Runaway Bride

I walk up to the hostess with Bishop’s hand in my own. I’m a nervous ball of energy, but know all will be well the second I get this done and over with.

“Hi, I’m with the Young reservation.” I greet the woman with a smile, and she returns it before looking down at the screen in front of her.

“Yes. Right this way.” She walks us to the table, and a part of me wonders if my parents picked such a ritzy place just to make a scene.

As we get closer to the table, I see my parents. My father’s face is a permanent scowl while my mother picks at her well-manicured nails as if she’s bored.

Bishop must sense how nervous I am. He leans down and whispers into my ear, “Relax, Bambi. They don’t have a hold on you anymore. You’re your own person—you’re Ivy.” His words soothe the ache in my chest and give me the courage to keep walking toward the table. I feel my insides incinerate when my mother’s gaze meets mine. She nudges my father with her elbow and stands to greet us.

“Oh, Ivy, it’s so good to see you.” Her eyes move away from me to Bishop with judgement in her them; the disgust written on her features is plain as day.

“Bishop,” he introduces himself without holding his hand out like my parents would expect.

“You must be the rude man who kidnapped my daughter. I could have you arrested. It would be so easy for them to see you as the criminal you are.”

My mother’s words snap me out of the fog of anxiety surrounding me.

“Do not talk to him like that or I will get up and walk out of here right now,” I scold her, my threat hanging in the air between us.

My mother sneers, and my father ushers her to sit in her chair.

“Ivy, you’ve caused a rather large issue and cost us, as well as Joseph, thousands of dollars. However, he has still agreed to take you as his wife. I hope you’re ready to stop playing games…”

I glance at Bishops and see his jaw tighten.

“She’s not marrying Joseph. He fucked another woman on what was supposed to be their wedding day. He doesn’t love her, I do,” Bishop growls, and my father’s gaze swings to meet his green eyes.

“Excuse me, but you’re nothing but a low life. Look at you. You kidnapped our daughter and brainwashed her.” My father adjusts his tie, his beady eyes piercing mine, demanding me to follow his orders.

“I’m not marrying Joseph. I love Bishop, and I will be leaving here with him. I simply showed up to prove I am still alive and haven’t been taken against my will.”

“Did he rape you? Force himself on you?” My mother jumps in, and I can hardly breathe. I cannot believe she would say such things about Bishop.

His grip tightens in mine, and I know he’s close to losing it.

“He didn’t rape me…” My mother’s normally angelic face flips into a mask of fury.

“Joseph will never take you back if you’ve given yourself to this low life piece of—”

“I don’t want Joseph to take me back. I never wanted him in the first place. I am not marrying him, and I will not tell you again.” I release Bishop’s hand and slam my hands down on the table, gathering the attention of the entire room.

My parents’ eyes go wide, wider than I’ve ever seen them before.

“We have been very patient with you, Ivy, but you leave us no choice but to intervene.” Anger consumes me. I find my body is shaking, my blood boiling.

“Leave me alone. Leave Bishop alone. Don’t try to contact me—and don’t ever talk bad about the man I love. You don’t know the first thing about finding someone who’s meant to be yours. All you care about is marrying for namesake and the check that follows.”

“Are you ready?” Bishop asks a moment later, and I nod, having said all I have to say.

“If you walk out of here, we will search for you. We will never let you be free,” my mother yells, drawing more attention. One of the hostesses starts walking toward us, and I know she’s probably going to ask us to leave, but she doesn’t have to, because I’m already on my way out the door.

“If you try to touch her, hurt her in any way, I will destroy you,” Bishop growls, letting the warning stand and leaving my mother looking as if she’s just been slapped. We walk out the front doors of the restaurant without anyone following us, and I feel a sense of relief.

As soon as we get outside and the cold air hits my face, I know I’m free.

Free of their shackles, their rules.

Free to do as I please.