Finally, she sighs and steps aside."Five minutes.Then you're back in the bridal suite.You're already late."
"Okay."I flash a tight smile and continue toward the door, every step carrying me closer to the fresh air and freedom beyond.
The moment I push through the heavy door, the damp air of the French Quarter hits me like a slap to the face.It smells of rain-soaked concrete mingled with the ever-present tang of the river and the rich aroma of Creole cooking from nearby restaurants.I breathe it in greedily, my lungs aching with relief.
This is the air I grew up breathing, thick with the complex scents of a city that's seen everything and survived it all.
Don't do it, girl,I think to myself.Don't be stupid.
But I don't stop.I literally can't breathe in that church anymore.
I tighten the laces of my sneakers, then hitch up my dress and make a break for it.My rubber-soled feet slap against the wet pavement, the sound sharp and rhythmic as I put distance between myself and the church.The cool sensation is a sharp contrast to the heat prickling my skin from nerves and exertion.
I don't have a plan beyond getting away from that altar.All I know is that I can't marry Gabriel LaRoche, no matter how much he claims we need to do this to "survive."Survival is staying alive, but what I want—what I need—is something more than mere existence.I want to live, to choose, to be more than just a pawn in my father's games.
The streets blur as I dart through the familiar maze of the French Quarter, weaving between wrought-iron gates and weeping willow trees that droop with Spanish moss.The sidewalks are wet from an earlier shower, and my sneakers grip the pavement well as I navigate the narrow streets I once knew like the back of my hand.
I keep moving, ignoring the way the dress drags against the ground or the way my heart pounds like a war drum in my chest.Tourists and locals alike turn to stare at the bride running through the streets in sneakers, but I don't care about their curious looks or whispered comments.
I reach Royal Street and duck into a narrow passageway behind a café, my breath coming in short gasps.The chatter of tourists and street performers filters through the air, blending with the faint hum of jazz from a nearby bar and the distant sound of a steamboat on the river.For a moment, I think I've made it—that I've actually managed to escape.
Then a little girl points at me and tells her mother in a voice that carries, "Look at that pretty bride running, Mommy."
The innocent observation makes my heart sink.I'm not exactly blending in.
Then I hear the low rumble of a familiar voice behind me, and my blood turns to ice.
"Going somewhere, Josephine?"
My breath catches, and I whirl around to find Gabriel stepping out of the shadows like some kind of dark angel.He's discarded his jacket and loosened his tie, his white shirt slightly damp with perspiration from the humidity.His dark eyes glint under the flickering streetlight, his expression a mixture of amusement and something sharper, more dangerous.
Damn, he’s fine.
"How did you?—"
"Find you?"He steps closer, his voice low and calm despite the circumstances."You really think you can disappear in this city without me knowing where you are?You're home now, Josephine, and you're my responsibility.There's nowhere you can go that I can't follow."
The casual possessiveness in his words makes me back away until I hit the brick wall behind me."Stay out of my way, LaRoche.This isn't your fight."
He laughs, but there's no humor in it—just a bitter recognition of how trapped we both are."It became my fight the moment your father decided my survival depended on tying myself to you."
"That's not my problem."
"It is now."
Gabriel closes the distance between us, his domineering presence overwhelming like the heat of a Louisiana summer pressing down on me without mercy.The alley suddenly feels much smaller, more intimate, charged with tension that has nothing to do with our escape and everything to do with the history between us.
"What's your deal, dude?You helped me hide from him for years, and now you actually want to go through with this bullshit wedding?"
"Things change."
"Things change?"The inadequacy of his answer makes me want to scream."That's it?That's your explanation for why you're suddenly willing to be my father's puppet?"
Gabriel's jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he might actually give me a real answer.But then his expression smooths out, becomes unreadable again—the mask he wears when he doesn't want people to see what he's really thinking.
"You want out, I get it.But I think we've both learned now that running doesn't solve anything.It just makes you an easier target."
"Don't you dare pretend you care about me being a target," I snap, my voice trembling with anger and something that might be hurt.
