Page 84 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

I wouldn’t care if Drew was making out with Becky right in front of me.

I don’t care about Drew.

“We leave tomorrow,” I say, after our waitress has cleared the dinner plates and we’ve ordered dessert.

Van’s lips twitch, a slight downward turn he corrects almost immediately. “We do.”

The words I want to say swirl in my head, a string of sentences and questions twisting into a tangled snarl.

“I …” Words gather at the tip of my tongue, then dissipate like fog.

Be brave, I tell myself.Ask for what you want. Tell him.

Why is honesty so hard?

And what, exactly, do I want? I think of Morgan’s warning about rebounds.

Is that all this is? I force myself to think about this again. Though I have. Daily. Maybe hourly. At the least, I’ve thought about it every time Van looks at me with the intensity in his eyes right now.

No. Iknowit’s more, almost on a seismic level, as though plates are shifting beneath my skin. Reshaping. Changing my landscape.

The timing might make this suspicious or even ridiculous, and maybe I couldn’t find a way to articulate to Morgan or my father or anyone else how this is different, but it is.

But there is the tiniest sliver of doubt, making me wonder if the intensity of my feelings is brought on by a mania I’m in denial about. I haven’t felt like myself for lots of reasons this week. And Van and I have been inside of a bubble, a setting that isn’t real life for either of us.

It would be like growing some kind of plant inside of a covered terrarium. Who’s to say transplanting it outside would make it thrive?

I glide a fingertip through the condensation on my glass, watching beads of water form then fall slowly down the side like crystal tears. “I didn’t need to face Drew,” I say finally. Not the words I want. But a start.

Van lifts his drink, like he needs a pause before responding. I watch through my periphery as his throat bobs with each swallow.

“No?” he asks finally, one side of his lips quirked up in a smile.

I shake my head, holding his gaze. “I’m sure there will be more to process about the whole situation, but I don’t have feelings forhim.”

Van’s eyes spark at my emphasis on the word him.

“But I do have a lot of feelings,” I whisper, the very vague confession tearing out of me like it’s the most specific and unforgivable sin ever.

“You’re not the only one,” Van says, and the way he’s looking at me makes me see spots, as though I’m staring directly into the sun.

I blink, and he comes back into focus, just as bright as before. My heart feels like it’s quivering in my chest, overloaded with adrenaline or endorphins or something else. Something I can’t name.

Van hums, hand tightening around my waist as he ducks his mouth close to my ear. I close my eyes.

“What do you want, Mills?”

The directness of his question should make it easier. He’s opened the door and invited me in. I just need to walk through.

Somehow, the opening has the opposite effect, and I find my wants—and more, my words—paralyzed. Lodged in my throat.

I want to tell Van the truth—that I’m having very real feelings for him. Not new feelings either. A reprise of what I felt the very first night we met. Like the hope and the excitement and the rush of being around him simply paused all those months until it had a chance to breathe again.

Feelings that have nothing to do with Drew or my canceled wedding, and having everything to do with Van. Who he is. How he makes me feel.

And how I want to do the same for him. How I suspect from the things he’s told me here and there, that people expect toolittle from him, and he lets them. That no one except maybe his sisters support him the way he’s supported me this week.

But maybe I need more time. Big things aren’t always easy for me to process in the moment.

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