Runaway Groom

by Lauren Layne

  Ellie to Gage: Feel free, Barrett. Feel free.

  Gage to Ellie: Nah. Still need you around in case another one tries to collect my hair. Plus, did you see how I asked about your shirt today?

  Ellie to Gage: No, I missed that! I was sitting right next to you, talking right to you, but somehow I didn’t absorb any of that.

  Gage to Ellie: I should have gotten a spy who isn’t a smart-ass.

  Ellie to Gage: Or one who actually likes you.

  Gage to Ellie: That too. Midnight?

  Ellie to Gage: Can’t. They moved Skylar to LeAnn’s old bed after Brittany M. made her cry. Makes sneaking out harder…

  Invitation Ceremony #5

  Dear Skylar—

  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 Skylar: “Honestly? Skylar’s too damn nice for me. Her bucket list involves Yosemite and climbing Mount Everest. She’d never be happy on the red carpet.”

  *

  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: Tell me you didn’t eliminate Skylar for the reason I think you did.

  Gage to Ellie: Midnight. Tomorrow.

  Ellie to Gage: We’ll see.

  Ellie

  One week into the show and I’m not…hating it.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still think the whole thing is ridiculous, and I’ll be relieved to get home and back to real life. But lying on a towel in the warm sunshine, drink in hand?

  There are worse things.

  “Oh my God, taste this and tell me it’s not the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” Paisley says, flopping down on the chaise lounge next to me and handing me a fancy glass filled with alternating layers of white and pink froth.

  I give the umbrella plopped on top of the drink a skeptical look but take a sip. It’s cold, fruity, and painfully sweet.

  “Yum,” I lie, handing her the glass back.

  She uses a coral-tipped nail to pull down her glasses and gives me a look. “A Lava Flow is more than yum. The angels made this, Ellie. Angels.”

  I lift my gin and tonic and clink it across her glass. “To the angels.”

  She pushes her glasses back up on her nose and scans the deck of the yacht where the contestants and Gage are to spend the day, well…drinking, apparently. I’m not complaining. As far as forced group activities go, a booze cruise is just fine by me.

  “The cameras haven’t been over here,” she says with a little pout. “Not once.”

  “Thank God,” I mutter, leaning back on my lounge chair and crossing my legs.

  She turns toward me. “You do get that that’s the entire point of the show, right? To be on TV?”

  I turn my head a little and look at her. She looks too pretty and wholesome for this nonsense we’ve gotten ourselves into. Her long red hair’s in a side braid over her shoulder, she’s wearing a green sundress over the swimsuit I know to be a hell of a lot more modest than the rest of the women’s, and a wide straw hat protects her fair skin from the sun.

  “I thought the entire point of the show was to fall in love with Gage,” I say lightly. Not that I’m scolding her, but truth be told, I’m not even sure Paisley knows Gage, much less loves him.

  “Yeah, well, that’ll be hard when he doesn’t even look at me,” she says with a little smile.

  I do a quick scan to make sure we’re not going to get caught on camera, but Paisley’s right. There’s zero interest in us. The majority of the crew’s up on the top-level deck where I presume Gage is, and the other camera’s on the other side of our deck getting B-roll of whatever the Brittanys are talking about.

  I look back at her and ask the question I’ve been dying to ask ever since I realized that she’s the one contestant I can see myself being friends with after this is all over.

  “Paisley, did you really expect to fall in love on the show? Just between us.”

  She gives a little smile. “Expect? No, not really. Too practical for that. Hope? Yeah, okay, I’ll admit it. I totally bought into the fantasy that the Gage Barrett would fall wildly in love with me. I mean, isn’t that why we’re all here? The fairy tale?”

  As though on cue, there’s movement on the upper deck, and Gage comes into view looking ridiculously hot in nothing but black board shorts, eight-pack abs, and a tan.

  He leans back against the railing, laughing at something Sidney said, seemingly completely unfazed by the camera that’s right in his face, and I have to say…

  I get what Paisley’s talking about. I’m sure most of these women, on some level, know that the entire concept of the show is a little bit tawdry, the chances of real love coming out of it next to nil. I mean, I know that. I know that none of this is real, but if I’m honest?

  Looking at him right now, I feel…something. A yearning that feels dangerous and all-consuming.

  “Ellie.”

  I look back at Paisley, who’s pulled off her sunglasses and is studying me. “Yeah?”

  “What’s really going on with you and Gage?”

  I blink. “What do you mean?”

  I’m closer to Paisley than I am to anyone else, but I haven’t told her about the deal Gage and I made—nor about our midnight meetings.

  “Well, that first day at the pool, he was different around you. And then everyone’s talking about how you guys took forever to get home after the group lunch date. The other girls are trying to act like it’s nothing, but they’re worried.”

  “Why? I’m down here, he’s up there.” I gesture with my glass toward the upper deck. “And yesterday on the hike I didn’t talk to him once.”

  “I know.” She bites her lip. “It’s just…I don’t know, sometimes it feels like he’s aware of you. Even when he’s laughing with the rest of us and looking at another girl, it’s like there’s some invisible string connecting you two. I swear, I’m starting to want you to win this thing more than I want to win.”

  I reach over and give her arm a quick squeeze. “Gage isn’t interested in me like that. I promise.”

  “But are you interested in him?”

  I smile and evade. “Like you said, that’s why we’re all here, right?”

  The half-truth doesn’t feel good. Just a few days ago, I was secure in the knowledge that I wanted no part of any of this—that my agreeing to participate had been a huge mistake. But now…

  I find I really do worry about women taking advantage of Gage—of pulling iffy shit to “win.” And not just on principle, either.

  I care because…it’s Gage. And behind all the flirting, I’m pretty sure he’s been hurt badly by someone. I feel protective, and I don’t quite get that. So protective, in fact, that I don’t even tell Paisley what’s going on, though I sense she’d keep my secret. What’s going on with me and Gage isn’t just mine to tell, it’s both of ours, and—

  My thoughts scatter as Paisley mutters, “Whoa,” her eyes on the upper deck behind me.

  I turn my head just in time to see Cora press her golden curves and white string bikini against Gage.

  A moment later her hand slides into his dark hair as she pulls his face down to hers—and kisses him.

  I hear the gasps from the other women on the boat, but I don’t really register them.

  I’m too busy waiting to see how Gage will respond—if he’ll respond.

  One of his hands is holding a beer, but the other lifts…to push her away?

  Please push her away.

  He sets his palm against Cora’s bare back, pulling her closer, and my stomach drops out for reasons I don’t look at too closely.

  I whip my head back around toward Paisley and take a big gulp of my drink.

  “Well, guess that answers that question,” Paisl
ey says wryly.

  “What question?”

  “All the talk about who’s going to kiss him first. Everyone’s been hoping that he’ll make the first move—better bragging rights. But Cora’s way obviously works too.”

  Obviously.

  “I’m going to grab another drink,” I say, even though my current one’s not empty. “You want anything?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  I nod and move toward the bar, relieved that she didn’t try to come with me, relieved that nobody seems to be paying me any attention, because…

  Damn it. Why do I feel the strangest urge to cry?

  Gage

  I’ve spent the entire afternoon counting the hours until I can get off that fucking boat, until the damned cameras turn off, but even when it finally docks, I get zero reprieve.

  “Great show today,” Adam says, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “Really good work.”

  I grind my teeth to keep from saying that this isn’t a show, it’s my goddamned life, they just happen to be filming it. And as far as the “good work,” it sure as hell doesn’t feel good.

  Not ten minutes after Cora planted one on me, Hannah did the same, followed an hour later by an unexpectedly bold Aurora.

  And look, it’s not my first time kissing multiple women in one day. It’s not my first time kissing women I barely like, much less want, all for the sake of the camera.

  But much as I tell myself that today was just like any other day on set, it feels different, and I know exactly the reason why.

  Ellie won’t look at me.

  It’s not unusual for her and me to avoid each other when the cameras are rolling, but this is different. I can feel it, and I want to find her, I need to explain…

  “Gage, you got a few?” Raven asks, striding over with her ever-present iPad.

  “No,” I say, scanning the crowded dock, looking for Ellie.

  Raven looks up. “Honey, the question was rhetorical. We need to do an on-camera postmortem of the day.”

  “We can do it later,” I say, spotting Ellie standing by the door of the van, hugging her elbows. As usual, she’s got her T-shirt on, this time paired with a short blue skirt and flip-flops. But today she’s alone, with no sign of Paisley.

  “Gage—”

  I ignore Raven and move toward Ellie, knowing I have about thirty seconds before the other women realize my destination and move to keep me from having alone time with anyone else.

  Ellie sees me coming, her eyes going slightly wide when she realizes I’m headed right toward her, then they narrow in warning. Go away.

  I narrow mine right back. Like hell.

  “Ellie.”

  “Gage.”

  I step closer to her, and she steps back, only to find that she’s pressed against the van and can’t go any further. She huffs in frustration. “What do you want?”

  I open my mouth, only to realize…

  I don’t know what I want. I don’t know why I’m here, or what I want to tell her.

  I mean, I do. I want to tell her that the kisses with the other women meant nothing—that they kissed me, and I didn’t particularly enjoy a single second.

  But I don’t know why I want to tell her that. It’s not as though Ellie’s a jealous girlfriend I need to explain myself to. She’s not even jealous at all.

  And that right there…that’s why I’m in a bad mood.

  I want her to be jealous. I want her to want me like I want her.

  The thought rocks me back on my heels.

  I want Ellie.

  Shit.

  I guess it’s been lingering there the whole time—disguised by flirtatious bickering and my love of a challenge, true, but it’s there. The want is fierce and unavoidable.

  I want her lips against mine, her body under mine. I want her to sigh my name. I want to make her gasp. I want her to want me back, to fight for me.

  But she won’t. I see it in the stubborn set of her chin, the confusion in her eyes, as though she can’t figure out why the hell I’ve singled her out.

  “Midnight,” I say huskily. “Promise me—”

  “What’s happening here?”

  I close my eyes in frustration at the interruption, then force a strained smile as I turn toward Hannah. If she weren’t already on my shit list for making a move this afternoon, she sure as hell is now, and I see from the quick blink of her brown eyes that she realizes her mistake.

  But instead of backing away, she turns her gaze toward Ellie. “Sweetie, I’ve been meaning to ask…do you want to borrow some clothes? We’re about the same size, and I’m sure you want a break from wearing the same old T-shirts all the time.”

  Just a couple of days ago I would have missed the flash of vulnerability that crosses Ellie’s face before she covers it with a smile, but I know her now, so I see it—know that Hannah’s swipe stung.

  And it was a swipe. I’d specifically asked Ellie about her company last night at dinner while on camera, so the rest of the women know all about High Tee. Hannah’s comment is a deliberate insult, and I dislike her for that even more than I dislike her for the interruption.

  “Actually, the crew wants us all back at the villa,” I say, saving Ellie from having to endure any more.

  I open the door of the van, offering a hand to Hannah and all but shoving her in. I start to extend my hand to Ellie, but she ignores it, crawling in on her own.

  Her skirt slips upward as she climbs into the back, and I nearly groan at the sight of the back of her thighs.

  Before I can crawl in beside her, the other contestants are crowding around me, each one’s voice shriller than the last, and before I know it, I’m sandwiched between Naomi and Kelsey, discussing our favorite Michael Jackson song.

  The ride home is endless, and when we finally get there, I silently will Ellie to look at me—to tell me she’ll meet me tonight.

  She doesn’t even glance my way.

  Invitation Ceremony #6

  Dear Hannah—

  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 Hannah: “Sometimes you feel that click with another person—sometimes you don’t. Hannah’s great, but I just didn’t see her as the person I want to grow old with.”

  *

  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: Meet me.

  Gage to Ellie: Hello? We on for tonight?

  Gage to Ellie: Damn it to hell, Ellie. Where are you?

  Gage to Ellie: Please?

  Ellie

  I’m not going to see Gage tonight.

  It’s been my mantra all day. All throughout the booze cruise, where I watched him make out with just about everyone with breasts.

  All through the ride home, while I had to stare at the back of his head and listen to him laugh what I now know is his fake laugh.

  All through dinner, where I did my best to ignore him. And all through the invitation ceremony, where we’d made eye contact only once, and it was rife with meaning.

  What meaning?

  I don’t know.

  I feel my phone buzz under my pillow again, but refuse to look at it, because I’m pretty sure it’s him. I told everyone in my personal life that I wouldn’t have access to my phone for the month-long duration of the show, and most of them took it to heart. Other than a few thinking of you messages from my mom and Marjorie, my phone’s been quiet besides the texts from Gage.

  Eden and Paisley both passed out almost immediately following one too many drinks on the boat, and then more drinking at dinner, then champagne at the pool. I’d cried headache and kept it mostly sober, although I’m not sure that was the best idea. The only thing my sobriety is earning me is crystal clear
images of Gage and Cora, Gage and Hannah, Gage and Aurora…

  My phone buzzes again, and I reach beneath the pillow and hit the power button without looking at the messages, then roll onto my back, flinging both arms over my head.

  What is wrong with me?

  Surely I’m not turning into a Gage Barrett groupie. I’m better than that. I’m not looking for a relationship, and when I do get around to that, it’s not going to be with the hottest thing in Hollywood with a reputation for leaving women at the altar.

  I hang over the side of the bunk to look at the clock. Twelve-thirty.

  He’s probably not even there anymore. Gage doesn’t strike me as the type of man to wait more than five minutes for a woman. Not when there are dozens of others to take her place.

  I wonder what would happen if I left. If I made him eliminate me. Would he find another “spy”?

  Even more heartbreaking to think about—who would he propose to? Paisley would be a solid choice, but she’s too good for him. He’d probably choose someone like Brooklyn. Someone who’s sweet and gorgeous but who will never challenge him.

  The kicker is, I actually do have an idea about who he should send home next. He’s not doing well on his own. I mean, Hannah went home tonight, and that was a solid choice—girl was mean. But last night he sent home Skylar. After I specifically told him to trust his gut and pick someone he wanted to see gone. And of all the contestants—the aggressive Cora, the mean Brittany B., the full-on-crazy Eden—he gets rid of Skylar? She was sweet and harmless. Not the love of his life, perhaps, but better than most of the remaining women.

  He got rid of her for me. So he and I could keep meeting. Even though I told him I want to go home.

  I fling the covers back, quietly climb down from the top bunk, and slip on my flip-flops.

  He’s probably not still there, but if he is, I’ve got things to say to him.

  I’m still fuming by the time I make it to the closet, and I tell myself that my heart is pounding with anger and not anticipation because I see the faintest light coming from beneath the door.