Seducing the Runaway Bride (The Wrights Book 1)

by McKenna Rogue

  Seducing the Runaway Bride

  The Wrights

  McKenna Rogue

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Also by McKenna Rogue

  1

  Aubrey

  It’s so tempting.

  I glanced over to where my wedding dress hung over the closet door of my hotel room, practically begging me to try it on one more time before the big event in the morning. The sparkly sweetheart neckline glinted in the lamplight and said nothing about me at all. My mother picked it out, insisting the dress was the most important part of the day. Maybe she knew more about me, Aubrey Jones, bride-to-be, than anyone else did. She’d crafted everything else about me into her perfect daughter and found the perfect man worthy of a Jones.

  Greg Simmons, my groom-to-be, perfectly complemented me in every way. His long hours at the law firm were a drag on our relationship, but I had plenty to keep me busy. While he slaved away defending the accused, I created works of architectural art. It was good to have passions that were separate. We shouldn’t spend every waking hour together. But shouldn’t we at least want to in the beginning? I suppose we weren’t quite honeymooners yet. Maybe that would come at the chalet in Aspen, Colorado.

  I put my brush down and moved to the small table in my room, ignoring the sparkling tulle explosion as I pulled out my sketchpad and opened it to the house I’d been working on. The dimensions weren’t quite right, but I still had time to perfect it.

  A knock on the hotel door drew my attention. I got up, sketchpad under my arm, and opened it to my maid of honor, Mindi. Even in pajamas and a bathrobe, she looked posh and made up. Her makeup was flawless. Her river of dark hair shined like a shampoo commercial. She was the perfect size two my mom always wanted me to be, with a perfect set of breasts for ample cleavage.

  My mother had insisted Mindi was more photogenic for the wedding pictures than my best friend, Caroline. My mom wouldn’t even entertain the idea of letting Caroline be a bridesmaid—she wasn’t pretty enough and far too curvy for the bridesmaids’ dresses to look uniform.

  At least I could look forward to seeing Caroline at the wedding and the reception. It felt like the only thing I was looking forward to at that moment.

  “You’re drawing now? Aubrey! You’re getting married tomorrow. To the best guy ever. Come on, let’s paint our toes, drink some champagne, and you can tell me all the dirty things you and Greg will do on your honeymoon.” She snagged my sketchpad away and held it over her head. “You have nail polish, right?”

  I sighed and went to the bathroom to get the pale pink polish Mom picked out for me. “I’m not drinking champagne, Mindi. I refuse to be hungover for my wedding.”

  “Whatever. I already called for room service. It’s on its way. You have to have at least one glass. You need the bubbles.” Mindi grabbed the polish from my hand and held it up. “Blech. Who picked this color? It’s practically clear.”

  “Mom insisted it was classic.”

  Mindi pulled a bottle of bright red nail polish out of her pocket and held it up with a sinister grin. “How about we use this instead?”

  I pursed my lips. “You know my mother. This is more her wedding than mine. She acts like her marriage to my father was a tragedy. I’m sticking with the pink. You should go with the red though.” Everything for Mindi was loud and she always had to stand out, much like her personality.

  She rolled her eyes and flopped onto the bed. “Come. Sit. Paint.”

  I sat cross-legged on the bed next to Mindi. “I wouldn’t mind just going to bed. I have a big day tomorrow, you know.”

  “Yeah, you’re marrying Greg. He’s amazing, by the way. I can’t believe you bagged that whale. He was the up and coming man of the Upper East Side. And you get to be his wife.”

  I unscrewed the top of the polish and shifted my leg out to reach my toes. Everything Mindi said was true, but it didn’t feel like the epic thing she made it out to be. It made sense—my parents approved, his parents approved, and he and I were a great match. Dragging the brush over my big toe, I chewed on my inner cheek and let Mindi yammer on about how great Greg was.

  “Tell me what you’re doing for your honeymoon again.”

  I blinked a couple times, refocusing on the conversation. “I found this gorgeous ski chalet in Aspen. You know how Greg loves to ski. I thought it would be fun to learn, so we could share that activity together.”

  “Oh, skiing in the Rockies, how romantic. Tell me there’s a hot tub you can violate.”

  “Mindi! I am not talking about my sex life with you. And yes, there’s a hot tub. And a gourmet kitchen and a big master bathroom.”

  “You’re so having sex on all those surfaces.”

  Mindi was so focused on her toes, she didn’t notice how I frowned at the topic of conversation. The truth was, Greg had never fulfilled me sexually. But marriage was about more than passion between the sheets, right? “It’s a beautiful chalet. Really classic architecture, reminiscent of the chalets in the Alps.”

  Mindi groaned. “God, you with the architecture. It’s always this building, that building, renaissance period, gothic, blah blah blah. You sound more excited about the chalet than your wedding. You’re about to get married.”

  “I know. I am excited about the wedding.” It’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks. “We’ve been planning this for months.” I finished my toes and set the bottle on the nightstand. “I need to get some sleep, Mindi. No one wants an exhausted bride.” My mother would ridicule me for the entire morning about bags under my eyes and how terrible I would look in the pictures that would be displayed around the house for the rest of my life.

  “Not until the champagne gets here. You need to chill. You’re so uptight.” Mindi held up her bright red fingernails. “You like?”

  “It’s so you.” I was envious of her bold colors as I eyed my barely-there color on my toes, wishing I’d grabbed the bright pink I’d seen the other day. “Seriously though, I don’t need champagne. I need sleep. And I need to get the details on this drawing figured out.”

  “Aubrey, you are about to get married. You can finish your building after your honeymoon.”

  “You keep saying that, Mindi. I know.” I frowned. “And it’s not just a building. It’s someone’s house. Their hopes and dreams will be wrapped up in this home for the rest of their life.” I gazed longingly at my sketchpad. “And if the coffee bar’s in the wrong place, or there’s not enough cabinet space, it’s not going to be perfect.”

  I’d certainly spent a lot more time crafting this couple’s home than I’d worked on the structure of my own life.

  “Always the perfectionist. No wonder you’re marrying Greg. He’s perfect too.” She let out a wistful sigh and looked at her cell phone. “Where is this champagne? How
long does it take to bring up a bottle of Dom and a couple glasses?”

  “You did tell them to bring it to my room, right?”

  Mindi groaned. “I knew I was forgetting something. I’ll go get it. Wait right here.”

  I reached over and touched her knee. “Why don’t you enjoy it in your room, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Please, please don’t be hung over tomorrow.”

  “I promise, I won’t drink the whole bottle. You’re so lucky, Aubrey. You’re going to be such a beautiful bride.” She got up and planted a wet kiss on my cheek. “I’m holding your sketchpad hostage. You’re getting married and you can’t spend all night being a workaholic.”

  I scowled and grabbed it away from her. “It’s mine. I promise I won’t work all night. I told you, I’m getting some sleep. That’s all. Maybe inspiration will strike while I’m sleeping.”

  “Fine. You’re such a stick-in-the-mud sometimes.” Mindi hugged me tight, trying the whole time to steal the sketchpad back from me. Before she left the room, she blew more kisses at me.

  As soon as the door closed, I flopped down on the bed and threw my arm over my eyes. Mindi was the woman my mother always hoped I’d grow into; the socialite who flitted from one activity to the next, always looking for the right guy to get her Mrs.

  Glad for the quiet of the hotel room, I eyed my wet nails with disdain. I’d have to stay awake for a little while longer. But my desire to finish the house had gone when my nerves started bubbling up to the surface.

  I pulled out my phone, careful not to nick my nails.

  Aubrey: Are you sure I’m not making a mistake?

  Caroline: That’s not up to me, Aub. Do you love Greg? Do you want to marry him?

  Aubrey: Of course!

  But did I? My automatic responses were always enthusiastic, or I heard it from my mom, Greg, and even Mindi. How could I not be excited to marry such a great guy?

  Caroline: Then what are you worried about?

  Aubrey: You don’t like him, do you?

  Caroline: I don’t have to marry him. Aubrey, what’s going on?

  I didn’t answer right away. I thought about her question. There was nothing going on. Getting married was a big commitment, and I was sure all I was feeling was nerves of excitement. This would be a new chapter of my life. And what wasn’t exciting about that?

  Caroline: Aubrey?

  Aubrey: I do want to marry him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone through all of this. Right?

  Caroline: You tell me. You’ve always been afraid of making waves. Is marrying Greg what you want out of life? Will you be wrecked if you don’t? Marrying a guy should be a huge deal. But Aubrey, we’ve hardly talked about your wedding.

  Caroline and I had been friends since college. My mother hated her, but that didn’t stop me from hanging out with her when I could. Caroline had always nurtured me in a way no one from my family or Upper East Side friends could. Caroline didn’t grow up with money or privilege, but she worked her ass off and managed to make all of her dreams come true. She was a force of nature. I would aspire to be just like her, but my mom always squashed anything outside of the norm.

  Aubrey: What if I’m not sure? How do I get sure? The wedding is happening in hours.

  Caroline: Go talk to Greg. He’s the one you’re marrying.

  Aubrey: Thank you for talking with me. I know it’s late.

  Caroline: Just do the best thing for you. Don’t worry about disappointing anyone like you always do. Marriage is a big step. You should be a 100% in.

  I finished getting ready for bed and crawled under the soft sheets, enjoying my last night as a single woman. I turned on the nightly news, curling around a pillow. But as I watched the news of the day, I couldn’t help but wonder whether this wedding was really what I wanted. Mindi seemed so much more the type to want to get married, and she certainly had more descriptive things to say about Greg. Caroline had told me to talk to Greg. Maybe it was the only thing that would settle the gnawing feeling something wasn’t right.

  I climbed out of bed and slid on the robe I’d brought, then paced the length of my hotel room, silently debating with myself whether I should go see Greg or not. Sure, it was tradition not to see each other, but when had either of us ever been traditional?

  I picked up the key he left me, double-checked the room number he was staying in, and headed down the hall. I was sure he’d want to see me too, and that seeing him, holding him, kissing him would help me shake this bout of cold feet.

  But as I got to his room, the door was ajar, the deadbolt locked but not engaged in the door, and I could hear sounds that were unmistakably sex.

  I had to have the wrong room. That had to be it. I took a step back, looking at the number on the door: 1632. Then I looked down at the slip of paper Greg had given me with his key. They matched.

  My stomach clenched in knots and my hand trembled as I pushed open the door. There had to be some mistake. Maybe he was just watching porn. Men did that in hotel rooms all the time, right?

  “Oh, god, Greg! Yes! Right there.”

  Mindi’s voice. Not some strange porn star on a screen. My friend. My maid of honor. Screaming my fiancé’s name.

  Numbly, I stepped into the room farther. I had to see it for myself.

  There, on the end of his king-sized hotel bed, was my best friend, legs spread wide, and my naked fiancé on his knees, head between her thighs. There was a used condom laying on the carpet next to the bed, and clothing strewn all over. Half a bottle of champagne sat sweating next to the TV.

  Dropping Greg’s key, I ran down the hall to my own room. I fumbled with the key, jamming the key in and out of the slot until it finally blinked green at me. I slipped inside and slammed the door shut behind me. I pressed my back to it, trying to will the images of Greg and Mindi together out of my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, only to have the images come in clearer along with the surround sound of Mindi’s cry of pleasure. I’d certainly never sounded like that when Greg and I were having sex. And he’d never gone down on me.

  Mindi’s earlier gushing of Greg felt like poison to me now. She’d been adoring him, wanting him for herself. Why the hell did Mindi even agree to be my maid of honor? Why did I even ask her?

  Standing in the hotel room with the fucking wedding dress, everything in here didn’t belong to me. It belonged to my mother and Mindi.

  I had to get out of there now.

  Haphazardly, I threw everything into my suitcase. I wadded up the damn dress my mother picked out and shoved it into the garment bag, then made a beeline to the elevators with all my stuff. There was no way in hell I could marry Greg after what I just saw.

  As I drove home, it struck me I should’ve been crying. That’s what women did when they were cheated on the night before their weddings, right? But I hadn’t shed a single tear. I didn’t even really feel sad. I just felt numb. Emotionless.

  2

  Aubrey

  I woke early, my phone chirping the wedding march as an alarm. Groaning, I hit the stop button on the screen and then shut it off. I knew I had an hour or two before Mindi or my mother tried to rouse me from the hotel bed, and even longer before they started to panic.

  With my day’s plans shot, I took my time getting up. In fact, I considered staying in bed for the duration of the day. Wallow in ice cream and chocolate. That’s what I was supposed to do, right? But I didn’t feel like wallowing.

  Once I had coffee brewed in my favorite mug, I ran a hot bath in the oversized tub I’d chosen specifically for my house with Greg, thinking how much more romantic it could be taking baths together, like they did in Pretty Woman. Now, it would serve me well as I poured in bubble bath I knew Greg hated and slipped into the steamy water.

  The hot water relaxed some of the tension from my shoulders, but it wasn’t quite enough to wash away the horror of what I’d seen. How could Greg do that to me? How could Mindi? Was this the first time, or had they been fucking our entire relationship?

 
Too many questions bounced around my brain unanswered. I needed to shut it all out.

  Glancing at the clock radio on my nightstand, a relic that was never used for the radio or alarm, I realized my bath hadn’t eaten up nearly enough of the day. I got dressed in my most comfortable jeans and a sweater, and then headed to a breakfast joint right around the corner from my house.

  I used to dream Greg and I would become regulars here, eating at our usual table at least once a week. But he didn’t like it. He wanted me to make him breakfast or for us to go to the extremely overpriced, trendy place across town.

  This morning, I ordered bottomless Bloody Marys and French toast, sitting in a back booth, hidden away from the other patrons enjoying their family Saturdays without the weight of a jilted romance hanging over their head.

  “You okay, hon? You look like something’s eatin’ ya.” My server slid in across the booth from me and held out her hand. She was older than me, maybe by twenty years. Her glasses hung around her neck. The uniform was baggy over her thin frame. Her frizzy hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had at least two pens sticking out of it.

  “Just realizing what a shitty world we live in.”

  “Well, you know what makes every shitty day better? Beignets. I’ll bring you a batch.” As I opened my mouth to object, she said, “On the house. Trust me, these’ll make any day better.”

  Taking another sip of my spicy drink, I shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like I’ve got anything else to lose. Bring it on.”

  “There you go.” She got up and touched my shoulder, a fleeting gesture that offered more comfort than I would’ve expected.