“Where are we going?”
“I—” Stalling, mid pull, Millie looks past me. Sees what I see—the Hawthorne, shrinking in the distance. Realizing that I thought that’s where we were headed, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I forgot to…” Cheeks pink with embarrassment, she swivels in her seat and raises her hand to knock on the glass partition separating us from the driver. “I’ll ask him to pull over so you can?—”
Catching her wrist, I hold it steady before she can signal the driver to stop. “Where are we going?”
Gaze narrowing slightly at my tone, Millie gives her wrist a quick tug, trying to pull herself from my grasp. When I don’t let go, the color on her cheeks deepens from pink to red. “I’mgoing on my honeymoon,” she bites back on another tug. “Alone.”
“SoIget to stay here and deal with the fallout of your little revenge fantasy while you get to fuck off to some tropical island somewhere.” Letting go of her wrist, I give her another shitty laugh while I slouch back in my seat. “Yeah… I don’t think so.”
“What are you saying?” Millie stares at me, brow crumpled like she has no idea what I just said to her. “You want to go with me?” She shakes her head like it’s the craziest thing she’s ever heard. “On myhoneymoon?”
“Wantis a strong word, Melisandre,” I say, calling her by the name her father used on her, right before we ran. “But I’ll tell you what Idon’twant—I don’t want to stay here and clean up your mess while you eat room service and work on your tan.”
Dropping her hand away from the partition, she stares at me like I just slapped her in the face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I just blew up mywhole fucking lifeto help you play runaway bride, Princess—” I flip my hand at the discarded pile of satin and handmade lace laying on the floor between us. “the least you can do is buy me a few umbrella drinks.”
NINETEEN
The last few hours have been a complete andutter blur. Instead of arguing with Dean or maybe asking the driver to pull over and forcibly remove him from the car, I conceded.
Because he’s right.
None of this is his fault.
I’m the one who involved him.
I’m the one who was impulsive enough to ask him to come with me because Paige and Allister were watching and I wanted to deliver one finalfuck youto them both.
He was right about that too.
Dean Mercer may be an arrogant, conceited asshole but I dragged him into this mess. Leaving him alone to deal with itwhile I run off to lick my wounds in some tropical paradise wouldn’t just be cruel—it would be cowardly.
And as I’ve recently discovered, I’m no coward.
When we pull up to the private airstrip, Dean sees the plane waiting on the tarmac and makes a nasty sound in the back of his throat. He shed his suit jacket a while ago. Rescuing his phone and wallet from its breast pocket, he threw it onto the pile of discarded satin and lace of my wedding dress like he was glad to be rid of it.
“Go ahead,” I say, jerking the zipper closed on my bag while my phone buzzes in its side pocket. “Make fun of me for running away from all my problems on a private jet.” It’s been making noise since we left the church—an endless barrage of calls and texts. My father. My mother. Gwen. Allister.
I’ve ignored them all.
Dean looks at me and shakes his head while the limo rolls to a stop within yards of the waiting plane. “Well, now I don’t want to.” Throwing his door open, he steps onto the tarmac, leaving me little choice but to follow.
Gathering my bag, I’m not even to the stairs before he’s already up them and disappeared into the belly of the plane. Scrambling up the steps, I’m greeted by Tonya, one of our stewardesses. “Ms. Blackwell,” she says, taking my overnight bag with a relieved smile, before shooting a quick look in Dean’s direction. He’s perusing the small buffet of cold lobster and champagne set up next to the wet bar while he pretends not to eavesdrop. “The pilot received word from your father—he gave me a message to give you—you’re not going anywhere until you answer my phone calls.”
Shit.
I left a letter for my parents with Alice, explaining everything that’s happened and everything I’ve learned over the last forty-eight hours, along with instructions to give it to them assoon as I was gone. I’d hoped the letter would be enough to satisfy them, at least until I could get out of New York.
I’d hoped wrong.
Giving her a numb nod, I brush past Dean on my way to the small, private bedroom at the back of the plane. Letting myself in, I close the door behind me. Sagging against it, I let my eyes slip closed for a second. From behind it, I hear the sharp, distinct pop of a champagne cork.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I do as I’m told. Making my way to the neatly made bed, I sit on its edge and call my father.
“Millie?”
“Hi, Dad.” It’s a stupid thing to say after what I just did but leading with an apology seems equally ridiculous.
