Page 157 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
I knew deep down I wanted it more than anyone.
Carmen had brought Leo over, him clutching Giraffe, eyes shining, saying reluctant goodbyes to Juliet.
"Mom, when can we come back?"
"Next time."
"Juliet will miss me."
"She will." I took his hand, pulled open the door.
Night wind rushed in, cool with flower scent. I stepped down, no glance back. But I knew he stood at the door, watching. That gaze heavy on my back, scorching.
As the car pulled out the gates, Leo dozed in the back. I turned, peering through the window as the house shrank, faded. Porch light still on, him under it, shadow stretched long.
My tears finally fell.
Not from fear. Not hate. Because he said he loved me, and I—I loved him too. But I couldn't. Not now. I couldn't start over on a lie.Leo was his son, the day he found out, how would he see me? Would he think I hid it for five years on purpose? Think I used Juliet to get close? Think...
I buried my face in my hands, cried silently for ages.
Leo shifted in sleep, arm flopping onto mine, mumbling, "Mom."
I wiped my tears, held his hand in mine.
Not yet. But it wasn't time. I needed time. Needed to think. Needed—
Car pulled up to the apartment. I lifted my head, checked my face in the rearview. Eyes red, makeup smeared, lips still warm from him.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath.
Then pushed open the door, scooped up Leo, and walked into that lit doorway.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Olivia
After that, I started avoiding him.
I timed my arrivals at Juliet's ballet class right down to the minute, and when it ended, I grabbed my bag and bolted, no lingering.
His invitations? All shot down. Sophie's wedding was this Saturday, and with all the prep, it was the perfect excuse. I used it without a shred of guilt.
I packed my schedule tight. Ran errands to the florist for Sophie, went with her for the final dress fitting, double-checked the guest seating chart, rewrote her thank-you speech twice. Anything to keep moving, I grabbed it.
Ella caught me once, standing in the doorway of Sophie's living room, watching me sprawl on the carpet sorting seating cards one by one. She rolled her eyes, shocked. "Oh, honey! Are you helping Sophie or running for your life?"
"Helping Sophie." I didn't look up.
She sighed and walked away.
But even then, at night, after Leo crashed out and the apartment went quiet, all the stuff I pushed down during the day bubbled up. The lights under the garden arbor, the way he gripped my fingers, hislips brushing my ear as he said, "I miss you"—and that flash of hurt in his eyes when I shoved him away.
I squeezed my eyes shut, buried my face in the pillow, and groaned.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
Two days before the wedding, I went with Sophie to pick up the last batch of decor samples from the wedding planner. Leo tagged along, clutching a stick he snagged off the sidewalk, poking at the ground as we walked.
