Page 138 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

The word annulment seems to bounce around the room between us like a slow-moving screen saver.

His jaw flexes, and he glances away, then back at me as he says, “No.”

Relief practically makes my bones shiver. Or is that fear? Maybe a little bit of both.

Van takes one step forward. Then another, until he’s standing right in front of where I’m still perched on the edge of his bed. He towers over me.

“I don’t want an annulment or a dissolution or a divorce,” he says, and I have to crane my neck to stare into his inky dark eyes. “I want more than the one night I had with you. I want all your days too. I want to come home knowing you’ll be here. I want to look up from the ice and see you there, wearing my jersey, shouting my name.”

Van lifts his hand and slowly, tenderly cups my face, his thumb lightly brushing over my cheek. “I want to watch you find out what a life without following the rules looks like. Or, maybe—to find out which rules are worth following and which ones are worth breaking. Onyourterms. I want to be the one cheering for you and your dreams, wearingyourjersey. Figuratively speaking.”

He smirks, then his expression slides into serious again. I think my heart is lodged permanently somewhere in my throat as he bends. His other hand flattens on the bed, fingers splayed next to my hip. He presses his forehead to mine.

“I want it all, Mills,” he says. “I wantyou. But only if this is what you want too. Only ifI’mwhat you want. I have no idea what I’m doing,” he confesses, and the vulnerability in his voice makes me curl my fingers into my palms.

I want to wrap my arms around his waist, to press my ear to his chest and hear the sound of his heart. But I stay still like thelittle coward I am, breathing him in, focusing on the featherlight brush of his thumb on my cheek.

“And if this isn’t what you want—” He pauses, and I close my eyes. “If I’m not what you want, then yeah. Let’s talk to Summer.”

There is a deep, thrumming ache in my chest. My thoughts whir, stopping and starting like a printer with a paper jam.

I want yougets caught in my throat, swallowed up by a yawning panic.

I could kiss him instead, leaning forward barely an inch to press my lips to his. The instinct is a thousand acre forest fire, urging me to kiss him. To show him what I can’t seem to say.

The thing is … I don’t know which instincts of mine to trust anymore. I’m beginning to think my wiring is faulty. Do I need to be reset? Or maybe reprogrammed all together?

I open my mouth—to say what, exactly, I’m not sure—but there’s a bang on the door. And with the smallest kiss ghosted over my cheek, Van steps away.

“Your water as requested, sir,” a voice says in a terrible British accent.

Van opens the door a crack and a hand thrusts a water bottle through. As soon as he takes it, the hand disappears, yanking the door closed.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Grey singsongs.

Van pinches the bridge of his nose, clutching the water bottle in his other hand so hard I can hear its plastic groan. “Greyson Kimberly.”

Her laughter echoes in the hallway, moving away from us. After a moment, Van sighs heavily, opens his eyes, and holds out the water bottle. “Here.”

I stare at it a little too long, feeling a sad sort of desperation. When our fingers brush, I almost burst into flames.

“Thanks.” I wish my voice were more than a rough whisper, but the day has been long and my emotional cup overfloweth.

Van steps closer to the door, glancing at me, then away. “If you need anything …” He blinks a few times, like his eyelids are hitting a reset button. “Just let me know,” he finishes, then leaves the room.

And as I fall asleep hours later when my brain finally shuts off, it’s with Van’s warm, masculine scent wrapping around me.

CHAPTER 28

Ameila

“Why are you whispering?”Parker whispers into the phone too, like the need to speak quietly is a virus I’ve passed on.

“It’s a long story,” I whisper back, not wanting to admit that I’m staying with Van and his sisters might be listening outside his bedroom door again. “But you’resureI can work from home and don’t need to come in?”

Home is a general term. I’m not lying, exactly, even if I’m not at the house where my current bedroom is. Whatishome, anyway?

Would a home by any other name smell as sweet?

---