“Not the ones who matter.”
Her mind raced. Could she? Just disappear from the world a few more days, hitting the road in an endless twist of empty highways and the next adventure? Her soul leaped with joy. Yes, she may go to hell. Yes, she was the most horrible person on the planet. But she could do this, buy more time, get her head straight before diving into the mess. She’d call Kate and Alexa tonight and explain. To be anonymous and part of the world without worrying about being beautiful and charming and intelligent. Just to be.
Hope exploded. “You’re right,” she said, trembling with excitement. “Let’s do it. Just a few more days.”
He grinned. “That’s my girl.”
“I’ll call home when we get back to the cabin so no one panics.”
The waiter placed the bill down, leaned forward to collect the plates, and froze. His gaze roved over her features as if trying to commit them to memory. “You look so familiar. Do we know each other?”
She studied him with a frown. Light hair. Dark eyes. Beautiful olive skin. A bit younger than her, but Gen didn’t recognize him. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t think so.” Wolfe handed him a credit card, which he snapped into place inside the folder.
“Sorry, it’s the strangest thing, almost as if I saw you before. I apologize for the intrusion.”
“No need.” She smiled as he left to ring them up. Wolfe looked amused. “What?”
“Another admirer like the one at the track?”
She rolled her eyes. “Cut it out. Ed was sweet.”
“And after you big-time. You know what line his buddies were coaching him with.”
“What?”
“Quickest way over a woman is under the next one.”
She laughed. “Sounds like something Kennedy would say.”
The waiter glided back, set the bill down for Wolfe’s signature, and beamed. “Now I know! You’re in the paper!”
An icy foreboding slunk into her veins. Her mouth grew dry. “What paper?”
“The Saratoga Herald. You’re the runaway bride!”
Wolfe jumped up from the table, threw the signed receipt down, and grabbed her hand. “Keep your mouth shut, buddy, or I’ll do more than yank your tip. Understood?”
The waiter gulped, realizing his error, and nodded. “Sorry, sir. So sorry.”
Wolfe didn’t answer. Her body felt like glue, stuck to the ground and so stiff she couldn’t move. Not that she needed to. He wrapped his fingers around her elbow and guided her out, until the hot air rushed over her and she suddenly gulped for oxygen.
“Bend over. Hands on your knees.”
She did, gasping for more air, trying to calm her racing heart while the waiter’s words burned in her brain. Runaway bride. Newspaper.
Oh, God.
She tried to speak, failed, and finally got out the words. “Need to see it.”
“Gen—”
“Need to see it. Now.”
His fingers tightened around her flesh in punishment. The slight pain cut through the panic and centered her, until she was brave enough to unfold and stand at full posture.
“Stay here.”
She waited on the darkened sidewalk. The moon shimmered amid the mountain peaks, the blue-black sky a gorgeous streak of art. A couple walked past her, laughing softly, and went inside. Gen wrapped her arms around her chest until he came back out with the paper. He didn’t speak, and the worried light in his eyes told her it was bad.
She unfolded it and read the headline:
“Surgeon Scalped at Altar.”
Her engagement photo mocked her. Glowing in a white linen suit, hair curled and twisted up in a sophisticated knot, she clasped hands with David, who gazed adoringly into her face.
The picture next to it showed the packed church, endless roses bursting from spaces, glittering candelabras, and her father patting David on the shoulder, who grinned broadly in excitement.
The final photo sealed her fate.
David’s broken face reflected back on the page as he exited the church to a blinding array of flashing bulbs, surrounded by reporters thrusting microphones in his face. His eyes looked dazed, as if she’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it.
The world spun. Gen forced herself to skim the article. Phrases leaped out at her in mocking glee.
Renowned surgeon left at altar by his own resident.
Brokenhearted and abandoned, family rallies, refusing to speak to reporters.
Bride climbed through the window and escaped via a guest and her supposed friend. Another lover?
Her body shut down. Hope for the future shriveled like ashes, leaving dark stains and a bitter taste that choked. She’d done the unthinkable, and now it was time to pay.
Gen lifted her gaze. Her voice sounded wooden to her own ears. “Take me home.”
He clenched his jaw. “Are you sure? We can still stick to the plan. Get in the car and go.”
“Not anymore. It’s over, Wolfe. Take me home.”
He muttered a vicious curse. Then finally nodded.
She climbed into the car and they sped into the night, her fingers still clutching the paper.
Ten
HE’D LOST HER.
Wolfe glanced over. She stared out the window, expressionless, completely removed from the present. He knew where she was, too—an in-between void of numbness and dark space that emptied the soul and left only a husk for earth.
He mourned more than the loss of her presence. In only three days, he’d remembered the joy of being with her, sharing her friendship and laughter, and the person he became around Genevieve MacKenzie.