Running Away with the Bride
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Sophia Singh Sasson
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16,1K
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22
One
“Stop this wedding!”
Ethan Connors searched the stage on the back lawn of the Mahal Hotel where a mandap had been set up. The couple was seated on floor-level settees under a pergola-like structure in front of a small fire. A priest dressed in loose orange clothing chanted and threw things into the fire, making it crackle and smoke.
Ethan wished he’d paid more attention to the wedding sequence the one time he’d been to an Indian wedding with Pooja. He had no idea if he’d made it in time to stop hers.
At his outcry, the bride, groom and the dozen or so people surrounding them looked at him with surprise. The priest froze and the chatter of the crowd behind Ethan died. He could feel the stares of hundreds of guests on him. He tried to catch Pooja’s eyes but the heavy bridal veil covered her head and fell halfway across her face. The smoke from the fire swirled around her. He looked at the older Indian couple seated next to her. Were they Pooja’s parents? If the glare they were shooting him was any indication, they were.
A knot twisted in his stomach. After six months of dating, including three months of living together, she’d never introduced him to her parents, and he couldn’t pick them out based on the pictures he’d seen on her bookshelf.
A younger man seated next to the bride stood and made his way to Ethan. “I don’t know who you are but you’re interrupting my sister’s wedding. You best leave quietly before I call security.” The man’s voice was low and icy.
But Ethan was determined he wasn’t going to lose her again. He may have come to his senses in the eleventh hour, but he was going to save himself, and Pooja. She’d known the guy sitting next to her for three months. How could she marry him? I want to know my husband and be sure that we’re compatible, she’d said to Ethan. He and Pooja were compatible. Why hadn’t he seen that sooner? When she’d first brought up marriage—and how her family wouldn’t approve of her relationship with a white Midwesterner unless he put a ring on her finger—he’d thought he needed more time to figure things out. But what was left to think about? He was pushing forty. His brother was ten years younger and had been married for nine years and had two kids. Pooja was the only woman who had deemed him worthy enough to even discuss marriage. He wasn’t going to let her get away a second time.
Pooja was now standing, but Ethan still couldn’t get a clear line of sight through the crowd that was gathering around him. He hadn’t spoken to her since she walked out three months ago, but she’d sent him an email telling him she was getting married today. Why would she do that if she didn’t want him to make a grand gesture? It would’ve been helpful if she’d sent him some details other than that her groom was planning “a grand baarat down the Vegas strip.” He’d spent the entire morning driving up and down the strip, looking for a groom on a horse surrounded by a bunch of people dancing. The traditional Indian baarat, the arrival of the groom’s party, would be hard to miss, or so he thought. He’d been on the other side of the strip when he’d heard on the radio that traffic was snarled because of an Indian wedding, and he’d driven like a madman to get there.
He had charged in ready to take on the world, or at least a bunch of angry relatives, but now doubt snaked its way through him. Did Pooja really want him to rescue her? And how the hell was he going to get out of the hotel without hundreds of guests and hotel security guards stopping him?
Take off your veil and look at me, Pooja. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to succumb to her parents’ pressure and marry whichever Tom, Dick or Hari they had found for her. He was ready to step up and make a commitment.
Another man who bore a family resemblance to the one who’d identified himself as Pooja’s brother broke through the crowd and strode toward him. Who knew how many family members there were, and Ethan had zero backup. When will you stop being so impulsive? His mother’s familiar recrimination blared in his head.
He focused on Pooja, who was clearly looking in his direction, despite the veil on her face. “I’m sorry I was such an ass and didn’t realize how much you meant to me. I want to marry you. Run away with me.” Brother One whispered something into a phone, no doubt calling security. “We must go now!”
“Yo dude, this isn’t some Hollywood film. What do you think you’re doing?” Brother Number Two was now within punching distance and didn’t seem quite as reserved as Brother One. “My sister doesn’t know who you are. Get out before I...” He pulled his arm back, clearly preparing to punch Ethan in the face.
“Wait!” Pooja’s voice sounded strange.
All eyes turned toward her. As she stepped down from the stage with an easy grace, she fisted some of the long burgundy skirt that flowed to her heels. It was covered with shiny gold thread and shimmering diamond jewels. The gold-colored top was cropped a few inches above her navel, showing a tantalizing strip of her stomach and back. Visions of running an ice cube across that navel, then licking up the droplets of water flashed through his mind. Why hadn’t he actually done that with Pooja when they were together?
Her hands had intricate henna patterns from her fingers to her elbow, and her wrists were covered in red-and-white bangles. The crowd dispersed to let her through to him. She lifted her veil as she made her way toward him, and his heart slammed into his chest.
It wasn’t Pooja.
“I love you! I cannot go through with this wedding.” She leaped into his arms and crushed all the air out of his lungs. He instinctively placed his hands on her waist as she clung to him. Her skin was cool and soft beneath his fingers. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon.
“What the...?” But he didn’t finish what he was going to say because she pressed her lips to his and all rational thought left his brain. His arms tightened around her, and the silence of the stunned crowd matched his stopped heartbeat.
She broke the kiss a bare second after it had begun, leaving him feeling shorted.
“Do not say a word.” Her warm breath teased his ear, rousing a fire in his belly. “If you tell them you have the wrong wedding, my brothers will beat you to a pulp for kissing me. I suggest we take advantage of the surprise and run.”
She had a slightly Indian, slightly musical and entirely arousing accent. He reluctantly moved his eyes from her mouth and looked at her brothers, whose murderous expressions got him to haul ass.
“Out of our way!” He grabbed her hand. Given that there had to be hundreds of guests milling about, they had surprisingly little trouble getting moving. The guests eagerly parted so they could get a better angle for cell phone pictures and videos and then helpfully got in the way of their pursuers. It made for better social media posts if the bride actually got away.
Just wait until they find out who I am.
She matched his fast pace, despite the fact that they were on grass and she was wearing two-inch-high heels and a skirt that probably weighed more than she did. Once they got past the guests, she yanked his arm and he let her take the lead. People were shouting in various languages behind him, and he was glad he had no idea what they were saying.
Instead of running into the main building, where four men in black were making their way toward them, the bride banked a hard left. “There’s a gate through the serenity garden that isn’t guarded.” She led them to a wooden gate embedded in a perimeter wall.
I don’t think this is what they had in mind when they made this emergency exit.
It had one of those childproof locks, but she expertly handled it. Had she planned the escape route? Ethan hoped so; her brothers had recovered from their shock and were almost upon them.
They went through the gate and he pulled it shut behind him just as a hand snaked out. By the yelp he heard on the other side of the door, he’d succeeded in slamming the door shut. They exited onto a side street and he looked around to get his bearings. The front of the hotel faced the famous Vegas strip.
“Where’s your car parked?” she asked urgently.
“Not far,” he said and led her down the street. He had illegally parked nearby, and they had miraculously exited on the right side of the hotel, so the car was just down the block. As they approached it, he saw a ticket on the windshield. He ignored the piece of paper and went to the passenger side and touched the handle. The Tesla roadster recognized his fingerprint and unlocked. He opened the door and the bride gracefully lowered herself into the deep bucket seat. Just as he started the car, a hand smacked the passenger-side window, and he looked to see Brothers One and Two at her door. He floored the accelerator. Vegas traffic didn’t really allow for a high-speed chase, so he made a series of turns, hoping to lose whoever pursued them.
“We need to get out of Vegas,” the bride said, her voice frantic.
He drove aggressively until they were at least a mile from the hotel, then pulled into a public parking garage and stopped the car. He turned to her. Her beautiful dark eyes gazed back at him with such lustrous excitement that he momentarily lost his train of thought.
“We aren’t going anywhere until you tell me who you are.”
She stuck out her hand. “Divya Singh. Very nice to meet you. Now we have to get moving.”
He shook his head. “You have to get moving. I have a wedding to crash. The right one this time.”
