Page 34 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

My phone has been buzzing almost nonstop since I helped get Amelia’s bags out of the car. Maybe the guys are calling now that the texts are muted.

As I reach the ground level, I finally pull out my phone. It’s Coach.

I pause, lingering on the sidewalk and watching the front doors of the airport slide open and closed as people move in and out. “Coach,” I say.

“Van de Kamp,” he says. “Is Milly around?”

“Not at the moment. We’re at the airport. You want to talk with her?”

“That’s not why I called. Look—I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“I’ve had a black eye before. I’ll live.”

“No,” he says. “I mean, for assuming you had something to do with that mess. That was wrong of me.”

My throat suddenly feels tight. I tug at the open collar of my shirt. “Ah, thanks.”

“After everything you did today, I hate asking one more thing.”

I start to move again, weaving through idling cars at the dropoff area in front of the airport. I scan the big windows inside, finally relaxing a little when I catch sight of Amelia waiting in a long line at the counter.

“Morgan says Milly’s going on their honeymoon alone.” He almost growls the wordtheir, and I try to picture him throwing a chair through a church window. “She said she asked you to go with Milly.”

I wait for a series of threats.

“I want you to go with her.”

I slow to a stop just outside the automatic doors, which get confused and whoosh open. Then halfway close. Then open again as I drag a hand through my hair.

He’s asking me to do what I was already planning to do, so I’m not sure why the request gives me pause. It should feel like a free pass. A stamp of approval.

Weirdly, it feels like as much of a trap as it did when Amelia asked.

If I tell him I was already planning to go, will he forget his apology and assume the worst again?

And if I don’t tell him, is it bad to let him think it’s his idea?

I guess so long as Amelia doesn’t think that’s why, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t want her to assume I’m here because of her dad.

“Uh, you want me to go with her?” I ask, then add, “Sir.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Coach says. “I’ll reimburse you and?—”

“No need. I wouldn’t feel right about taking your money.”

That would be way too much like Coach paying me to go with Amelia.

“Obviously, I’ll expect you to stay in your own room, and if I hear so much as a rumor of you touching?—”

“No touching. My own room.”

“Thank you,” he says, relief palpable through the phone. “I can’t tell you enough how much this means. I hope you know if I had anyone else to call, I would.”

I shake my head. Andthereit is. Just when I think I’m making a tiny smidge of forward progress, he reminds me that I’m still his least favorite.

“And Van? I’m trusting you with my girl. You understand?”

I do. And I hear the unspoken threat in his voice. “Understood, sir.”

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