“It’s a lot more important than some promo shots.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“This wedding doesn’t go off, and the publicity with it, Honeywilde might not make it through the winter. I have to fix this.”
Madison took a step back, that bit of information stunning her numb. “How could you not tell me this wedding was that important to you? That important to the resort?”
Roark stiffened. “Because it’s my family and my problem. Not yours. You’re leaving Sunday, remember?”
Her blood froze in her veins, the truth a cold reminder she’d so easily forgotten. This was not her family, not her family business, and these were not her people.
She was all alone.
Madison jerked her gaze away. Roark hadn’t forgotten the truth, but to hell with him for keeping something that important from her after all she’d told him, then trying to step over her to take charge.
She pinched her eyes closed and counted to ten.
Thinking what they had was different, thinking that she’d found something and someone that might last . . . she’d been kidding herself. This was why she was alone; because that’s all she understood and it was easier. Letting him in meant he knew what made her tick, meant he was capable of hurting her. And that’s exactly what he was doing. Just like everyone else, he didn’t believe in her, didn’t trust her. How could he ever want her? His words were a mirror, showing her who she really was.
But she didn’t have to be hurt by him, or anyone else. It wasn’t so hard, not caring what he thought. Turning off her feelings was something she’d learned to do long ago. People couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them in.
She could shove Roark out of her heart before he ever got the chance to break it, and every crack in her walls, the ones he’d created with his trust and sincerity, would seal shut.
When she opened her eyes, Roark took a step back.
“Whitney won’t want your help,” she told him, her tone emotionless.
“No, you don’t want my help. You’re the one who doesn’t want me involved, but this isn’t about you.”
“No, this is about you having to fix everything and always be in charge. Even things you have no business sticking your nose in.”
“Are you always this damn difficult?”
“Yes.” She stepped closer. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Surprised it took you this long to notice. But then, it doesn’t really matter how much of a pain in the ass I am when all we’re doing is having sex for a couple of weeks and I leave on Sunday. Actually trying to deal with me or have me around longer is a whole other matter.”
“That is not—What are you talking about? You’re the one who said—”
“But I guess it’s a good thing you’re realizing that now because this”—she pointed to the center of her chest—“is me. I’m difficult, demanding, and I will drive you crazy. Maybe I haven’t yet, but eventually I would. Give me the time and I’ll make you hate me. I always have.”
“Madison.” He stepped toward her, but she moved away.
“No.” She shook her head, refusing to give in to the waver threatening to shake her voice. “It’s good that we got this out of the way. Now we can focus on saving this wedding.”
As soon as she got the words out, she walked away. She waited until she was out of his sight to start running. She let her legs carry her, fast as she could go, taking stairs and turning corners, eyes blurry, until she got so lost inside Honeywilde, even she didn’t know where she was.
Chapter 27
Jerking his tie off, Roark cursed his inability to find the runaway bride.
He rolled the tie up into a neat bundle and stuffed it in his pants pocket. He’d searched every nook and cranny—even the nooks of crannies—for Whitney, and Jack was right: She was gone.
He couldn’t find Madison either.
He had no clue what he’d say to her or how to right whatever he’d done wrong, but if she was still at Honeywilde, she was well hidden.
Dying embers in the fireplace called to him. If he couldn’t fix things with Whitney, and he damn sure couldn’t fix things with Madison, the least he could do was build a fire. A fire and some coffee might help him figure out how to solve this.
After slipping off his jacket, he grabbed the poker and some choice splits of wood, and coaxed and babied the flame until it blazed anew. He left the screen off and sat in his favorite spot on the sofa.
The seat lost something without Madison beside him.
He stared into the fire, the embers glowing and tumbling together, hypnotizing him. Since he was a kid, he’d loved late-night fires, always welcoming and warm, comfort for the soul. Tonight the fire wasn’t making so much as a dent in his mood.
“You mind?” Jack appeared from the far dark corner of the great room, pointing at the chair nearest the hearth.
Roark tilted his head in welcome. If he was going to give in to a moment of wallowing, he might as well not wallow alone.
Jack slumped down in the chair, laying his phone on the arm, face up so if any communication came in, he couldn’t miss it. He kept his emotionless gaze on the flames and, for a guy with a tough-as-nails appearance, he looked beaten.
Roark didn’t blame him. He was pretty damn broken himself.
Madison had torn off like he’d been the one to call her a demanding pain in the ass. He’d done no such thing. He’d been trying to help, only ever tried to help for the last three weeks. She’d fought him at first, but they’d gotten past that. Or so he’d thought.
He knew he had a tendency to take over, but he had no choice. If he didn’t find the bride and fix this whole situation, then there’d be no wedding. If there was no wedding, there was no special press for Honeywilde. Without it, the resort’s finances wouldn’t survive the slower winter season.
What was he without Honeywilde? He could not lose his family’s legacy. They’d have nothing. He was the leader of his family and owner of the resort. When you’re in charge, you have to take charge. Madison ought to know that better than anyone.
Of course, she hadn’t known just how important this wedding was to Honeywilde or why he needed to step over her to get this event back on the tracks. She hadn’t known because he hadn’t told her.
Roark huffed and shifted his ankle off his leg, only to cross them the other way and hold his head up with an elbow propped on the sofa arm.
He needed to think. There had to be a way to fix this without dragging everyone down with him. Screwing up and failing was something reserved for his shaky relationships with his brothers and sister. In business, he knew how to deal, how to succeed. With the people closest to him . . . it was a crapshoot.
Madison knew that too. She knew how much he regretted the way things were with his siblings. He’d mucked things up with them, and now he’d mucked things up with her. And they weren’t even in a relationship.
Had to be a new record for him, ruining a good thing he didn’t have.
“Glad to see I’m not the only one up at this lovely hour.” Devlin strolled in, eating a plate of leftover hors d’oeuvres.
“Why are you up?” Roark shifted again as his brother sat down.
“I’m hungry. You want?” Dev held out the plate.
Roark shook his head, but a hand suddenly appeared from over his shoulder, snatching up one of the dates.
“Don’t tell me you’ve started having middle-of-the-night meetings too.” Trevor chomped on the date as he flopped down between the two of them. “Not that I’d mind. Can’t sleep anyway; my bed’s too soft after weeks of a sleeping bag.”
Devlin stopped chewing. “I should lead the night meetings, seeing how I have the most experience with insomnia.”
Roark’s brothers laughed, until they looked over at him and Jack.
“Uh-oh,” Dev muttered. “What happened?”
Roark looked over, battling with the decision of what to say and how much. He didn’t need them all in a panic becau
se the bride took off. If he couldn’t fix this disaster, how could they? He also didn’t want to spill Jack’s business out in the open.
“Roark.” Devlin said his name in the exact same tone Roark often used on him. “Don’t sit there not saying shit and looking like the world has ended. Tell us.”
Madison’s words came back to him. What if his family didn’t want him to fix everything anymore? Maybe they did want him to trust them more. Let them help.
Maybe they wanted him to let them in, the same way he wanted Madison to let him in.
“Whitney, the bride, she’s gone.” He spat out the truth before he could convince himself he had to carry this burden alone.
“What?” his brothers said in unison.
Jack groaned, rubbing at the side of his head. “She called the wedding off and ran.”
“I did look for her,” Roark told him.
“Yeah?” Jack studied the fire. “How’d that work out for you?”
He held out his empty hands and shrugged.
“Told you. Thanks for trying and all, but I did warn you.”
Damn. The man sounded like him. Told you so.
He told people stuff all the time. Told his family what to do growing up; still tried to tell them how to function, daily.
“Does Madison know?” Devlin asked. “This is her wedding. We need to—”
“She knows,” Roark said.
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know.” He hoped he didn’t look and sound as defeated as he felt.
“Oh god. What’d you do?” Dev’s question was laced with weariness.
Roark could keep everything to himself, try to handle this all alone, or he could tell them the truth.
“I think I screwed things up with Madison and I don’t know how to fix any of this.”
Dev set a half-eaten shrimp on his plate. “We have to find Madison. She’s got to be around here somewhere, and hell, we’re up. We can help you look.”
Trevor leaned forward to catch Roark’s gaze. “We find Madison and I bet she could find the missing bride. Madison could convince her to at least come back and talk to sad sack over there.”
“Trevor.” Devlin buried his face in his hands.
“I’m kidding. Rock star knows I’m kidding, don’t you?”
Jack looked a little stunned, but then a ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Yeah, somehow I do.”
Trevor stared down his nose at Roark. “I mean, Madison did talk you into doing this wedding and letting me stay. I bet she could talk a bride into coming back around.”
“Exactly.” Dev nodded. “But first you’ve got fix whatever you screwed up with your woman.”
Roark blinked, unsure of how to respond.
Dev rolled his eyes. “Oh come on. Like we don’t all know you’re head over heels for Madison? It’s obvious. We’ve known you your whole life and you’ve never been as happy as these past few weeks. Maybe you just need to find Madison and make sure she knows that.”
Roark kept staring at his brothers.
They were right.
In her time at the hotel, Madison’s tough nature and strong will had been the perfect balance to Roark’s. He enjoyed having someone who pushed him and pushed back.
And he’d told her as much, but had he told her how happy she made him? How every day was brighter, more invigorating, simply because she was there.
He’d told her plenty of other stuff. Told her the view at Honeywilde was great, that she had to use Brenda because no one was better, told her that she ought to go skinny-dipping, and that she shouldn’t beat herself up for the past, that she was capable of anything.
He’d told her everything but how he really felt about her.
How strongly it gripped him when he watched her from across the room. When he’d been knocked flat with the urge to run up and grab her, and shout about how amazing she was to a world that couldn’t see it. To Madison, who couldn’t see it either.
He cut his gaze back to Jack, who’d gone back to staring into the fire.
Both of them were mourning the loss of the women they wanted, and sitting here doing nothing about it. Pathetic. The two of them. A rock star and a resort owner. On their asses like they’d given up.
Giving up was pointless, and he didn’t do pointless.
He might not be able to fix Jack’s issue, but he’d be damned if he was going to sit here and let Madison hate him without knowing the truth. All of it. The truth about Honeywilde, and how he felt about her.
He looked at his brothers, both awake, both there to support him when he didn’t expect to need them so much.
Roark rose from the sofa and put his jacket back on. “Dev, Trevor. I need your help. I have to find Madison.”
There was a high probability that she didn’t want him or his truths, but he had to do everything he could to make sure she knew and understood that Roark Bradley didn’t give up. Not when his parents checked out, not when his siblings needed him, not on Honeywilde, and not on her.
Chapter 28
She could’ve hidden in the warm safety of her own guest room, but no. Madison rocked on the basement patio swing, her knees pulled up under the quilt she’d stolen from the common room nearby.
This was a bad idea because it was freaking cold in the mountains in the middle of the night; a good idea because no one would look for her here. Then again, who said Roark was even looking? If he was half as smart as he thought he was, he’d take tonight as a blessing.
She buried her face in the quilt. That wasn’t fair. He was twice as smart as he thought, and his confidence was a problem for her, not him. She was the one who wished she had what came to him so naturally. She was the one who faked it, so when it came time to really woman up, she ran.
All because she was scared; more frightened than she’d ever been, even more than when she’d gotten thrown out of her poor excuse of a home at eighteen, with an entire fifty bucks to her name.
That was nothing. Hell, when it came to being alone and surviving, she was the champ. But when she felt the pull of needing someone, wanting to be with someone, that’s what sent her into a panic.
She wanted Roark to care about her, and that was the problem. She’d spent her life protecting herself so that she’d never want or need anyone’s love again. But she did.
She’d been so worried about letting Roark in, scared to get close . . . but it was already too late for that. He was in. She cared about him, his family, his inn—all of it—more than she’d ever thought possible.
Roark hadn’t asked her for more, because she’d been so adamant about them not being “a thing.” Because she was an idiot. Now she wanted him to ask her for more, and it scared the shit out of her.
Why would he want her? No one else did. Then he’d stepped right over her when something important was on the line. She was a fool for ever believing it’d be any other way.
And she still had a wedding to save.
Whitney was gone, but even if she did find her, then what? She didn’t want Roark to be right about her not being able to convince Whitney to stay.
But he was.
She sighed, lifting her head to rest her chin on her knees.
Who the hell was she to give anyone a pep talk about relationships? She needed the pep talk. The thought of her trying to sing the praises of love and commitment, encourage settling down and trusting another person with your heart? What a load.
“Hey.” Whitney stuck her head around one of the giant stone pillars that supported the back of the inn.
Madison came up off the swing, clutching her chest. “You’re here.”
Whitney grimaced, but came closer, her strawberry blond hair catching the moonlight, face so pale she could be a ghost.
“Yeah. ”
Madison’s heart thumped in her chest like a bass.
Whitney eased toward her. The coat she wore was overlarge and the sleeves hung down over her hands. Madison could still tell that beneath all that fab
ric, where she held her hands together, she was wringing them.
“Do you . . . do you want to sit down?”
Whitney smiled, but it was weak. A sad impression of her smiles from the night before. “You don’t mind?”
“No.” Normally, she’d mind very much. But she needed to do this, not only to save this wedding and save her own ass, but to be there for Whitney. She sure as hell needed to be there for someone.
They sat on the swing. Whitney pulled the blanket up to her chin, sitting the same way Madison sat earlier. Instead of bombarding her with questions, Madison asked her only one. “Mind if we swing back and forth a little?”
Whitney shook her head, so Madison pushed off with both feet, the swing swaying back and forth, back and forth. With each swing, the chain’s links whined a little.
“When I was little, I thought the noise from squeaky swings was strangely musical.”
Madison didn’t say a word but turned to look at her. Her chin was wrinkled as she fought to keep it from trembling.
“Strangely bad music, but there’s still a rhythm if you listen. I would swing faster and slower, changing the tempo.” Whitney swiped at the corner of her eye with the edge of the quilt, her chin finally succumbing to the trembles as the tears fell. “I’ve always been such a weirdo.”
Madison shook her head, the claim No, you’re not on the tip of her tongue, but how would she know? She hardly knew Whitney; plus, whenever people cooed no at her, she shut out whatever else they had to say.
She bit at the inside of her cheek. Think. Think. “I used to swing as high as I could and stay that way, just to see how long I could. I’d make myself motion sick, but I wasn’t about to stop. Guess I’m a weirdo too.”
Whitney nodded, pinching her lips together, her face shiny with tear tracks.
“So . . . have you been—where have you been? Hiding in the woods?”
Whitney’s laugh surprised them both, and Whitney snorted with another laugh. “Sort of? There’s an empty round, tent-looking thing near here and the door was open.”
Madison thought of Roark, and the smile on her lips twisted her heart. “It’s called a yurt.”
A Moment of Bliss Page 25