Page 11 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

The driver opens the door for me and I slide in next to Will.

“Hey, Will!” Blake yells. “How do you feel about moose?”

I give him a scathing look while pressing the button to roll up the window. His head rocks back and he laughs, turning to head down the sidewalk.

“Sometimes I wonder why you chose him to be your partner,” Will says, his hand falling to my thigh, sliding up, and separating my legs. “Come closer. I missed you.”

I lean over and give him a chaste kiss that he tries to deepen, but I put an end to it. There’s no separation from his driver, Nick. Will groans when I sit back down on my side and secure myself with the seat belt.

“Patience,” I say.

He pulls his phone out of his suit jacket and his thumbs run over the screen. He’s forever working. For the remainder of the ride to the restaurant, he talks about the problems at work that are causing him stress and I listen intently. He’s mad at his dad for not giving him credit for something he worked on and he’s wondering, as always, when his dad will relinquish some of the power so Will can really thrive.

Will and Lance are opposites in so many ways. Will is all black hair, dark eyes, olive skin. Then there’s Lance with his dark-blond hair, blue eyes, and golden glow to his skin. It’s not just their physical attributes that are unalike but their families. Both are powerful families in New York, but one is old money and the other new. The Asburys flash their money wherever they can and aren’t afraid to show how much they have and say how much something costs. The Whitmores are more conservative and classier, mostly attending charity events and donating items for a good cause.

We pull up to the restaurant and Nick opens my door, holding his hand out to help me exit first. Then Will comes out, pocketing his cell phone and telling Nick he’ll ring him when we’re ready to leave.

Will leads me into the dim, expensive restaurant that’s the new hot place. Usually, a place like this would be reserved for a Saturday night dinner where we could all be seen. Not many paparazzi are out for dinner hour on a weekday, but his mom and dad are leaving for Switzerland tomorrow, so they wanted to squeeze in some final details for the wedding beforehand.

“Mr. Asbury.” The redheaded waitress looks him up and down, pushing out her tits and giving him a coy smile. “I have your table ready.”

“Perfect,” he says, squeezing my hand.

Will walks first and never releases my hand until we’re at a snug table for four in a more private part of the restaurant. What the Asburys want, the Asburys get in this city. Will holds out my chair and I slide in before laying the napkin on my lap. Then he sits in his chair next to me, picking up the menu.

“Enjoy your meal, Mr. Asbury,” the hostess says in a breathier voice than necessary.

“I love being invisible,” I grumble.

Will shoots me the same look he does every time I say something like that. Why doesn’t he just admit it’s because he’s Will Asbury and I’m a nobody?

I glance at my phone and know I have limited time to talk to him before his parents arrive, so I turn in my chair, hoping to convince him of my idea. They’re always late, so I should have enough time. “Will?”

“Uh-huh.” He never looks up from the menu.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” He continues to look over the menu as if it’s not a given what he’ll order. The man gets steak every damn time.

“Can you look at me?”

I get rewarded with his bored look, but he puts down the menu and faces me, taking my hand and running his thumb over my knuckles. “What is it?”

I’m sure he thinks it’s something mundane, like I can’t get this guest, or Blake did this today, but maybe that’s better. “The venue information for our wedding was released again.”

He nods, lips pressing together. “I think my dad’s leaking it.”

“Why?”

“Because he wants the attention. He always says the more press, the better. Good or bad, doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head. Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder whether I can live with my kids growing up in front of cameras. Judged for the schools I send them to or the outfits they’re wearing.

“Well, I don’t share that opinion and I think I’ve been clear about that from the beginning.”

Will stares at me long and hard as though he’s my dad and I just got caught sneaking out. “You agreed to marry me. I’m an Asbury. This is the way it is.” He shrugs.

I take his hand and entwine our fingers. He studies our fingers weaving together. “I have a suggestion.”

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