God!” she moans beside me, and it hits me right in my cock.
What would she sound like, coming around my… shit.
I ignore her, throwing some fries in my mouth, needing these thoughts to leave my brain when she says my name. Fuck me, why is hearing my name from her lips having such an effect on me.
“Jett, this burger is amazing.”
I turn to her as she licks her lower lip, where some sauce has escaped.
Fuck, what would I do to lick that off of her?
I grunt and face forward, needing to finish this meal and head home.
We eat the rest of our burgers in silence. I sit back when I’m done, my arm going behind Sofia across the booth.
