Page 1 of The Retreat

ONE

Owen

Oliver hadn’t even been gone three days when my parents cornered me.

“It’s your duty to carry on the family name.” My mother stands with a glass of wine in her hand, looking down her nose like she had a bad taste in her mouth, but if she had to swallow this, so did I.

“I’m not Oliver. I’ll never be who you want me to be.”

“Listen, none of us wanted to be in this situation, but with Oliver’s marriage to Isaac, we don’t have a choice.” My father sits with his arms crossed like he was here under duress as well.

I shoot him a glance. “Then why are we in it?”

“We have an arrangement to uphold,” my father says through his teeth.

I lift a brow. “So get out of it if this isn’t what you want.”

“We can’t walk it back now. Too much depends on this alliance.”

The walls start closing in. I pull at my tie, unable to breathe. My lungs won’t inflate. They’re frozen in time, like I’m about to be married off to a fucking child.

My parents say something about having dinner with Cassie next week so we can ‘get to know each other better’. Bile rises in my throat.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m shoving past the butler and out of the door. Out onto the street on the quiet Upper East Side street. I hail a cab, knowing they won’t be able to trace it like they do our car service.

“Where to?” the cabbie asks.

Anywhere but here.

“LaGuardia,” I say without thinking. I’d never been on a commercial flight, but there is a first time for everything.

I walk up to the ticket counter and slap my card down on the counter. “Give me the next first-class ticket.”

“Where to?” the lady doesn’t even look at me.

“I don’t care. The next flight out.”

That gets her attention, and she looks up at me. “Running away?”

I hand her my ID. “I’m a legal adult, so it’s not running away.”

“We have a first-class seat to Las Vegas in an hour.” She picks up my ID.

I nod. “Book it.”

She leans my ID against her screen to type in my information while I glance around, feeling like I’m being followed. In two minutes flat, she hands me back my license and the ticket.

“Where do I go?” I ask.

“To security?” She looks at me like I’m a moron.

“I’ve never done this before. Where is that?”

“You’ve never been on a flight?” she asks, giving me a once-over.

“No, I’ve been on plenty of those. I’ve never been on a commercial flight.”

She narrows her eyes. “What?”

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