Bride on the Run
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Anna J. Stewart
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19,9K
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19
CHAPTER ONE
“WHAT AM I doing getting married?”
Sienna Fairchild stared at herself in the full-length mirror and wondered if she was real. She pressed damp palms against her colorless cheeks. The neatly arranged cascading raven curls perfectly framed her expertly made-up face. The diamond choker sparkled against her pale throat. The weighty emerald engagement ring that dragged her down like an anchor sparkled against the late afternoon sun. The rays streaming through the bay window of the bridal suite at the San Diego Empire Yacht Club. She’d grown up here, spent countless hours exploring the boats and dock where first her grandmother and then Vincent Fairchild, Sienna’s father, had served as president.
“Nana, where are you when I need you?” Tears of grief stung the back of her throat. It had been two months since her grandmother had died; two months that had passed excruciatingly slow and yet flashed by in the blink of an eye ever since Richard Somersby had proposed.
Richard Somersby, her father’s latest business partner, and someone who could ensure the Fairchild fortune for generations to come, should have been a dream come true. Handsome, wealthy, charming. Oh, so charming. Too charming? Sienna frowned.
Richard had turned his attention on Sienna the instant he’d seen her at her father’s birthday party, which had happened not long after her grandmother’s funeral. Richard had been exciting and different and...her head had spun, given his interest, and her normally distant father had been thrilled.
She had most definitely been charmed. She’d also been neck-deep in sleepless grief over having lost the only parental figure she’d really had growing up.
Winnifred Fairchild, teenage bride, WWII factory worker, former CEO of Fairchild International, mother of four sons, only two of whom had lived past childhood, would have moved heaven and earth for Sienna; had moved it, in some respects. Before Winnie’s death, Sienna’s father never would have considered pushing Sienna into marriage, let alone into one that would solidify his business connections.
Nana never would have allowed it unless she was convinced it was what Sienna wanted.
It had been what she’d wanted, Sienna thought now. At least it had been until fifteen minutes ago, when she’d looked at herself in the mirror.
And didn’t see a trace of herself.
“I need help, Nana.” The whispered plea echoed in the empty room, against the brocade curtains, the striped gold wallpaper and the silver tray that housed a champagne bucket and glasses. The one-of-a-kind designer gown felt like a straitjacket despite the strapless corset top. The sweeping, elegant tulle skirt with satin lining brushed against the floor. Embroidery, beads, rhinestones and appliqué added intricate patterns of perfection any bride would be thrilled with. Yet all Sienna could hear, even above the lapping waves of the marina and the cries of seagulls, was her panicked breathing and the voice screaming in her head that something wasn’t right.
She gripped her skirt in her fists and moved to the French doors overlooking the marina. The ocean. Peace instantly settled over her; the water always had provided solace. It had been her grandmother’s coping mechanism, as well, one Winnie had embraced fully a few years before when she’d purchased a cozy home on the beach less than ten miles from where Sienna currently stood—a house Sienna was poised to inherit now that Winnie had died.
“What are you doing?” Tabitha, her cousin and maid of honor, rushed into the room. Her expression was frantic, her long blond locks solidified with enough hair product to supply a salon. “Let go of your dress! It’s getting wrinkled. You have pictures in less than fifteen minutes.” She slapped at Sienna’s hands, kneeled down and smoothed the expensive material. “There. It’s okay.” Tabitha let out a long, relieved breath. “I don’t think we need to steam it again.”
“I can’t do this.” The words were barely a whisper. Sienna cleared her throat. “I can’t marry Richard.”
“Don’t be silly—of course you can.” Tabitha stood and flipped a curl behind Sienna’s shoulder. “Richard’s a woman’s dream come true. It’s last-minute jitters.” But Tabitha didn’t meet her gaze. If anything, she seemed to be purposely avoiding it.
“I don’t know him.” Not the real him, Sienna thought. Oh, he was a pretty enough picture and well established in the financial world, but what were his dreams? His ambitions? And he’d never asked about her dreams, her plans. Her...
“What’s to know?” Tabitha asked. “He’s crazy about you and he can pay for anything you ever want or need.” Tabitha turned critical, almost accusing eyes on her.
Sienna swallowed hard. She saw it, a moment before Tabitha covered it, but it was there. A momentary flash of envy. “Now.” Tabitha nodded. “Let’s head downstairs. Richard and his groomsmen are finishing up with the photographer. We’re up next.”
The roar in Sienna’s ears intensified as Tabitha pushed the bouquet of red and white roses into her hands. She followed her cousin out of the room to the winding staircase and thought this had to be what an out-of-body experience felt like.
“I’m going to go get the others,” Tabitha told her, referring to Sienna’s bridesmaids. Tabitha took Sienna’s arms and planted her in an alcove at the bottom of the stairs. She fluffed up the veil a bit, tsked a few times, then smiled. “Don’t move. We’ll all be right back.”
Tabitha disappeared in a flash of bloodred, a fitting color for the attendants’ A-line gowns, Sienna thought against the giggle of hysteria that bubbled up. This was it. The first day of the rest of her life. Married to a successful man, a man whose parties and appearances and professional successes would soon be hers, while her own dreams...
Every ounce of warmth drained out of Sienna’s body. Her own dreams, whatever they were, would wither and die, forever unrealized and unachieved, because she’d been so determined to fulfill the only request her father had ever made of her.
She shouldn’t have waited so long to listen to the doubts. She should have confided in one or more of her friends, asked for their advice, but they were all so busy with their own lives, their own relationships and jobs. She didn’t want to bother them with something she should be able to work out for herself.
A cool breeze drifted in through the side door. The early spring rainstorm that had crossed through the area last night had long since moved on, leaving in its wake the promise of blue skies and crisp, refreshing days. The sunshine beckoned her, like a beacon of escape she only now realized was within reach.
She walked to the door, set the bouquet on the nearby table and pulled off her veil.
It drifted to the floor as she stepped outside.
She took a deep breath. Held it. Released it. The belt of panic that had been tightening around her loosened. It continued to ease with each step she took away from the club. Her spiked heels clicked on the cement stairs she descended. Bending down, she caught huge wads of fabric in her hands and hiked up her dress, walking quickly along the stone path to the marina entrance. She welcomed the warmth of the sun beating down on her.
Sienna surrendered to instinct. She’d practically grown up at the club, where her father had been president for most of her childhood. The boats were all different, of course, but they were also the same. She had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there. But she most definitely was not going to get married. Not now. Maybe not ever.
There was commotion behind her and it caused her to pick up her pace. She couldn’t be certain it had anything to do with her, of course. But the sooner she got out of sight and took some time to decide what came next, the better.
Except no boat felt right. Every schooner, yacht or cruiser she eyed had her scrambling onward. Her heel caught between two planks. Foot stuck, she pitched forward and cried out, landing awkwardly. Probably looking like a marshmallow factory that had exploded, she pushed herself up and shoved her hair out of her face. She twisted around to pull her foot free from her shoe, but froze, blinking at the fiberglass boat right in front of her.
Nana’s Dream.
Her stomach clenched. More cries and calls and shouts came from the direction of the club. Her pulse kicked into top speed. She finally yanked out the shoe from between the planks and practically dived onto the boat. She scrambled across the deck toward the open hatch, her dress billowing around her.
Once inside, she stopped. A time warp to the eighties? Dark painted wood paneling, hideous pastel floral-print cushions on the bench seats and nautical-themed drapes over the lone grimy window.
Boy, did this boat need some TLC ASAP.
She bunched up her dress and squeezed past the galley kitchen, then began pulling open doors. She heard distinct and all-too-familiar voices shouting from the dock, including her father’s loud baritone.
Expecting a bathroom behind the next door, she ended up wedging herself into a narrow closet where old fishing rods and gear were stored. It also had one shelf. With a fast sweep of her arm, she cleared it. After tucking the dress up and around her, she hoisted herself up, reached out and pulled the door closed.
Only then did she realize she’d lost her shoe.
DUFFEL SLUNG OVER his shoulder, grocery bag in the other hand, Monty Bettencourt whistled his way down the path toward the marina that housed Nana’s Dream.
It had taken him three months of negotiating the price to something he could afford—barely—but the extra hassle had been worth it. This latest acquisition to his expanding fleet for Wind Walkers Tours would be the perfect honeymoon rental once he knocked some shape into it. He could also book it out for a college-buddies’ reunion or moms’ getaway. It would take time, and a boatload of cash he no longer had, but eventually she’d shine.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Even before he pulled it free, he knew who was calling. He stopped, setting down the bag. “What now, Frankie?”
“Foregoing the pleasantries, are we?” His twin sister’s borderline-uptight voice didn’t even register on his freaking-out meter.
“I’m saving time.” He looked over his shoulder as a group of men about his age stampeded out of the yacht club and split off like struck tuxedoed pool balls. Now they were uptight. “What did Ezzie do this time?”
“Nothing horrible. To me, anyway.” Frankie’s voice softened when talking about her soon-to-be mother-in-law. “I know she means well, I really do, but you need to get back here. She’s trying to plan Roman’s bachelor party!”
Monty dodged to one side to avoid a racing groomsman. “No fair. As best man, that’s my territory.” After discussing said event with his future brother-in-law, he’d planned an early morning, catered fishing-trip excursion.
“That’s what I told her. When are you getting back?”
“Not for a few days at least.” Nana’s Dream couldn’t cope with a fast dash up the coast; he was cautiously optimistic the engine would hold out long enough to get him back to Butterfly Harbor in central California. He’d figured four, maybe five days tops if he could give the engine a significant nightly break. Parts for a boat this age weren’t easy to come by, so he needed to preserve this engine long enough to replace it. “You want me to call Ezzie?”
“Just to remind her this is your thing. Roman’s horrified at the idea of his mother planning his party. It could scar him for the honeymoon.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” Monty had to bite his cheek to stop from laughing. It was two weeks until Fire Chief Frankie Bettencourt married her co-chief, Roman Salazar, in what was sure to be one of Butterfly Harbor’s biggest social events of the year. He couldn’t think of anyone in town they hadn’t invited—or who hadn’t invited themselves. One could only hope Skipper Park was large enough to accommodate everyone. “I’ll give her a ring before I cast off.” Cell reception was notoriously horrible out on the water. All this wedding talk was making him strangely sentimental. Watching Frankie and Roman together had made him think about his own future and whether he was going to continue as he was, alone but not lonely, or jump deeper into the dating pool. “And I’ll keep your name out of the conversation, don’t worry.” No use getting Frankie into trouble this close to her wedding day.
“Thank you. All finally good with Dream?”
“Paperwork and licensing finalized this morning. She’s officially ours.”
Since she was one of his business partners, he kept Frankie abreast of his acquisitions, but when it had come to Nana’s Dream, she’d been adamant he buy her. Too bad he couldn’t get the boat in running shape before his sister’s honeymoon. Then again... Monty shuddered. He really didn’t want to think about that aspect of his sister’s life.
Back at the club he saw four women emerge, each wearing various styles of a red gown and flailing about with bouquets as they looked in every direction for something they clearly weren’t finding.
“I gotta go, Frankie.” More people, presumably wedding guests, began flooding outside, all of them looking equally surprised and put out. “I think there’s a scandal erupting at the yacht club.”
“Safe trip home. Don’t rush.” She hesitated. “But don’t take too long.”
“Noted. Talk later.” He hung up, picked up his bag and pushed through the waist-high metal gate to the docks. “What’s going on?” he called to one of the men speeding toward him.
The man, a good three inches taller than Monty’s six feet, but about thirty pounds slimmer, skidded to a halt. A white-rose boutonniere hung limply against the lapel of his tux, and the spinning dismay in the man’s eyes told Monty everything he needed to know. “Have you seen a young woman? Dark hair. Wedding dress. Anywhere around here?”
“You have a runaway bride?” Monty thought that only happened in movies. “Ah, sorry, no.” He would not laugh. He would not. The poor guy looked seriously stressed out.
“Her name’s Sienna. I don’t know where she went or why. I need her to come back.”
“I’m sure if she loves you, she will.” Monty had the strange urge to pat the guy on the shoulder.
“If she what?” For an instant, the man looked confused. “Oh, love, right, yeah. Of course.”
Uh-huh. Monty refrained from rolling his eyes, much in the way his teenage goddaughter, Mandy, often did. “Good luck, buddy.” Yeah. Sienna the runaway bride was gone for good.
He started whistling again, not an easy task when he couldn’t quit grinning. He was a lucky, lucky man. The only thing he had to worry about was living his dream; Wind Walkers Tours was operating in the black and he was already booked halfway through summer, and it was only early April. His sister was about to settle down—first time that had happened ever—and he was gaining a brother-in-law he considered a good friend. Add to that the happy nuptials of his best friend Sebastian with his first love, along with the girders going in at the butterfly sanctuary back home, and Monty didn’t have a care in the world. He certainly didn’t have a runaway bride to worry about.
Whoever that poor guy was, his fiancée sounded like a mess of trouble.
Monty paused on the dock, taking a moment to appreciate the worn fiberglass hull, faded padded seats and fraying lashings. She’d had a good life prior to his purchase, the last ten years of which had been spent moored right here in this berth, but he was going to give her an even better life now. One where she was appreciated, cared for and, most of all, used.
Fifty-footers like Nana’s Dream weren’t meant to be stabled. They were meant to be out there on the water, riding the waves, steering into sunsets and dreams.
Monty tossed his bag onto the deck, but was more careful with the groceries, then he walked the width of the dock to give Dream one last check. Tomorrow morning was the perfect time to head out, right when the sun was peeking over the horizon. A cup of hot coffee, the last of the homemade bagels Ezzie Salazar had packed in his bag yesterday when he’d flown down to San Diego and the wheel in his hand. There truly was no better way to start the day.
Nor was there a better way to end a day than with a good eight to ten hours of shut-eye. He stretched his arms over his head, pulled off his jacket and threw it on top of his bag.
The runaway bride—or rather, her absence—was causing a major ruckus on the dock. He kept his ears open as he stepped onto the boat, then slowed to get a good feel for her while making mental notes as to what needed to be repaired or replaced. When he caught sight of a group of the tuxedoed men heading in his direction, he rested a foot on the railing and leaned his elbows on his knee.
“Something I can help you with?” It was obvious they wanted him for something. The question was, what?
“Someone said they saw Sienna get on your boat,” the man he’d spoken to earlier accused, any grudging politeness having evaporated. “I want to search it.”
“Do you?” Normally Monty would have told him to have at it, but the man’s snotty attitude had him thinking otherwise. “It’s a shame you didn’t ask nicely.”
“Richard.” An older man stepped forward as Richard scowled at Monty. Monty simply arched an eyebrow. He’d dealt with dozens of guys like this Richard dude. They didn’t faze him. They barely entertained him. Rich, privileged and happy to run over anyone they thought was an obstacle. Monty much preferred to be the immovable boulder. “I’m sorry,” the older man said, offering his hand. “Vincent Fairchild. It’s my daughter, Sienna, we’re looking for. She’s...fragile. We just want to make sure she’s all right.”
“Monty Bettencourt.” Monty shook the man’s hand. “How about I take a look myself? You’ll understand if I’d rather not have you all traipsing around my boat.”
“Of course, thank you.”
Monty silently sighed. Good manners didn’t hide Vincent’s irritation. Clearly the older man didn’t appreciate Monty’s suggestion. He also was probably used to getting what he wanted. All the more reason for Monty to needle him. He didn’t have anything else to do at the moment. “Be back in a sec.” He gave Richard a quick grin before he turned toward the stairs that led below to the cabin. Instantly, his blood pressure spiked.
From his vantage point above, he could see, in the middle of the floor, a solitary sparkling white shoe with rhinestones. A seriously sexy shoe. But that wasn’t his only surprise.
The closet door opened, inch by inch, hinges creaking. A long, tanned arm reached out, and pink-tipped fingers grasped the shoe’s strap.
“Something wrong?” Vincent stepped onto the boat and Monty spun around.
“No. I have this inner ear condition.” He pretended to sway. “I move too fast and I get all... Be right back.” He hurried down the ladder just as the closet door closed, arm and shoe out of sight.
His mind raced as he feigned searching for his stowaway. He opened doors, slammed them shut, all the while asking himself what he was going to do about the woman in his closet. Clearly she didn’t want to go with Vincent and Richard. She knew they were here yet remained hidden. Having met the guys, Monty could understand her reticence. He could at least play along with her for a while. Maybe long enough for her to make a real getaway.
He rapped his knuckles on the closet door as he passed and thought he heard a yelp, then he returned up the stairs.
“Sorry. I didn’t see her.” Not a lie. He hadn’t seen—well, at least not all of her. “You sure they said my boat?”
“They did.” Richard bolted forward again, but Vincent stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“She’s not here, Richard,” Monty said, erasing all humor from his voice. “Unless you plan on calling me a liar and having the police conduct a legal search, I suggest you get off my property.”
“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Vincent repeated when Richard started to argue. “She can’t have gotten out of the club without someone seeing her. She’s here somewhere. We’ll just have to look elsewhere.” He faced Monty. “Thank you for checking. If you do see her—”
“I’ll send up a flare.” Monty shoved his hands in his back pockets and smirked at Richard. Depriving him of even a bit of triumph felt like an accomplishment.
Monty waited calmly, watching as the men retreated and disappeared into the yacht club. Only when he was sure no one was watching did he let out the breath he’d been holding and head to the cabin below.
This time he didn’t spare a knock, but yanked open the closet door, only to stare into the most stunning brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life. She stared back at him, unblinking, defiance shining as she struggled to keep hold of her monstrous dress and one sparkly shoe.
“Sienna Fairchild, I assume? Monty Bettencourt.” He bowed slightly and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
