Runaway Groom

by Lauren Layne

  Ellie to Gage: Did I ask you to?

  Gage to Ellie: You’re so cute when you play coy.

  Ellie to Gage: Good riddance to Maria, but you’re sending me home tomorrow. Right?

  Ellie to Gage: Hello?

  Ellie to Gage: …?

  Ellie to Gage: Damn it, Barrett. Also, BTW, Morgan has been telling everyone she’s been collecting strands of your hair as a keepsake.

  Invitation Ceremony #3

  Dear Morgan—

  You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Gage Barrett and his future bride on Saturday, May 21, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dinner and dancing to follow.

  *

  The Runaway Groom on why he jilted Morgan: “Morgan’s one of the sweeter women I’ve ever met, but I just didn’t see us being compatible in the long run.”

  *

  Dear Ellie—

  You are cordially invited to stay on at the villa as Gage Barrett continues his quest for his future bride.

  *

  Text message from Gage to Ellie: Midnight?

  Ellie to Gage: You were supposed to send me home.

  Gage to Ellie: Midnight. You can yell at me in person.

  Ellie to Gage: You mean so YOU can APOLOGIZE in person.

  Gage to Ellie: She was collecting my hair, Wright.

  Ellie to Gage: Fine. Midnight.

  Ellie

  “So, you’re really not going to tell us what you and Gage talked about on the ride home from the restaurant the other day?” Eden’s voice whines from the bottom bunk.

  I roll my eyes in the darkness. She’s been asking for two straight days, trying to wear me down, and I’m not going to lie—I’m close to cracking.

  Not that I’d tell her the actual truth, which was that I’d told him about Maria’s devious plan and that he’d nearly kissed me.

  But I’d make up a damn good story. Like maybe how I peed on his leg to neutralize a jellyfish sting, or we saved a beached whale, or we just screwed right there on the public beach.

  “Shut up, Eden,” Paisley says on a groan. She’s backed up my silence on the issue, but she’s just about the only one. Everyone else has been either quietly resentful or outright confrontational.

  Some of the women are decent, they really are. But the majority, quite honestly, are petty, conniving, and downright mean.

  It’s why I only feel a tiny bit guilty about my role in getting LeAnn, Maria, and Morgan eliminated. If I was doing it because I wanted him for myself, I’d feel worse. But the truth is, Gage Barrett, for all his playboy charm, deserves better than someone who’s trying to fake serious injury to get his attention, shackle him with someone else’s kid, or collect his hair.

  However, my role as resident spy/tattletale ends now. I tell myself it’s the only reason I’m going to see him tonight—to inform him that he’s on his own when it comes to seeing these women as they really are. That it’s time for me to go home for real.

  What I can’t seem to figure out, though, is why I’m so excited to see him. Or why I’m so panicked at the fact that Paisley and Eden are still awake at 11:15 p.m., threatening my midnight rendezvous with Gage.

  I throw both arms over my face. Rendezvous? Really. I need to get it together. Our meetings aren’t romantic. They’re not sexy.

  And yet my stupid body doesn’t remember that, because immediately I recall what it was like to have him touching me, his hand against my neck, his green eyes warm and compelling, demanding I acquiesce to his charm.

  I was close. I was so damn close to kissing him on that beach.

  All the more reason to put my foot down once and for all and get home. I have no business wondering if Gage Barrett is as good a kisser in real life as he seems to be in his movies.

  “I don’t get why one of you doesn’t just take the bottom bunk now that LeAnn’s gone,” Eden whines.

  “Already told you. Closer to the cockroaches,” Paisley says sleepily.

  I smile, pretty sure she’s referring to Eden herself as much as to the actual cockroaches. We were warned this evening that a few of the nasty bugs have been spotted on the far side of the villa on the second floor…exactly where Gage’s and my closet is located. As the producer was making that announcement, Gage caught my eye across the room and gave me a wink that was so fast I nearly missed it.

  I’d bet my left tit there are no cockroaches—just Gage trying to protect our hiding spot.

  Is it lame if I think that’s romantic?

  Yes. Lame. So lame.

  I don’t reply to Eden’s question or Paisley’s response. The last thing I want to do is keep anyone awake any longer than necessary.

  My phone’s under my pillow in case I need to text Gage that I can’t make it, but tonight I’m in luck. In a matter of minutes I hear Paisley’s soft snores, and a few minutes later the unmistakable sound of Eden’s teeth grinding together, which I’ve realized is a nightly occurrence for her.

  I lean over the side of the bunk to check the clock on the nightstand: 11:42.

  I don’t have to leave for a few minutes yet, but I decide to head to the closet early, just in case Eden or Paisley wakes up again.

  The night’s warmer than it’s been, so I don’t bother with the hoodie, just the flip-flops. My tank top and short shorts are skimpy, but the guy’s seen me in a bathing suit, so the cat’s out of the bag on my not-so-impressive curves.

  I make my way quietly down the hallway, the path now familiar. Except this time there’s a strand of yellow caution tape across the hallway where the closet is.

  “Really?” I mutter, ducking under it.

  A few steps later I realize why Gage took the extra precaution. The closet is…not our closet. For a moment I think I’m in the wrong place, but the smirk of the man waiting for me assures me that I’m not.

  “What the hell?” I whisper, stepping into the closet and quickly shutting the door behind me. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I sweet-talked one of the assistants into transforming our hideout.”

  “Into what, a bordello?”

  Gone are the buckets and brooms and ugly fluorescent lighting. The closet’s been completely cleaned out, and now there’s a small love seat pressed against the wall, with just enough room for a lamp and a tiny corner table with…

  A bottle of wine?

  I give him a look. “Are you kidding me?”

  He merely grins and pats the seat beside him. “Sit.”

  “We’ll be caught.”

  “Nope. Cockroaches, remember?”

  “You really believe your assistant won’t tell someone?”

  “Diana’s been with me for years. She’s mostly my makeup artist, but I trust her with other important stuff too.”

  “Right. Turning a utility closet into a bordello. Definitely important stuff,” I say, plopping onto the love seat. I point at the bottle. “Pour.”

  Gage pours us each a glass of the crisp white wine before giving me a thorough once-over.

  I glance around the closet, my eyes narrowing. “You don’t think they’re taping us here, do you?”

  “Diana checked for bugs and cameras. Is that what you sleep in?”

  I shrug. “Sorry it’s not a lace teddy.”

  “Did you hear me complaining?” His voice is lower than usual, causing my pulse to skip into overdrive, but I attempt to ignore it.

  “You went through an awful lot of effort to set this up considering you’re sending me home tomorrow,” I say, sipping my wine.

  He turns to face me, propping one elbow on the back of the love seat. “About that—”

  I lift a warning finger. “Don’t even.”

  He swats my hand. “Hear me out. You’re not here to marry me, I get that. I respect it, even. And let’s face it, you’re far too prickly to be my type.”

  I give him a ha-ha look.

  “But,” he continues, “there’s no reason we can’t help each other out.”

  “Great. I was
hoping to be propositioned tonight!” I say with false enthusiasm.

  “Calm your loins, Wright. I just meant that we can be of assistance to each other. You’ve proven yourself pretty scrappy. More to the point, you’re able to get a pulse on the other women—figuring out who’s crazy and who’s just mean.”

  I sip my wine again. He’s not wrong. “And?”

  “And I was thinking you could be my spy, of sorts. I keep you on as long as I can to make sure I’m not getting in over my head with the wrong woman.”

  “Honestly, if you can’t figure out for yourself whether you should marry someone—”

  “I can’t,” he interrupts, a little sharply. “I wouldn’t be here if I could. Runaway Groom, remember? I have a nasty habit of almost marrying the wrong woman.”

  “You’re not actually thinking you’re going to get married at the end of this,” I say skeptically. “Are you?”

  He shrugs. “I doubt it. The producers want the fairy-tale ending, but they’ll settle for the scandalous one as long as I can make news.”

  “Classy,” I mutter.

  “What do you care? You’ll be long gone.”

  “Well, no, I won’t be if you don’t send me home!”

  He exhales, his green eyes snapping with impatience. “I’m not asking for a favor, I’m suggesting a trade.”

  “You have nothing I want.”

  His head snaps back just the smallest bit, as though I’ve hurt him, but before I can apologize and explain, he gives me that trademark Gage Barrett cool smile.

  “Hear me out. I propose that in exchange for you helping me weed out the more toxic women, I help you with your business.”

  I’d been all set to argue, but…damn it, High Tee is my passion, my baby, and he darn well knows it.

  “Meaning?”

  He shrugs. “My social media followers number in the millions. I do a shout-out to my good gal pal Ellie, and…free advertising, babe.”

  “Well, not free,” I mutter, taking another sip of wine. “I have to sell out my fellow women.”

  “All I need is for you to do what you’re already doing—protecting me from the psychos.”

  I scrunch my nose. I’m not seriously considering this…am I?

  “I don’t know that I want to be that girl,” I say slowly. “Women who don’t support other women, and all that.”

  “That’s why I’m asking you,” he says with a quiet seriousness that gives me pause. “You won’t throw other women under the bus for your own gain or to be petty. But you know what’s right, Ellie. It’s the reason your conscience couldn’t sit by and let me get taken by crazy Maria.”

  I stall by holding out my glass for a refill on my wine. He tops it off, and I look down at my glass, swirling it slightly and watching the golden liquid spin, as I think.

  “How long are you thinking? Like, how long would I be here?”

  “I was thinking we could take it one day at a time. If you’re miserable, I’ll send you home sooner. But if you’re not…free vacation, free advertising, and of course my company.” He looks down pointedly at his biceps, flexing before waggling his eyebrows at me.

  “Well, now, why didn’t you say so?” I say, reaching out to squeeze his enormous arm, a little surprised by how natural it feels to touch him, even jokingly.

  He surprises me by putting his palm over my hand, pinning it against the soft fabric of his black T-shirt. “Just say yes, Ellie. We’ll have fun.”

  “Where, here in our secret cockroach closet?” I say, gesturing around the small room with my wineglass.

  He grins. “You said ‘cock.’ ”

  “Just keep acting like a twelve-year-old, and you won’t have any trouble keeping the women away.”

  “You’re certainly resistant.”

  “Don’t take it personally.” I gently slip my hand away. “I’m just not really focused on my love life right now.”

  “Because your ex chose Silicon Valley over you?”

  I narrow my eyes at his bluntness. “I wouldn’t say that’s exactly how it happened.”

  Although…it sort of is.

  Sean Games did choose Silicon Valley over me. And though I don’t know that he was the love of my life, it stung more than a little when he informed me he was moving, the way a tenant would inform a landlord. A casual “By the way, great news…” thrown out in the middle of dinner.

  I’m just glad I figured out that I wasn’t included in the relocation before I’d embarrassed myself by assuming.

  “He was an idiot,” Gage says, slouching down slightly on the love seat and glancing up at the ceiling.

  “He was actually sort of a genius,” I say begrudgingly.

  “But a dork, though, right? You seem like the type of woman who would go for the nerds.”

  “You’re just saying that because I’m not interested in you.”

  “Yeah, why is that?” he asks, glancing over.

  I’m about to ignore him when I see the curiosity in his eyes, realizing he really wants to know. I guess that’s fair. He’s Gage Barrett—there probably hasn’t been much female rejection in his life.

  “I told you,” I say, tapping his elbow with the base of my wineglass. “It’s not personal. I just…I’m not really interested in relationships.”

  “Need I remind you that you’re part of a reality TV show all about relationships?”

  “Need I remind you that I wasn’t the one who applied—and I only agreed after way too much wine and a hell of a lot of peer pressure?”

  “From your friend? Marjorie?”

  I nod. “And my mom. They have a long history of ganging up on me, and I have a long history of caving in to their idea of what’s best for me. Prom with A. J. Castor, college at UCSD instead of on the East Coast, the fancy marketing job after graduation…”

  I break off, embarrassed by my spontaneous oversharing, but he doesn’t look bored.

  “They ever get it right?”

  I take a sip of wine. “Not really. I mean, I wouldn’t say I regret the things they’ve talked me into. There’ve been plenty of life lessons and memories to be had along the way. I do sometimes wish I was better about trusting my own gut, though.”

  He looks back up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, take it from me. Following your gut, or dreams, or whatever…it can be lonely.”

  “You’re talking about your exes? The weddings that weren’t, or whatever?”

  “No. I mean, yes on exes, but not them.”

  “Then who?”

  He looks back, a smile flirting on his lips. “Someone’s interested.”

  “Curious,” I correct. “I’m curious.”

  And I am. Annoying as it is to realize that Gage Barrett is shaping up to be much more than a pretty face, it’s also intriguing. He’s got hidden depths that I don’t think he lets anyone see, and, well…

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be the one to see them. At least a little bit.

  “I don’t give away my secrets for free, Ellie Wright. I’m going to need something in return.”

  “I am not putting out just so that I can hear about your ex-girlfriend.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Who said I wanted you to put out?”

  I feel myself blushing at my own presumptuousness, and try to hide it by taking a sip of wine, which seems to be going straight to my head, because I’m suddenly entirely too aware that I probably would put out if he initiated.

  I mean, I’m sitting in a cozy room, on a love seat, with Gage Barrett. If he kissed me…

  “Take my deal, El,” he says.

  When I lift my head, he’s right there. Not touching me, but closer, his gaze intense. “Stay on. Be my girl spy.”

  I smile. “We’re not going to call it a girl spy.”

  He smiles back. “But you’ll do it?”

  Shit.

  “Yes,” I say, before I can rethink it. “But not in exchange for your secrets.”

  Gage’s green eyes shadow. “Chang
e your mind about seeing my dirty laundry, huh?”

  “Nah,” I say, taking a last sip of wine before handing him the glass and climbing to my feet. “But I don’t want you to tell me because you owe me. I want you to tell me because you want to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back before someone realizes I’m gone.”

  “Ellie,” he says, just as my hand finds the doorknob.

  I turn back.

  “Why’d you say yes?”

  I start to tell him that it’s for the sake of my business—that in exchange for staying longer, I’ll generate more interest in High Tee.

  It’s the reason I want to tell myself.

  But as our gazes lock and hold, I realize I’m not sure that it’s even remotely true. Because when I look at Gage, I realize I’m not thinking about my business.

  I’m thinking about the man. About the way he makes me feel.

  So why did I say yes?

  “Honestly?” I say quietly. “I don’t know.”

  He gives a slow nod of acknowledgment but says nothing as I open the door and slip into the dark, quiet hallway.

  Invitation Ceremony #4

  Dear Jane—

  You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Gage Barrett and his future bride on Saturday, May 21, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dinner and dancing to follow.

  *

  The Runaway Groom on why he jilted Jane: “Jane’s intense and driven, and I absolutely respect that, but she’s got her own thing going on, and I don’t think our lifestyles were compatible.”

  *

  Dear Ellie—

  You are cordially invited to stay on at the villa as Gage Barrett continues his quest for his future bride.

  *

  Text message from Ellie to Gage: Did Jane confess during your farewell chat?

  Gage to Ellie: That she planned to replace Brooklyn’s shampoo with hair-removal stuff? No, she masked her insanity quite well. What else you got for me?

  Ellie to Gage: Nothing major. Maybe the next elimination should be YOUR call. Listen to your corrupt little Hollywood soul and send home someone who doesn’t make your heart flutter.

  Gage to Ellie: How do you know that won’t be you?