Page 78 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

“I want to remind you, son, that Lauren’s prenup doesn’t include her trust fund. I checked after you asked last week.”

Jeremy shoots to his feet. His face is nothing but a thunderous scowl, reddening with every second. “What?”

I blink. I’ll pay attention here. That trust fund is my ticket away from him. I’ve got to stay long enough to fork it over to him, but not until I marry him to divorce him. He won’t leave me be until he has his greedy hands on it.

“It’s not included in the prenup,” my father repeats.

“Then have your legal team re-write it!” Jeremy yells.

Lacie sighs. “They can’t. It’s part of the trust fund’s stipulations. They were enacted before her grandparents died.”

“Then why the hell am I wasting my time with her?” He sneers at me, but I don’t flinch.

“Well, we have to save our reputations now,” my mother says, placating the whiny bastard who is so clearly the son they never had but always wanted. He caters to their lifestyle and lives the way they do.

“This is bullshit,” Jeremy scowls as he sits again.

“As her husband though,” my father says, “you’ll have full control over her assets.”

Jeremy glowers at me. “And you’re not so stupid to think you can get out of it this time, are you?”

I say nothing, not rising to the bait.

My mother tuts. “Of course, she’s marrying you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Already? I’ve lost track of the hours and days here, so disoriented and depressed as I try to remain hopeful in my room. I tune out, not listening to her voice as she talks about the wedding. It’s within hours, not days, and anxiety fills me instantly.

My mother isn’t going to see through any of the many details she reminds us of. She’s hired planners so that she can sit on her ass and get loaded with champagne. All the better to make her loose enough to fake her happiness.

I have no say in anything about the ceremony. I didn’t the first time around, and I certainly won’t now when they’re deeming me a flight risk. And if they asked my preference about any part of the big day, I wouldn’t know what to say.

In no figment of my imagination did I think I would be in this position, not once, but twice. My future has never been mine to dream about or consider, and it’s a joke, a farce, to entertain the idea that they might ask me about what kind of a bride I want to be.

Simple: I want to be a bride for Caleb. Not Jeremy. I want another man who I know will cherish and pleasure me, who can respect my desire to make a choice of my own.

The last decision I made hurt me, and I know I wounded him too. Learning of Jeremy’s threat was so sudden that when I think back to that morning, I know I couldn’t have changed the sequence of events. If I had told Caleb why I had to go, if I gave him the details, he would have fought tooth and nail right then and there.

This is my fight, though, because only I can marry Jeremy to then get rid of him.

My mother snaps her fingers, and I jolt. The sound jars me from my thoughts.

“Yes, ma’am,” a maid says as she dutifully shows up.

My mother rolls her eyes. “The dress?” she snaps, as though the young lady could read her mind and know what she wants.

“Right away.”

I want to cower under the evilness in her glare as she faces me.

“Since you were a stupid fool to throw away and burn that gown, I’ve had to stop and drop everything that I needed to do to get you a new one.” Her disdainful glare burns, and I know she finds me lacking. She always has. “I hadn’t realized you would’ve been pigging out with your little stint of running away and acting like a damn diva. I should’ve asked them to take it out a few inches.”

I. Hate. You.

“But they were able to create another dress and I think it’s even more gorgeous than the first one.” She beams at Jeremy. “Hun, you’ll have to let me know if you approve.”

I want to gag. His opinion counts? He’s not even going to look at me in it. His eyes will be on Rachel.

The maid needs another staff member’s assistance. Between the two of them, they carry it out to us like it’s a limp carcass of white. It’s poofy. It’s more obnoxious than the last one.

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