The Spanish Millionaire's Runaway Bride

by Susan Meier

  “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.

  The sheep metaphor became clearer.

  “Maybe it’s difficult being given orders by the man who was once secretary of state.”

  The Colonel laughed. “I know. I do have a tendency to be bossy.”

  “I wouldn’t say that you’re bossy. More accustomed to being in command.”

  “Of the foreign policy for an entire country,” he said wistfully. “One word from me could have started World War Three. But it never happened because a good soldier is a diplomat first.” He sighed. “And I guess that takes us back to my daughter.”

  “She wants a little time to think.”

  “She doesn’t have time. We need to issue a statement.”

  Riccardo’s brow furrowed. “Issue a statement?”

  “I have business contacts who couldn’t stay and wait for her to return and explain herself. So does Charles. The sooner we get something out, the better.”

  “I’m not sure anybody really cares—”

  “You’re not sure? I didn’t send you to be sure. I sent you to bring Morgan home. I need to
deal with this, and the best way is to get her out into the charity-ball circuit with Charles so that people stop talking about her.”

  Totally confused, he said, “You’d send her out with Charles? As if nothing happened? Don’t you think that would only start people talking again?”

  He laughed. “Well, look at you, giving me advice. How many wars have you averted, son?”

  Riccardo grimaced.

  “How many kids did you raise?” Without giving Riccardo a chance to answer, he said, “Bring her home.” Then he hung up.

  Riccardo shoved his phone into his jeans pocket, picked up his wallet and car keys and walked to the hotel-room door, righteous indignation making his blood boil. He thought of Morgan again, living with the Colonel, always coming under his command, and sympathy for her exploded. Worse, her dad wasn’t just demanding she return home. He would stick her back with the jackass who had hurt her.

  His protective instincts kicked into high gear but he instantly stopped them. He’d already made up his mind that this was Morgan’s problem, not his. He couldn’t interfere. If that wasn’t enough to pull him back, the interests of Ochoa Online were. Mitch had a lot on the line. The Colonel had warned Riccardo about his plan to build his own wine website to compete with OchoaWines.com the night before the wedding. Morgan running had actually been good for Mitch and Riccardo because it forced the former secretary of state to offer the one thing, the only thing, that would give Riccardo a reason to go after his daughter: an end to his plans. If Riccardo would just go to Vegas and bring Morgan home, the Colonel wouldn’t build his competing site.

  He had to take her home. No more hemming and hawing around. No more being kind to a woman he really didn’t know. He had to fulfill his promise.

  He found Morgan in the lobby and they decided to have breakfast at the little diner where they’d eaten the night before. After ordering, he glanced at her angelic face. Serious blue eyes. Pert nose. Full lips. He had to take her home, but he couldn’t let her walk totally clueless into the mess she’d find. He had to at least lead her in a direction that would alert her that she needed to be prepared for the worst when she returned to Like Justice.