Runaway Groom

by Lauren Layne

  When I open it, Gage is sitting on the love seat, leaning forward, his shoulders slumped, his head down as he stares at his hands.

  His head snaps up, his eyes finding mine a split second before a smile spreads across his face as though he’s glad to see me.

  I start to smile back before I remember that I’m mad at him, and I step into the room, shutting the door behind me.

  “You’re late.”

  “I wasn’t going to come at all,” I say, dropping unceremoniously onto the love seat beside him.

  He nods toward the table, where he’s got the usual bottle of wine and two glasses. “Your head still hurt, or you want a glass?”

  How’d he know I was telling people I had a headache? The man’s more observant than I give him credit for.

  “No thanks on the wine,” I say. Not because my head hurts, but because I need to keep it clear. “So, Hannah.”

  He lifts a shoulder and pivots to face me. “My spy disappeared on me—didn’t give me any tips on who to send home.”

  “Why her?”

  He opens his mouth as though he wants to respond, but then gives me an indifferent shrug. “Why not?”

  I narrow my eyes, because that’s an evasion if I’ve ever heard one. “And Skylar? She was sweet.”

  “Are you here to lecture me about the women I’ve already sent home, or to tell me who I should send home tomorrow?”

  I chew my lip for a second. “Fine. Naomi.”

  A line appears between his eyebrows. “Why? She seems cool.”

  “Cool? Or a good kisser?”

  It’s not even a good jab—Naomi wasn’t one of the ones who kissed him on the boat. But who knows what he’s been up to when I haven’t been around?

  His head snaps back slightly, and I want to punch myself in the face, because that is so not what I meant to say. The words came out petty and, well…jealous.

  “Ellie—”

  I hold up a hand. “Forget it, totally not my business, I know. But anyway, Naomi…yeah, she is cool. She’s also married.”

  “What?”

  “She and Sidney are tight and she confided in her friend, only Sidney had way too much to drink and blurted it out to Brittany B., who promptly told the rest of us after dinner tonight.”

  “What the hell is she doing on the show? Where’s her husband?”

  “Apparently she signed a prenup, and if she leaves him, she doesn’t get a penny.”

  “Yeah, well, pretty sure she’s not going to get a dime once the hubby learns about this.”

  I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe she’s trying to get him to leave her. I don’t know the details, or what’s going on there. Just that legally she’s married, which would make you marrying her illegal at worst, a hot mess at best.”

  Gage groans and drags his hands over his face. “What is wrong with these people?”

  I give his knee a friendly pat and stand. “You’re surviving just fine.”

  He drops his hands. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to my room. I did my girl spy part.”

  Gage reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me back down to the love seat.

  I resist the pull, I really do, but it’s no contest. I collapse with a quiet “oof,” my chin awkwardly knocking his shoulder. Irritated, I punch the same shoulder. “Damn it, Gage. Let me go.”

  He’s still holding my hand, his face just a few inches from mine. “What was the deal with you today?”

  “What do you mean?” I avoid his eyes.

  “You were acting weird. You ignored my texts. You wouldn’t even look at me on the boat. Or at dinner.”

  “I never look at you. Your ego shines so brightly, it hurts my eyes.”

  Instead of letting me escape with the joke, Gage snags my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting my face to his as he searches my expression. “Talk to me.”

  He’s so close. My eyes drop to his mouth for a split second, and I have the insane urge to press my lips to his.

  But then I remember that’d make me the fourth woman he’s kissed today, and I pull back.

  “I need to get to bed. You should too. We both have another stressful day in paradise tomorrow looking at waterfalls on the road to Hana.”

  Gage groans, and I smile a little as I climb to my feet once again. “You don’t like waterfalls?”

  “I like looking at waterfalls just fine.” He rests his head against the back of the love seat, closing his eyes, and looking so exhausted and miserable that my heart lurches. “I just don’t love the fact that I’ve got to entertain thirteen women at the same time.”

  “Twelve women,” I correct, stepping backward toward the door. “You won’t have to entertain me.”

  His eyes open, and he pins me with a green stare. “Of course not. Ellie Wright’s too good for the rest of us.”

  I pause, a little stung by the sharpness of his tone. “I don’t think that.”

  “No?” he asks, climbing to his feet.

  “You’re the one who asked me to be your eyes and ears with the other women,” I remind him, punching a finger into his chest. “You’re the one who bugged me to come here tonight.”

  “And yet you agreed to my terms, and you came tonight,” Gage retorts. “Your choice, Ellie. So you don’t get to be pissy.”

  “I’m not!” My finger pushes his chest again.

  “You are.” His hand lifts, wraps around my hand, crushing my fingers lightly. “You’re mad at me, and you won’t tell me why. I’m not even sure you’ll tell yourself why.”

  I keep my eyes locked on his Adam’s apple. “I’m not mad. I just want to go home.”

  “Two nights ago, you were fine staying. You were good with it. Something changed.”

  “Nothing changed.”

  “Yeah? Look me in the eyes and say it.”

  “You’re just hoping I’ll compare your eyes to guacamole again.”

  He laughs, causing his chest to lift and fall beneath my hand. I try to tug it free, but he holds me still.

  “Ellie.”

  “What?”

  “Ellie.”

  My eyes close a second, then I take a deep breath, force myself to quit being a ninny chicken, and lift my gaze to his.

  “Yup, avocado,” I say with a smile.

  He doesn’t smile back. “About the boat today…the women I kissed…”

  “I get it,” I say on a rush. “You told me the other day that the producers were complaining because you hadn’t kissed anyone yet, so you did that and one better, kissing multiple women. They must have been thrilled.”

  “They were,” he says quietly.

  It’s not what I want to hear, not at all, and I yank my hand away and spin back toward the door. “Congratulations.”

  I open the door, and he shuts it again. “Would you just fucking admit it?”

  “Admit what?” I tug on the doorknob, but he leans a shoulder against the door, holding it closed with his weight.

  “You were jealous.”

  I scoff. “No.”

  “No?” He touches my ear gently, and it shouldn’t be sexy, because it’s an ear, but his fingers are warm, his touch gentle, and my eyes close. “They kissed me.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly see you shoving them away,” I say on a whisper.

  “I’m an actor, Ellie. Kissing for the camera is part of my job. It’ll always be part of my job.”

  “I know that!” I practically shout, turning toward him and batting his hand away. “I get that. What I don’t get is why we’re talking about it! I didn’t ask you not to kiss them. I didn’t even bring it up, you did! You can kiss whoever you want. You should kiss the women. If you’re going to freaking marry one of them, you should kiss all of them, you should—”

  Gage captures my face with both of his hands, derailing the rest of my rant with a kiss so unexpected and demanding that I gasp against his lips.

  My hands lift, my fingers wrapping around his wrists as I open my mouth to h
is.

  The second I do, Gage groans and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine. His fingers tunnel into my hair, and my hands slide from his wrists and up his arms until I can wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer.

  I’ve had my fair share of kisses in my life, with a lot of decent ones, I’d thought at the time, but kissing Gage is on a whole other level. The man knows what he’s doing, because I feel like the only woman in the world—the only woman in his world.

  One of his arms drops around my waist, pulling me against his hard body, his other hand cupping the back of my head as he takes the kiss from deep and sensual to light and teasing and back again.

  It’s the perfect kiss, as though he were made for me, and I for him, except…

  I open my eyes.

  Except we aren’t made for each other.

  He’s a good kisser not because of some magical chemistry between us but because he’s had so much practice.

  I can’t do this.

  I’m not the kind of girl Gage Barrett wants, and I don’t say that in a self-disparaging way so much as…well, he’s the Sexiest Man Alive, and I sell T-shirts. He lives in a mansion, I live in a studio apartment. He’s gorgeous, I’m…regular.

  But none of that’s even the agonizing part.

  It’s that I could lose myself in him, which is dangerous. He’s the type of guy who can and will walk away without a backward glance, and I’d be left to pick up the pieces.

  Somehow I think it’d be so much harder with him than it was with Sean.

  I wrench away from him with a gasp, and both of his hands tighten reflexively, as if he’s reluctant to let me go. But when I squirm again, he releases me.

  We stare at each other, breathing hard, and I lift a shaky hand to my mouth. “Well. I guess I did tell you to kiss all the women.”

  He frowns in confusion, then glares in anger when he puts the pieces together. “That’s not why—”

  “Yeah, it is,” I say, reaching for the doorknob and jerking the door open before he can keep me here and convince me to do something stupid. “You said it yourself—you kiss women for a living, Gage. Just do me a favor and keep me out of it. When I kiss guys, I like it to be for real.”

  I slip into the hallway before he can reply, but I have to walk away now. Before I can dwell on the fact that pain flashed across his face at my words.

  For the second time today, my eyes sting with the threat of tears—for myself, yes, but also because I’ve been so damn worried about not letting him hurt me that I haven’t really realized…what if I hurt him?

  And why does that bother me so much?

  Invitation Ceremony #7

  Dear Naomi—

  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 Naomi: “Naomi’s gorgeous, but for whatever reason, she and I weren’t clicking on a mental or emotional level.”

  *

  Dear Ellie—

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

  *

  (No text messages exchanged.)

  Gage

  So, Ellie wants me to kiss all the women?

  I should.

  Damn it, I should, just to give her what she wants. Or what she thinks she wants. Clearly the woman has me all figured out without knowing a damn thing.

  But two hours into the latest group date, I realize that not only do I not want to kiss any of these women, I can barely stand to be in their company.

  “So, like, what’s the craziest place you’ve ever hooked up with a girl?” Brittany M. squeezes my arm as she asks it, unabashedly pushing her tits against my biceps.

  I glance down at her, realizing I haven’t been following her train of conversation at all. How’d we get here? “Sorry, babe, what?”

  Brittany B. comes up on my other side, mimicking Brittany M.’s body language, only Brittany B.’s boobs are firmer (probably fake) and her smile a little more brittle. “Brit and I were talking earlier about how we both like to be a little wild.”

  She holds my gaze as she says it, the tip of her tongue touching the center of her upper lip in a gesture that I suspect is meant to be sexy but instead feels manufactured and cheap.

  “For God’s sake, leave the man alone,” Eden calls from behind us. “You’re monopolizing all his time.”

  Brittany B. shoots a death look over her shoulder. “Really. And I’m guessing that you losing your favorite bracelet and asking Gage to go back and help you find it was a total accident, right?”

  “Come on, guys, let’s not fight.” This from Kelsey, a smiley art teacher from Nashville who I’ve realized is the resident peacemaker. I reward the pretty brunette by extracting myself from the Brittanys’ clutches and draping my arm casually around Kelsey’s shoulders.

  Scott, the main camera guy, dogs my every move, while Sasha keeps her equipment trained on the Brittanys’ reaction, which seems to range between confused blink (Brittany M.) and sneer (Brittany B.). They both drive me crazy—the only reason I haven’t sent them both home yet is that I suspect either one would only be more annoying without the other, and I can’t figure out which one to get rid of first.

  “Kels is right,” I say with a smile. “We’re here to enjoy cocktails and the sunset.”

  “And each other’s company!” Kelsey chirps.

  “Jeeeeeeee-sus, give it a rest,” Eden snipes.

  I inhale and try to remember that in less than a month this will all be behind me and I’ll never have to see the majority of them again.

  Not the Brittanys, not always-angry Eden, not manipulative Cora, not hyena-laugh Aria…

  Not Ellie.

  I don’t have to turn around to know that she’s behind me, doing her best to stay out of the catfights, the same as she’s been doing all day.

  I know, because I can sense the damn woman. No matter how determinedly she refuses to look at me, no matter how much I try to forget the feel of her mouth on mine, she’s always fucking there.

  And it’s starting to piss me off.

  “Ellie, Paisley, you ladies like sunsets?” I ask, turning and facing them directly.

  There’s a moment of surprised silence at my sudden focus on them, and the cameras hurriedly adjust. I know what the camera will see: Paisley’s look of happy surprise, Ellie’s look of wariness.

  As the producers have instructed me, I’ve stopped along the walkway at a spot that gives our group a place to congregate without being in the way of gawking tourists.

  We’re in Lahaina, which Adam explained was a historic Maui town, now known mainly for its shops and restaurants. I’m all for the restaurant we’re headed for—and the alcohol.

  The shopping? Not so much. I’ve spent the past hour listening to the women pretend to coo over art galleries and jewelry shops, and my nerves are officially frayed.

  “Who doesn’t like sunsets?” Paisley asks in a slightly puzzled voice.

  Her honesty makes me laugh, and the other women quickly chime in, with a brittle, shrill quality to their giggling.

  Adam appears out of nowhere, his hair combed to its usual perfection, looking like an advertisement for a travel magazine in his khaki shorts, fancy boat shoes, and pressed linen shirt.

  “Ladies, Gage…I have a special announcement to make.”

  It had better involve some goddamn booze.

  “As you all know, we’ve come here to enjoy a sunset cocktail, and we will. But what you don’t know is that only one of you will be enjoying it with Gage at a private oceanfront table for two.”

  “Who gets to go?” Eden demands.

  Adam’s bland smile never wavers. “Well now, I’d say that’s up to Gage.” He turns to me. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  A decade of acting experience keeps my expression from betraying my anno
yance at this announcement. They didn’t fill me in on this—deliberately, I’m guessing, so that my choice would be a spontaneous one.

  “Gage?” Adam prompts.

  I can feel the group holding its collective breath, a few of the women scoping out the others as though trying to determine who I’ll pick.

  The producers are looking for drama—it’s the only reason they’ve sprung this on me. Things have been boring as shit today, and we all know it. They want me to get cozy with one of the women so that they can capture the reaction of the rest of them. They haven’t scheduled any one-on-one time with me and another woman since the drive back from lunch with Ellie a couple of days ago, and they’re still pissed they didn’t get any of that on camera.

  Fuck, this is exhausting. I resist the urge to rub my eyes.

  Do I pick the woman who will make for the best TV? Eden or Brittany B. would cause a stir—both women have sharp claws. Kelsey would raise eyebrows, since I’ve already singled her out tonight, as would Ivy, since I already had one-on-one time with her the first day. Cora would get them whispering, as the cameras have already seen us kissing.

  Or do I pick the woman I want to spend time with? The one I can’t stop thinking about?

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Ellie. She’s dressed in a simple white sundress, and unlike the rest of the women, she’s not watching me. She’s leaning on the railing watching the sunset, as though she couldn’t care less who I choose right now, and it…hurts. I mean, I’m not going to go fucking cry about it, but it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted someone who doesn’t want me back, and the memories of when that did happen are far from pleasant.

  Ellie’s not Layla, I get that. She’s not going to go marry my brother.

  But she is going to walk away from this. Walk away from me.

  As though she can sense my thoughts on her, her gaze flicks my way. I’m expecting a little smirk, maybe even a wink, but there’s vulnerability on her face that rocks me backward.

  Maybe she’s not as immune as she wants to be.

  Damn it, Ellie. Work with me. Quit running from this.

  I want to talk to her—hell, I want to hold her. But not like this. Not on camera.