Page 62 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Another, longer pause. “You think you feel something real, Milly?” she asks. Carefully, like I’m a hardboiled egg she’s trying to peel in one go. “Already? I’m not trying to be rude. It’s just … you were supposed to get married yesterday.”

“Iknow.”

“I mean, I’m all for you taking some risks. Blowing off some steam. You deserve to have a few days of a sort of fantasy life.”

Sure. All that sounds good. Only, I don’t agree that this is just a fantasy or blowing off steam. Is it?

“But I would be a bad friend if I didn’t tell you it sounds totally out of character for you to fall hard for someone right after your engagement and wedding fell apart. I mean, this isn’t you. It sounds like maybe denial or transference or something.”

“It’s not so ridiculous,” I say, sounding more defensive than I feel. What I actually feel is hurt. Deeply wounded. And afraid of what truth might be in her words. I touch Mom’s ring and take a slow breath before I continue. “I told you the night I met him how different it was. I talked about him for weeks. Wondered why he left and what could have been. Remember?”

“Oh, I remember. You were a mess. Then Drew happened. He was basically a rebound for a relationship that never even happened. Listen, I’m not saying your feelings for Van aren’t real.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m saying they might not be. And I don’t know how you’ll actually know in the span of a few days on vacation with him. Which is why I think you should be very careful,” Morgan says, shocking me.

I would have assumed the wild child to my rule-following people-pleasing self would tell me to let loose and go for it.

Her warning is not what I want to hear. And like Van said, I get to make the rules here.

“But when you suggested I come here, you said I should have a good time.”

“Right. But you’re talking aboutmorethan a good time. If you think that there’s something real here, potential for more with Van, then you don’t want to act on it. Not now.”

“Why not?” I know I sound stubborn. Borderline whiny. Because my best friend is telling me I can look at a cake, but I can’t have it and I certainly can’t eat it too.

No cake. No eating.

Nofair.

“Because you’ve been through something huge, Milly. You’re probably still processing. Or in denial. Right now, you’re probably not feeling like yourself.”

She’s right about that. But it’s not a bad thing. I feel free. Hopeful. Curious and actually excited to see what comes next. Relieved I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life. I feel itchy to write. Brave, like maybe instead of looking for another boring office job dictated by my degree, I’ll look for something to do with what I actually love instead.

I worried that waking up today would be a shock. That I’d crack open my eyes, remember the whole horrible ordeal with Drew, and collapse.

Instead, I woke up and saw Van, sprawled out on the couch. I smiled. Remembered the day we had. How he cared enough to force Drew to confess. Cared enough to be my getaway driver and then my travel companion. He made me smile. Even laugh. He wiped tears from my cheeks in a bathroom stall.

Who does that?

The kind of guy youkeep. That’s who.

Now Morgan is saying to ignore that. She’s telling me not to act on the things I feel just because of what I’ve gone through in the last day.

Okay. Fine. Itisvery logical. I see where she’s coming from. It’s good advice. Best friend advice.

Normally, it’s the adviceIwould be givingher.

But I don’t want to hear it. I certainly don’t want to take it.

The sound of a door closing has me turning around again, peering through the glass.

What Iwantis the man who glances everywhere until he sees me on the balcony. A man whose whole body relaxes when his eyes find mine. A man whose sweat-soaked shirt sticks to his body like a second skin. Whose dark hair is a mess. Whose smile sends my insides veering off a cliff and into a freefall.

“Milly?” Morgan says.

I’m still watching Van, who points toward the bathroom, lifting his brows in question. When I nod, he grins, then peels off his shirt, leaving it on the floor as he walks into the bathroom. Okay—a little gross. But the man has to have some flaws. The last thing I see is his smooth, muscular back, the ink of his dragon’s tail curling over his ribs.

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