Page 33 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Nothing to see here, I tell myself.Nothing tothink about. Nope. Nothing at all. Block it from memory.

I tuck the undergarments between the shirt and skirt, then hand them through Amelia’s open window without making eye contact. Then, I wait, leaning against the bumper and ignoring the way the car bounces as Amelia must be wiggling in and out of her dress.

I imagine Coach standing a few feet away, glaring at me. It helps.

After a few minutes, Amelia emerges from the car, saying “Ta-da!”

She’s dressed in a flowery skirt that brushes her knees and a soft t-shirt, her hair fully loose around her shoulders, a darker gold glow in the dim lights of the parking deck. She looks great. I swallow.

“What about the dress?” I ask.

She wrinkles her nose. “Do you mind if I leave it in your car while I’m gone?”

“Nope. Let me know if you want me to burn it.”

“Not without me,” she says with a laugh, then she turns pensive. “I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but I have some ideas. Later. If you get tired of keeping it, you can always give it to my dad.”

I can only imagine the kinds of looks and comments I’d get from the team if I showed up at The Summit with her wedding dress. I’m already afraid to check my text thread.

“Thanks for everything, Van.”

With no warning, Amelia leans forward, giving me a tight hug. She smells like fresh, clean linen with a hint of lemon. I take the tiniest sniff, lowering my nose to her soft hair. The hug is so brief I don’t have time to hug her back before she lets go.

She clears her throat when I’m just standing there, blinking at her.

“My bags?” she says.

“Right.”

I pull the rolling bags from the car and then shove my hands in my suit pockets, where my phone starts to buzz.

“Thanks again,” she says. “I’ll, um, see you around?”

Unlikely. I don’t know when or if our paths will cross again. Despite living in the same town and having her dad in common, we’ve only met twice.

The thought makes me sad, and I remind myself I barely know her. Somehow, this situation has left me feeling a falsesense of connection. Like a trauma bond, but a little lighter. Alighttrauma bond. I’m sure it will fade.

“Take care of yourself, Mills,” I tell her. “And remember—if you need help with revenge …”

“You’re my guy.”

I like the way those words sound on her lips. More than I have a right to.

She looks like she wants to say something else, then turns and walks away, head held high and bags rolling behind her. I wait by the back of my SUV until she’s safely on the elevator in the corner of the parking deck, giving me what looks like a forced smile as the doors slide closed.

I feel sadder than I have any reason to be when Amelia’s out of sight.

And as I climb into my SUV, feeling my phone buzzing again in my pocket, I’m struck by an unease I can’t shake.

It feels wrong to leave Amelia alone right now, after everything. I think of the offer to go with her, my pulse quickening at the thought. Then I remind myself of all the reasons it’s a bad idea.

But … it’s also a bad idea to let her go alone.

Maybe an evenworseidea.

I mean, if I go, it’s not like I’m going todoanything. Amelia’s attractive, yeah, but it would be a friend thing. She’s certainly not looking for something right now, and I’ve been on a dating hiatus for a while. It won’t be an issue.

I’m not sure if I believe my own words, but either way, I find myself jogging across the parking deck and pounding down the stairs. I need to find her. There’s just no way I’m letting Mills spend a honeymoon alone.

---