Page 5 of A Runaway Bride For Christmas
My parents stuck it out until I was eight and the arguments got to be too much. Dad lost half his business in a bad deal, and Mom never forgave him. She split before he could lose the other half, and we’ve both been paying for it since.
Dad with the reminder every time he sees Mom that he’s a failure in her eyes, and me by being here today, about to make a big mistake.
Because as I watch the two of them, there is no doubt in my mind that marrying Ryan is a mistake.
My knees feel week, and I sit abruptly on the bed feeling dizzy.
“I’ll go get your flowers out of the fridge.”
Mom exits the room, and Dad strolls over to the bed. He sits next to me and takes my hand.
“It’s no secret your mother and I didn’t marry for the right reasons.” I’ve heard the story of how their parents were friends and they started dating and got caught up in how happy their families were for them. Two upper class families joining together. “But you came out of that union, Allie, so I don’t regret a thing.”
He smiles at me, and the warmth eases my nerves a little.
“But the next time I marry, it will be for love. The kind of love that sweeps you up and makes you feel giddy, the type of love that uplifts you and makes you realize you can’t live without the other person.”
He frowns when he says it and looks away, running a hand through his hair. I stare at him, because I’ve never heard my dad talk like this.
But also because his words tear at my soul. He’s right. He’s describing the feeling I had with Hans for that fleeting moment two years ago.
It may not be Hans, but I shouldn’t marry anyone unless I feel that way. Otherwise I’ll end up like my mother, old and bitter and forcing her daughter to repeat her mistakes.
I swallow hard, suddenly knowing what I need to do.
“Do you think you could give me a minute?” I say to Dad. “I just want to take a moment on my own.”
“Of course, Allie Cat.” He smiles and kisses my forehead, using the childhood name he’s always called me. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
I can’t bear to think about what this will do to my mother, but there’s no way I can get married today.
As soon as the door shuts behind my father, I bolt from the bed.
My room’s on the second floor, and the only window looks out to the back of the cabin. I fling it open and climb through.
2
HANS
My boots sink into the snow and numbness tingles around my toes, which tells me the sooner I get to my cabin and a warm fire the better.
Christmas carols waft on the wind from the Lodge. It’s still over a week until Christmas, and I’m sick of hearing them. I don’t give a goddamn shit what Mariah Carey wants for Christmas. I just want to get the season over with so all the tourists can go home, and I can have my mountain back.
To make matters worse, there’s a wedding this weekend, which means the Lodge is extra full of privileged assholes and all my staff have been called up for extra shifts.
Ski instructors by day and wait staff or dishwashers by night. It’s not a bad gig if you’re young and want the money for a few seasons. But at twenty-eight, I’m getting too old for this shit.
My bones are weary as I trudge through the snow. Wind whips my face, shaking the trees and sending flurries of powder off their branches and into the air.
I squint at the sky and the thick clouds that will shortly unleash their snowstorm onto the mountain.
I’ve spent the morning securing the chair lifts and equipment and explaining to angry assholes why they can’t go skiing today. The wind was blowing the ski lifts sideways, and I still had college boys clasping their snowboards angrily and insisting they should be allowed on the lifts.
They didn’t bother to check the snow report that would have told them the hills were closed today, or they did and didn’t think the rules applied to their entitled asses.
One of them threatened to call the manager on me until l told him I was the manager. I’ve been managing the fields for the last two years. I lost my enthusiasm for teaching rich kids how to ski when I made the stupid mistake of thinking I had a connection with a beautiful woman two years ago.
“He’ll never be good enough for someone like you.”
