Page 100 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

There is a beat of silence. Then Parker blurts out, “They just took a trip together.”

Summer startles, glancing between a now-frozen Van and an even more frozen me.

Parker spins to face me and then words start falling out of her mouth like she’s a malfunctioning vending machine.

“I’msosorry. I’m not even supposed to know. Your dad slipped up and mentioned it and said not to say anything to anyone but especially not to say anything to you. I was doing so well not talking about that or the wedding or anything wedding-adjacent”—her eyes are now comically, anime wide— “and oh, shoot, now I’ve saidweddingtwice—threetimes!!!—and I should totally just shut up before I talk about how the trip was supposed to be your honeymoon?—”

“Parker.” Summer’s firm voice, probably her courtroom lawyer voice, has the power to stop the broken dam of words rushing out of Parker’s mouth. “Stop talking.”

“Sorry,” Parker squeaks, slapping a hand over her mouth but continuing to talk around it. “I’m done. I swear. I’m so sorry.”

For the briefest moment, my eyes meet Van’s. Regret is a rusty anchor sinking down and down and down in my stomach.

“It’s fine,” I manage.

“Is it?” Van asks, cocking his head and looking at me with a look that’s almost lazy and definitely infuriating. Because he knows it’s absolutelynotfine.

Now both Parker and Summer are staring at the two of us. Parker still with wide eyes. Summer with narrowed ones.

“The real question,” Summer says, and I just know this is about to go somewhere I don’t want it to go, “is how did you survive a trip with the guy who wants to trademark his face?”

“It took a lot of mental fortitude,” I say dryly, hazarding another glance his way.

Van’s eyes spark with something. Challenge, maybe? It makes me sit up straighter in my seat, something in me shifting awake like a lazy lion suddenly deciding it’s no longer nap time but meal time.

“Itishard to resist this face.” He makes a lazy circle around his head with one hand.

“Yet somehow I managed,” I say.

There’s the tiniest lift to one side of his mouth. “Did you, though?”

I lift a shoulder. “Looks that way.”

“You know what they say about looks being deceiving.”

“Does that also apply toyourlooks?”

He smirks, and I wish it didn’t have an almost seismic impact on me. “Aw, did you just call me handsome?”

“Definitely not.”

“Are you sure? Because I think a compliment was buried in there somewhere.”

“Keep digging. Maybe you’ll find it.”

Van flexes. “These arms were made for digging.”

“Digging yourself into a hole?” I suggest sweetly. “What I meant was about your looks beingdeceiving.”

“Guess you’d know about that, huh?”

“Nope,” I add, with sickening sweetness. “I don’t know the first thing about lying right to someone’s face.”

His neatly shaven jaw hardens at this, and I swear I hear the sound of his teeth grinding.

I won this round of verbal sparring. So … where’s the sense of celebration?

“Time out. The two of you”—Summer leans forward in her chair, dramatically swiveling her head between the two of us— “spentdaystogether?”

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