Page 15 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

Chapter Eight

NOELLE

December 21

Los Angeles, California

“I thought you changed your mind.”

Steve laughs as he takes my arm and pulls me over to the head table. I inhale deeply. I wonder if he’s starting to sense it, too. For months, I’ve thought that Steve’s changing. He keeps telling me that it’s just the stress of college ending, but it seems like something more. I’ve done a decent job of ignoring it, but now, at the last minute, it feels like there’s a warning siren going off in my head.

He pulls out my chair and kisses me. That’s about the end of our interaction for the next hour. We barely say anything to each other during the entire dinner. Between chatting with our wedding party and people stopping by the table to congratulate us, there’s not a lot of couple time. The siren’s getting louder. It’s almost deafening now.

Someone taps the microphone. I look over to see Trip standing at the head of the room. Every eye in the room is locked on him before he even says a word. In addition to being very rich, he’s outrageously good-looking. His thick, black hair is tinged with just the right amount of gray. Somehow he styles it so it looks magically wind-blown—one small curl always escaping the carefully managed waves. He has pale blue eyes that jump out of his olive skin. He’s Irish on his dad’s side, Greek on his mom’s side. He’s a stunning genetic combination of the two.

So far, I haven’t really listened to one toast—not even from my maid of honor—but Trip’s pulling me in as usual. He has an extraordinary ability to command a room—the small pauses to increase anticipation, the earnest eye contact with every person in the room, the hypnotically deep, calm voice. He’s talking about family and loyalty and love. Even though I know he’s full of it, I’m still completely engrossed until he drops an unexpected bomb.

“ . . . and that’s why we’re so excited that Steve and Noelle will be moving to Dallas right after their honeymoon.”

Trip looks at us—his dazzling smile lighting up the room. Everyone claps including Steve. He’s smiling back at his dad. I’m not sure what my face is doing, but it’s definitely not smiling.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Steve says through clenched teeth. He doesn’t take his eyes off his dad.

“Talk about what?” I whisper.

My face must be giving away my shock because Steve suddenly kisses me and then pulls me into a hug. There’s more loud clapping and a few cat whistles from his groomsmen.

“Dad wants us to move to Dallas,” he says into my ear as he holds me to him in a death grip. “I told him we’d think about it. Please don’t cause a scene. We’ll talk about it after dinner.”

He lets go of my neck and kisses me softly one more time.

“To the happy couple!” I look back at Trip who’s holding his champagne flute to the crowd. Everyone raises their glasses in unison, “The happy couple!” they exclaim—their eyes still fixed on Trip like he’s the last ray of sunshine sinking below the horizon at sunset.

Steve forces a glass into my hand and clinks his glass with mine. He looks back at his dad. I look out in the crowd. Everyone’s still looking at Trip except one person. Kit’s wide eyes are fixed right on me. She tilts her head slightly toward the door as she starts to walk that way.

“I’m going to the restroom,” I say to Steve. “And you’re damn right we’re going to talk about this. I’m not moving to Dallas.”

He grabs my hand and tries to pull me back, but he’s too late. I’m off the dais and headed toward the door. As I open it, Kit grabs my hand and pulls me into the kitchen.

“Dallas to L.A. is going to be a long commute every morning for class,” she says as she pushes me into a tiny space behind the wine racks.

“I’m not moving to Dallas.” I cover my face to muffle a scream.

“Did you tell Cary Grant? He seems to think you’re moving.”

I look up at her. “Oh my God. He does look like Cary Grant. Why did I never think of that?”

“That’s your biggest question right now?”

“It’s the only one my mind will let me process.” I lean against the wall so I won’t fall over. My body starts to shake.

Kit hugs me tightly. “Did Steve know?”

“Looks that way. He said we could talk about it after dinner.”

“Well, that’s big of him.” She strokes my hair like Grandma used to do when I was upset. Kit’s always reminded me of her. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I start breathing like I’m trying to deliver a baby—pant, pant, blow, pant, pant, blow. “I need to talk to Steve. Will you get him?”

---