Page 51 of The Runaway Bride and the Billionaire

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You agreed to stay with Matteo for the first four months of your stay in New York. If you’re not going to keep to the deal, then you must come home immediately.”

I almost laughed at how much authority he thought he still had over me. I was twenty-seven years old, but he still gave me orders like I was nine. “I won’t be going back to Matteo’s house and I’m not coming back to California.”

When my father spoke again, his voice was louder. He was failing to keep his temper in check. “Amelia, you will go back to that penthouse.”

“I refuse to stay in the house of a man who doesn’t want me there. One who only tolerated my presence because of a business deal. He never wanted me in his home,” I said.

“Who cares whether he wanted you there or not?”

“I do!” Now, I was failing to keep my temper in check. I took a deep breath before I spoke again. “I care whether he wants me there because I love him.”

“You… love… him?” my father asked, his words drawn out like he was trying to make sense of them.

“Yes, I do. I always have. Even when you and Mom forced me to break up with him five years ago. I loved him then and I love him now.”

“What are you talking about?”

It was time to finally tell him the truth. My parents still had no idea that the man they were pushing me toward was the same man they’d pulled me away from a few years ago. My mother had all but thrown me at Matteo’s feet in her desperate attempt to make him into her son-in-law. Little did she know that she’d had that chance a few years ago and had been completely repulsed by the idea of Matteo being a part of our family.

“Do you remember the construction worker that you forced me to end things with five years ago? You and Mom said it was unheard of for a woman in my social class to be with a man like him. You said he wasn’t good enough and mom said she’d rather die than let me marry him.”

My father remained silent as I took him on this trip down memory lane. I could tell from the labored breathing that he was starting to put a few things together and he didn’t like where this was going.

“That man, the construction worker who wasn’t good enough. That man was Matteo Hayes.”

Silence descended in the wake of my revelation. I waited for my father to say something but he didn’t. At some point, I had to look at my phone to make sure he was still on the line. I’d expected him to be shocked, but I didn’t expect him to be speechless. My father was rarely short of words.

His voice when he spoke was barely audible. “Your mother and I are coming to New York.”

With that, the call ended. My anxiety over my parents coming here clouded the satisfaction I should have felt after telling them the truth. I wasn’t ready to face my parents, but I didn’t have a choice.

Their flight arrived at midday the following day. I went to my father’s private airstrip to receive them after the jet landed. It felt like my heart was in my mouth when I saw them get off the plane.

I didn’t want to take them to Lisa’s house so we drove to a hotel and booked a room. Inside the hotel room, I told my parents everything. Their shock morphed into embarrassment as I told them all about the man they’d rejected five years ago. The same man who they had sought out and begged to house me for four months. The man my mother had eyed as a potential son-in-law.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” my mother asked. The mortification she felt was palpable.

“I didn’t want to bring up the past. Matteo and I had both moved on… or so we thought,” I said.

“You should have told us anyway.” She was determined to blame me for her own failing. It wasn’t my fault but she’d rather make it that way than accept she did something wrong.

My father sighed loudly, interrupting the argument I was about to have with my mother. “This isn’t her fault,” he said.

I was surprised that he was defending me. I expected him to join my mother in the blame game. They never trusted me to make my own decisions but the consequences of the decisions they made for me were always my fault.

His words seemed to calm my mother down. She fell onto the chair in the corner, her gaze focused on the expansive view of the city. “We have to do something,” she said without turning to look at us.

“You’re right,” my father said with a nod. “We need to go see him and discuss the—”

I shook my head vehemently as I cut him off. “Absolutely not. No. You cannot go and see him. Please don’t.”

My mother finally turned her head at that. “But sweetie. We have to speak to him. It’s the only way to clear up this whole mess.”

“This whole mess is my life. I should be the only one who gets to make decisions about this.”

“That’s not how this works,” she said.

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