His Runaway Bride. Liz Fielding
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she loved him? That she loved him but she couldn’t marry him? Better to say nothing…
‘Leave it to me, sweetheart.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Drop me off at the corner, driver, and then take my daughter home.’ He got out, held the door for a moment. ‘Willow, about your mother… Maybe it would be a good idea to disappear for a few days.’
Was that why he was doing it? Going through with the wedding? Taking on the Chronicle? Not to disappoint his father nor the Josies of this world? One life, Cal had said. He had one shot at getting it right. He didn’t have time to waste it living other people’s dreams.
And Willow? What about Willow? Mike loved her. She was the best thing that had happened to him in years, but she wanted a career. He wasn’t stupid. She’d been aching for him to say she should take that job at the Globe.
He’d seen it and part of him had wanted to say, go for it, don’t waste a minute of your life. But there was another, darker side that was all screwed up, that reminded him that she was the one who’d insisted on marriage. Well, she’d got it. She couldn’t have it all.
What kind of start was that? How soon before they’d both be wishing they were somewhere else?
Out of sight someone was playing the organ, quiet incidental music, a counterpoint to the quiet rustling as the wedding guests took their places, exotic hats surreptitiously angled as women glanced sideways at him, tipping close as they whispered to each other.
The sun was shining in through the stained glass, spattering the marble steps with red and blue and gold. But he felt cold and the scent of flowers in the vast arrangements either side of the aisle was making him feel slightly nauseous.
How much longer? He glanced at his watch. Willow was late. Last minute nerves? Suppose she didn’t turn up? How would he feel? Devastated or just relieved?
‘Don’t look so worried, Mike, I haven’t lost the rings.’
Relieved.
‘Cal, what would you say if I told you I don’t want to do this?’
Cal looked at him as if he was about to say something flippant, then he frowned. ‘Is that a serious question?’ His face must have been answer enough, because he said, ‘For the last week you’ve looked like a man on the way to the gallows. I thought it was the Chronicle—’
‘It was. That and Josie’s juicer.’
‘What has a juicer got to do with it?’ Cal waited, but when no further explanation was forthcoming he took in a deep breath. ‘You’d better make up your mind what you want, Mike. The minute Willow steps foot in this church you’re committed.’
‘I’m already committed. I can’t—’
‘For heaven’s sake, if you’ve got real doubts you must get out of here. Now.’
‘Tell her…’ What? What could he possibly say? That he loved her but that this life was not the one he’d ever wanted to live? ‘Tell her father that I’ll pay for all this…’
‘Sure. Now go. I’ve got things to do.’
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