The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride

by Nadia Lee

  Still, resentment and disappointment swell inside me from time to time. Why am I mad at him? I really shouldn’t care at all. He didn’t want me enough to try harder. He only hung out in the lobby so he could say he was sorry, but once he realized it was going to be too much work to repair our relationship, he ghosted me. For three weeks now.

  Come on, Yuna. You know guys can be like that.

  Men like Tony and his brothers are so rare, they’re priceless. If I found one like that, I’d hang on to him. No, not just hang on. I’d drag him to the closest courthouse and marry the man. Put a ring on it, as the Americans say.

  At least Eugene cancelled the venue Ms. Hong reserved. He doesn’t need me to marry in a hurry to cover up the bad publicity. That’s what Hae Min’s PR team is for, and if they can’t spin it to make it sound good, they’re too incompetent to continue to work for the family.

  Which is a huge relief. I’m not going to show up at my own wedding without a groom. And most definitely not in some dress Ms. Hong picked out.

  I want to get married somewhere warm and sunny with lots of breeze and water. And my wedding gown is going to be custom-made and so gorgeous that angels will weep.

  Mom thinks my wants are not only reasonable but most logical, especially since they match her grand ambition for what the ceremony should be like.

  I spread out reports from the Ivy Foundation on the coffee table in front of me in the suite and review them with care. Eugene delegated the foundation to one of his assistants, but many of the decisions have been left pending without my authorization. And I can’t make smart choices without all the facts and data.

  I munch on a ham and cheese sandwich for a light lunch and sign off on most of them, asking for more information and analysis on four. The rest get a big fat no.

  Ms. Kim takes all the papers from the table and sorts them to be sent to the foundation’s headquarters. I bend my neck and twist around a little bit to unkink. My phone buzzes.

  –Ivy: Can you come over and help with the twins? Tony’s gone to see the manager over at Z, and they’re being fussy. Not even Nelly can seem to calm them down. Maybe want their favorite auntie if they can’t have their daddy.

  I smile. Of course I’m her babies’ favorite auntie. Hell yeah.

  Mr. Choi drives me to Ivy’s. Ms. Kim tags along. I’m going to need help with the mountain of toys I’ve ordered for my honorary nephew and niece. I’ve been trying to make up for all the nice things I couldn’t buy them while my accounts were frozen.

  “Oh my God, you shouldn’t have!” Ivy says when I walk in with Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim. We’re all carrying bags and bags of gifts. Mom’s spies leave once they place the bags on the floor. They trust Ivy.

  “They aren’t for you, so you don’t get a say,” I respond breezily. “I want to know what Sebastian and Katherine have to say.”

  “They can’t say anything yet.”

  “But they will soon. They’re pure geniuses! Did you know Sebastian can already play ‘Chopsticks’?”

  “Oh my God, stop. You were holding his fingers.”

  “So? He’s not going to get a teacher who’s better than me.” I wink. “By the way, where are they? I thought you said they were crying.”

  “They actually just fell asleep a minute ago. And I’m letting them nap like a wise parent. Nelly’s with them upstairs.”

  “Smart.” Ivy deserves a break, and I can always see the twins later.

  We head toward the piano room. It’s one of the largest rooms in the mansion, and Ivy and Tony like to have the twins there. Soft rugs cover the hard marble floor, and the sharp edges of furniture are covered with rounded rubber.

  There’s a wooden lattice partition around the piano. Translucent rice paper covers the lattice. I look at it questioningly. “What’s that for?”

  “We got it so that when the kids are old enough to start crawling and moving around on their own, they don’t go to the Bösendorfer and hurt themselves. I can’t really encase the thing in rubber.”

  “Yeah, that’d ruin the finish.” And if she left it on, it’d ruin the sound quality. A Bösendorfer Imperial deserves better. “But it looks so flimsy. Don’t you think they’ll just…push it over?”

  “Tony set it up, so I doubt it.”

  It looks like they can also go around it, but I keep that to myself. Tony will have thought of everything. He’s paranoid about Ivy’s safety, and that’s bled over into the twins’ safety as well.

  A very adult-sized shadow moves behind the partition. I take a step back, spreading my arms out like a shield before Ivy. “Somebody’s there,” I whisper, jerking my chin.

  Ivy smiles. “It’s just a friend of Tony’s who wants to check out my Bösendorfer. He’s thinking about buying one for himself someday.”

  “Oh.” He’s going to have to save for a long, long time or win a lottery. The piano is more expensive than most cars.

  “He says he wants to play a Chopin waltz on it,” Ivy adds.

  Doesn’t sound like somebody with a ton of training, because most trained pianists have bigger ambitions than a waltz if they invest in an instrument as impressive as Bösendorfer Imperial. Like one of Liszt’s Transcendental Études. Or Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy, which even the composer himself couldn’t play properly.

  “Good luck to him,” I murmur.

  “He’s going to play it right now, actually. Why don’t you sit and see what you think? He asked me to critique him, but you know me and Chopin. I’m too biased.”

  True. Ivy only likes Kissin or Pollini for her Chopin. And it would be incredibly unfair to compare Tony’s friend to two of the best concert pianists in the world.

  I nod. “Sure. Why not?”

  She pulls me down onto a loveseat, and we sit. As though that’s his cue, the man behind the partition starts playing Chopin’s waltz in A minor. The familiar, delicate melody resonates through the room. He messes up the twenty-first measure, where he needs to play five notes to the second beat. The first three notes are too fast, and the last two a little slow. I glance at Ivy, but she’s staring resolutely ahead.

  But he does really well on every other part of the piece. And he has a sensitive touch. I smile when the waltz ends.

  “How long has he been working on this?” I ask.

  “He’s only been playing for…I don’t know.” Ivy shrugs. “A few weeks?”

  “Really? That’s all?”

  “He had some lessons when he was a kid, I think, but yeah. What do you think?” She sets her features in an impassive expression.

  She wants me to make my own judgment without any external influence. But of course I won’t let anybody’s opinion color my own when it comes to music. Not even Ivy.

  “Well…” I gather my thoughts. Ivy’s watching me closely, and I almost laugh. If she wants my verdict that badly for the friend behind the screen, I’ll give it to her.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Declan

  My heart races, pounding like a furious drum, as I wait for Yuna’s verdict.

  Say you love it, say you love it.

  I’ve practiced for at least five hours a day, every single day, over the last three weeks. Ivy scoffed at first, but when she realized I was actually doing the exercises she set and practicing all the time, she started to help, giving me pointers and feedback.

  And at my request, she played the other waltz—the one in C-sharp minor that Yuna likes even better than the one I’m practicing. Ivy told me it’s too technically demanding for me to attempt, so I should stick to the A minor waltz.

  Then, when she thought I was ready, she set this up so Yuna would come over and listen to me play. Ivy told me if I went to the hotel to play, Yuna would never give me a chance. And given how things went at the Aylster, I’m sure Ivy’s right.

  I feel like I’m suffocating as the silence stretches. Cold sweat coats my palms. Shit.

  My mouth dries. I swallow. I wish I brought a bottle of water with me. Did she hate it? I
s it why it’s taking her so long to give an opinion?

  She might as well criticize it harshly. She was pretty tough on Melvin’s daughter. And I’m nowhere near good enough to apply to a conservatory.

  Finally, Yuna’s voice comes from the other side of the partition. “Not bad.”

  That’s all? Not bad? Am I just totally fucked?

  “Actually, I’m pretty impressed,” she adds.

  I sag with relief. Okay, not fucked. I’m at some level above “fucked.”

  She continues, “The tempo was good and the interpretation was sensitive and delicate, as it should be.”

  I let out a breath I’ve been holding. She liked it! That means I have a chance at getting her back.

  “The only thing that was a little jarring was the twenty-first measure, where he lost control of the notes.”

  I stiffen. Twenty-first measure? Ivy wasn’t kidding when she said this is Yuna’s favorite, because she knows the piece measure by measure. I look at the music and cringe. I thought I had that part down pat. I put in extra practice on it because it was a little awkward.

  “Yeah, but other than that, I think it was good,” Ivy says.

  Thank you, Ivy!

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t good. But I wanted to be thorough. You know I’m always thorough.”

  “You are.” Ivy’s phone rings. “Sorry, I have to take this call. Excuse me.”

  That’s the cue for me to do the rest, because I’m the one who has to close this out and talk to Yuna. My heart starts racing even faster.

  When Ivy’s steps fade away, I stand up and walk around the partition. Blood seems to thunder in my ears with every step.

  Yuna is simply stunning, sitting there in a pale teal maxi dress that flows over her like a waterfall. The sight calls out to me, making me want to run over and hold her. But I restrain myself. That would likely only earn me a figurative slap in the face.

  “Yuna,” I manage to rasp.

  She stiffens. For a moment, she can’t say anything. Then… “What are you doing there, hiding like a thief?”

  “I wasn’t hiding, exactly. I was playing the piano.”

  She looks from me to the rice-paper screen, putting it together. “You played that Chopin?”

  I nod. “You said you would consider forgiveness for a perfect Chopin waltz.”

  “It wasn’t perfect,” she says softly, then stands and walks around me to gaze at the piano for a moment.

  My lungs tighten. This hurts worse than seeing the first shitty review of my acting performance. It’s so damn personal, and the pain hits right in the heart. “Then I’ll practice more until it is.”

  “How much did you have to practice to get this far?” She steps closer to the piano and runs her fingers gently along the keys.

  “Five hours a day for the last three weeks. Usually more.”

  “What about all your important meetings?”

  “Nothing was as important as this. Nothing will ever be as important.” My throat’s so damn dry, my nerves so taut, that I can’t tell if I’m saying the right things or just making things worse. I can’t seem to read Yuna.

  “Look, I know I screwed up. I shouldn’t have gone to that damn meeting. I thought that as soon as I left the damned thing because it wasn’t worth missing being with you on your special day.”

  “It wasn’t about the party,” she points out.

  “I know. It was about me putting other things ahead of you. You deserve a man who’s going to treat you like a princess—”

  “Queen. I prefer to be a queen.” A corner of her lips twitches.

  “I stand corrected. Treat you like a queen and make sure you know you’re loved.” I inhale shakily. This is it. I’m going all in. “I love you, Yuna.”

  Her lips part, and the fingers on the keys tremble a little. “Then I guess it’s time for me to respond.”

  She sits at the piano and plays. At first, my head’s too jumbled for me to recognize the piece. Then I realize it’s the waltz in C-sharp minor, the one Ivy said is Yuna’s other favorite.

  Her eyes are on mine as the hauntingly beautiful melody flows from the grand piano. And as the notes pour out, her lips are slowly curving.

  My pulse throbs, heart beating fast and uneven. All I hear is the loud boom of my blood roaring in my head, and all I can see is her gorgeous face, the brilliant light in her gaze.

  When the last note ends, I let out an unsteady breath. “That was…perfect.”

  Her smile widens. “And I love you too.”

  All the warmth and love welling inside me, I rush to her and cradle her face and dip my head to kiss her. I taste what I’ve been craving since I first laid eyes on her—a heaven created just for me, the only place in the world where I belong.

  Yuna stands up, and we press against each other more tightly. I put my hand on the small of her back and—

  “Woohoo!”

  Yuna jerks back at the loud cheering.

  Her friends start pouring in. Bobbi brings in another cake, this one purple. Confetti goes up in the air.

  I agreed to this when Ivy came up with the idea, and Nate and Court said I needed to do a makeup party. And Jo said the best time to do it would be right after Yuna took me back…if she took me back.

  I have no freakin’ idea why I thought Jo’s idea of a party was good. This is the worst timing ever, because I’d rather be holding and kissing Yuna right now.

  But my annoyance fades at the bright sparks of joy in her eyes. Everything’s perfect if she’s happy.

  “Happy belated birthday,” I whisper, my forehead on hers.

  “Another party?” She grins.

  “Why not? Your birthday can never be celebrated enough.”

  Wrapping her arms around my neck, she laughs. Then lays a loud, smacking kiss on my lips.

  And we party with a good group of people who wish us the best.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Declan

  Two weeks later, I’m at LAX to join Yuna on her trip home to Seoul. I want to meet her parents and ask for their blessing. The ring is in my carry-on, and I plan to propose to her in her home country.

  All of her friends come to the airport to say goodbye. Well, they’re my friends too, now. It’s amazing how quickly they welcomed me into their circle. But I’m the one Yuna chose, and that means I’m golden.

  “We’ll be back soon,” Yuna says to them.

  “Still, I’m going to miss you anyway,” Ivy says.

  Tony nods at me. “Good luck.”

  “You’ll need it,” Edgar says sardonically.

  They know I’ll be facing Yuna’s parents. I’m praying her family doesn’t start throwing envelopes in my face.

  We wave until we have to get through the security screening. Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim take Yuna’s carry-on bag. I keep mine.

  Once we’re through security, Ms. Kim gestures to our left. “This way.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “To the lounge,” Yuna says. “I always get a cocktail before my flight.”

  “Why? Do you get nervous when you fly?”

  “Nope. The lounge has free drinks.”

  I laugh. “Okay.” Then I spot a few duty-free shops. “I want to see what they have. Meet you at the lounge.” I don’t want Yuna overhearing my conversation with Benedict, who whined endlessly about needing more time to accomplish a simple task I gave him.

  She glances at the liquor display. “You don’t have to bother. Dad has a huge collection.”

  “Yeah, but it feels like the right thing to do.”

  Yuna sighs. “Fine, but don’t worry too much about it. If it makes you feel better, I already got gifts for everyone.”

  Once she’s off to the lounge with Mr. Choi and Ms. Kim, I call Benedict. He’s been back a few weeks now, his script still unfinished. Apparently the final act never came to him. He wanted more time off, but I told him no because I have a project for him to work on.

  Mainly, how to put
my best foot forward with Yuna’s father. I never bothered to meet any of my exes’ parents. And Yuna’s mom already made it clear she considers me beneath her daughter in every way.

  “Yes, Declan,” Benedict says with a long-suffering sigh.

  Zero. Pity. I gave him plenty of time. “What did you find about Yuna’s dad?”

  “Mr. Hae likes to go golfing once a month when the weather’s nice, but as far as I know, he doesn’t like new golf clubs. He only likes what he already has. Says he’s more comfortable that way.”

  “Okay, no golf clubs. Got it. What else?”

  “He likes fine dining.”

  “I don’t think a gift certificate to a restaurant is going to work. Too impersonal.”

  “He also smokes.”

  “Cigarettes or cigars?”

  “Cigarettes.”

  “That’s not a hobby. Besides, smoking’s bad for your health.” And cigarettes don’t make great gifts.

  “Which is why he’s been trying to quit. His wife wants him to.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He likes working. He loves his family. It’s widely known he overindulges his daughter.”

  And I’m about to take her from him. He’s going to swing a golf club at me.

  “Oh my God! Declan!”

  Oh no. I grit my teeth, but it doesn’t help. Jessica doesn’t care what others are doing. What’s important is what she wants, right now.

  “Hold on a minute,” I say to Benedict, then turn to her. How the hell should I get rid of her? I fake a friendly smile.

  It seems to encourage her. “I knew you weren’t going to be with that skank for long.”

  Excuse me? Did she just call Yuna “that skank”?

  “You’re just too smart for her,” Jessica adds. “Where are you going? I’m going to the Maldives. It’s gorgeous out there. Wanna join me? I’m sure we can get you a seat on the plane.”

  The Maldives? I’d rather stab myself in the face than spend time trapped with Jessica on a tiny island. But why should I ruin my good looks? “I can’t join you in the Maldives, but I have been trying to get in touch with you.”