Page 31 of Princess of Pride
“I need a minute,” I say to Pippa, not wanting to interrupt Mom and the wedding planner or risk having Mom summon me to her side.
Lachlan gives me a side-eyed glance while he continues talking to his brother and that other guy as if nothing unusual happened.
If I trusted myself not to trip over my dress, I’d run inside the house.
Behind me, I hear Mom say, “She’s your problem now, Lachlan.”
In a flurry, I enter the room where I got ready and stop near the fireplace. Tears of frustration burn my eyes, and my throat feels too tight to breathe.
On the brighter side, if I pass out, I’ll be taken to the hospital to recover. A hysterical laugh bubbles from my throat and more tears sting my eyes. Mom most certainly has her private doctor here, at the ready, so nothing stops her special event.
I consider my alternatives. Fake the stomach flu? A headache? If I’m Lachlan’s problem as my mother dismissively stated, then she can’t force me to attend my own reception. Can she? She’s all about saving face in front of these people. I’m surprised she hasn’t come after me by now and forced me to play the role of a happy bride.
Argh. I swat decorative books from the fireplace mantleand then scoop them up quickly, feeling bad for taking my anger out on precious antique volumes of romantic classics.
Carefully, I arrange them back on the mantle and catch a glimpse of a dark-haired figure walking outside the door. My body stiffens, thinking it’s Lachlan. It’s not. It’s someone so much better. Without another thought, I race out the French doors, my skirt lifted high in front as I chase the man around a row of tall hedges.
Out of sight from anyone who might be lingering where the ceremony was held, I call out, “Raphael!”
Jerking to a stop, he swings around and takes me in. His brows tighten. “Emery, what’s wrong?”
I glance at the motorcycle parked not far from where we stand. Cars from the wedding guests and event staff crowd the long driveway. The valet my parents hired are at a makeshift stand at the other end, focused on their phones.
I nod at the motorcycle. “Is that yours?”
“The bike? Yeah.”
“Can I get a ride?” I shuffle toward him, praying no one sees me and forces me back to the wedding.
His lips bunch with contemplation. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
I step closer. “You won’t. I promise. Leo’s not even at the guard house.” He was at the ceremony.
“My dad… he can’t lose this job.”
“No one will know.” Not unless they watch the camera feed—and they will, but hopefully not until we’re far enough away. “I won’t let your dad get fired, and I’ll pay you fifty thousand dollars. One hundred thousand if your dad loses his job, which I won’t let happen. Please.” My heart pounds to a desperate beat. “Please.”
He frowns at the new tears in my eyes. “Your dress is too big.”
I reach under the wads of tulle, pull down the crinoline, and step out of it faster than seems possible considering I had three people help me into this thing. Small blessings.
The material, while still full, is much more manageable. I gather it in a messy ball at my abdomen, my knees exposed. “How about now?”
Come on. I don’t imagine I have much time left before someone figures out where I am.
He makes a pained face and shakes his head. I prepare myself for his refusal.
“You better keep that dress in a ball or we’re going down.”
He’s taking me? “Thank you!” I race over in the strappy sandals Mom picked, thankful the Louis Vuitton’s have chunky heels.
He passes me the helmet. I tear off the veil and toss it onto the pavement. Once the helmet is on, and Raphael is seated, he helps me climb behind him.
I bunch the massive ball of fabric between us, then wrap my arms around his waist as best I can.
“I’m going to pay for this,” he murmurs and starts the engine.
We take off, racing faster than seems normal, but then I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. I steal a quick glance behind me. No one is in the driveway. No one came looking for me. Even the valets are still preoccupied with their phones. My family must think I’m hiding in the house.
