Right? People only did that in the movies. Besides, she couldn’t do that to David.
Run.
The past two years with David had taught her to sift through her rioting emotions and connect with the core of rationality that hid in every person’s center. Her fiancé despised messiness, impulse, and decisions based on emotion. He cited death and destruction time and again, until she’d finally managed to quiet that crazy voice that had once sung in freedom, slightly off-key but always joyous. Gen figured she’d beaten it back so hard, in fear and determination, that she’d never hear from it again. But of course, with her lousy luck, it had taken this moment of all moments to reassert its independence and general brattiness.
Run before it’s too late.
Her brain spun in a mad rush. Not much time left. Once her family came in, it was over. They’d calm her down, term it bridal jitters, and escort her down the aisle. She’d marry David. And she’d never be the same again.
Which would be good, right? She wanted marriage. Forever. Commitment. With David.
Gen looked behind at the closed door. The action she took in the next few seconds would set her on a course that would change the rest of her life. She didn’t have time to go over the checks and balances, advantages and disadvantages, and make a neat statistical chart. Instead, she dug deep into her gut that had served her well when faced with a child bleeding on her table: life-and-death decisions that even David couldn’t make her stop because it made up the center of her soul. A future surgeon. A woman. A survivor.
Run.
Gen didn’t waste another moment.
Breathing hard, heart pounding, she shoved the crank around and around until it wouldn’t budge another inch. The window gaped halfway open. The judging eyes of baby Jesus beamed down at her. She could do this. For the first time it paid to be Hobbit size. Gen stuck her upper body through the window, leaned forward, and wriggled her way to freedom.
Two
WOLFE LIT UP the cigarette and looked around guiltily. Damn, this one vice killed him every time. Sawyer would get pissed, and Julietta would do that disappointed stare thing she nailed so well. But they were still in Italy, miles away, and would never know. They might not be his legal stepparents, but they’d saved him, given him a new life, and he loved them like they were his own blood. Just one cigarette and he’d throw away the rest of the pack.
The smoke hit his lungs and immediately calmed his nerves. No one would catch him anyway; the ceremony was about to start. He should be up front and center with the rest of Gen’s family, with a big grin on his face as he watched his best friend commit herself to an asshole. And he would. In a few minutes. Right now, he wanted a beat of silence and a smoke before he had to fake his way through the rest of the evening and pretend he was ecstatic.
Guilt nipped at him. He was such a jerk. After all, David Riscetti was perfect for Gen, and just about worthy enough to marry her. Wasn’t the guy’s fault Wolfe couldn’t get rid of that nagging instinct something was off. Wolfe used to catch him looking at Gen with such possessive pride, like he was appraising a racehorse rather than a capable, independent woman. And the way he ordered her around pissed him off, too. But Gen never said she didn’t like it, and only had nice things to say about him. Hell, she loved him enough to get hitched, so who was he to judge? Wolfe knew nothing about relationships.
If he delved deep and played therapist, he was probably irritated Gen had replaced him. For almost five years, they’d hung out together at bars, watched movies, and did general best-friend stuff. There wasn’t a woman in the world who didn’t want money, favors, or sex from him. Except Gen. Hell, the moment they’d met something clicked between them. She was as genuine and real as Julietta and the rest of the women in his adopted family. They had just liked each other from the get-go, and when the hell does that ever happen?
Of course, David frowned upon their relationship from day one, and over the past year, Gen made more excuses not to see him in order to soothe her fiancé.
Whatever. He needed to get over it.
Wolfe held back a whiny sigh. The church bells rang once. Twice. The limos were parked at the curb, and a few reporters lingered on the steps. Guess the surgeon was a big shot in the news, because no one else pulled in such a crowd. He moved backward a few feet, not in the mood to meet and greet any latecomers. The crooked pavement and shaded archways shielded him from any prying observers. He enjoyed the last of his cigarette, pulled at the confines of his tuxedo, and tried not to scrape the polished sole of his dress shoes. Even after working in the corporate and modeling worlds, he always craved his workout clothes and still felt like he was an intruder in his own body in suits. Or designer underwear that cost more than someone’s yearly salary. Who would’ve thought? Scrambling for food and shelter one day. At the top of Fortune’s up-and-coming millionaires the next, all at twenty-fucking-six years old.
He beat back the nasty thoughts that threatened to swamp him and got his head back in the game. It was Gen’s wedding day and he needed to be there for her. Not smoking like a chump and playing self-pity games. Wolfe crushed the butt under his heel, adjusted his cuffs, and turned.
“Holy shit.”
He stared in shock at the sight before him.
The bride lay in a tangle of limbs, sprawled out on the pavement. The white cloud of lace and dozens of pearly jewels floated around her in a swarm of glory. His heart stopped, stuttered, and kicked back into gear. Jesus, she was gorgeous. Gen had always been an attractive female by all standards, but now she looked as delicate as a doll perched on a wedding cake. She must’ve ripped off her veil because her elaborate twist hairdo lay drunkenly to the side with pins sticking out. The humidity kicked her curls into gear, and already they were springing wild, refusing to be tamed. Snapping blue eyes glared at him, framed in black liner and some sparkly shadow. She never wore makeup. But today, those stunning navy eyes dominated her heart-shaped face with a sultry, sexy air he rarely spotted in her. Four-inch diamond-encrusted stiletto heels stuck out from her balloon hoop gown. Wolfe caught the flash of white lace garters and curved, muscled legs before she flipped the skirt back down and huffed out a breath. “Are you smoking on my damn wedding day? You told me you quit. Julietta’s going to kill you.”