Some Like It Scot. Donna Kauffman
do—oh.” She stopped speaking as her ability to take in a deep breath became a possibility. She breathed deeply twice more. Then sighed—heavily, for a change—in abject relief. “Thank you,” she said, never more sincerely. “But…you need to stop, uh, or I won’t have—”
“Give me a moment,” he said, every bit as calm and collected as he’d been in the garden.
Her port in the storm, indeed.
He tugged gently on the laces, but not so much that she felt constrained. He fiddled about a moment longer, then said, “There. All set.”
She fumbled and reached behind her, then struggled to sit back up. He helped her by all but lifting her from him and settled her back in her seat. The way one might a stuffed doll. Albeit a doll one had affection for, as he’d done it as gently as possible.
“Thank you,” she said again. “I can—” She paused, breathed, and realized she didn’t feel nauseous anymore. “Thank you,” she repeated.
“Are ye all right?” Graham asked. He had one steadying hand on her shoulder. And it was steadying. Also distracting.
“I’m sorry for the drama there. I thought I was going to…you know.”
“And are you?”
She shook her head. “I just wanted to.” Right before curling up into the fetal position and doing her damndest to forget the entire day had ever happened. “I’m good now. It was the dress, I guess.”
Graham tapped on the divider window with his free hand, and the town car pulled away from the curb and resumed their journey. He lifted his hand from her shoulder and pushed the tumble of hair from her face. “I’m certain it was more than the dress. But I’m glad that much has been resolved.”
He pushed the last wayward strand from her cheek, which was such a soothing gesture, she caught herself pressing lightly against the palm of his hand. It was hard, and callused…but also warm, and gentle despite being broad enough to cup most of the side of her head in his palm alone. The acid wave in her gut was gone. Instead she had to contend with a sudden burning sensation behind her eyes. No. She was not going to get emotional. McAuleys didn’t get emotional.
Though she’d always thought that rule was restrictive bordering on cruel, especially when she’d been a youngster, all that training should be good for something. Right then, crying was not going to do her any good. Later, when she was alone, it was going to be the sobfest of the century, accompanied by a gluttony of chocolate if she had anything to say about it. And possibly large quantities of whatever adult beverage she could get her hands on.
But not yet. She’d done the hard part. Okay, so part one of the hard part. Certainly there was worse yet to come. She could not allow herself to fall apart at the first sign of someone showing concern or caring. She’d just claimed her independence, literally in front of God and everyone. She was on her own, her own woman. Hear her roar.
And though she hadn’t been in that new stage of her life very long, she was pretty sure being independent precluded leaning on anyone. Certainly not inside the first five minutes, anyway.
“I’m okay,” she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat, then forcing that down, too. She removed herself from his warmth and care and concern. It would be her undoing if she allowed herself even a second more of it. It was all catching up to her in a giant rush of reality and she wasn’t prepared to deal with that part yet. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.
“Where to, sir?” The driver’s voice crackled through the intercom. The glass partition between them was smoked, making the driver nothing more than a shadowy figure on the other side.
“Airport,” Graham said. “Baltimore.”
Katie didn’t argue. In fact, hearing the word airport helped yank her brain back to the matter at hand. She had not a prayer of figuring out what to do with the rest of her life, much less the catastrophic ramifications of what she’d just left behind—especially during a hell-for-leather limo ride in her half undone wedding dress, with a gigantic, mad Scotsman who claimed he owned her, as her only support system. That would not be happening. All she really had to do, right that very second, was figure out what to do next. The rest would work itself out in time.
An eon or two should do it.
She had no idea what Graham had in mind, although she assumed it was a flight back to the U.K. Scotland, however, was not on her itinerary. Not that day. Not ever. She and Blaine were supposed to be flying to Italy for an extended tour through wine country, followed by a river cruise through the Gota Canal in Sweden. She had all the tickets and documents tucked in her bags in the trunk of the limo. While a part of her wished, badly, that she could have somehow gotten Blaine out of the country and away from the fire and brimstone and hell hath no fury that was surely happening back in the church, she also knew that by leaving her family behind, she’d had no choice but to also leave Blaine. They couldn’t continue to be partners in crime if only one of them wanted the prison break.
She had realized for some time, their co-dependancy was the biggest part of the reason why they’d put up with their families’ respective crap as long as they had.
So she’d go to Italy. Alone. And maybe Sweden, too. Though the canal part had been for Blaine. He was an engineer trapped in the body of an heir to an empire he didn’t want. Seeing one of the great wonders of the engineering world was to have been her wedding gift to him. It was as close as he would come to realizing his own dream of designing new infrastructure systems to help solve engineering issues in underdeveloped countries. Maybe she’d overnight his tickets to him from the airport. Encourage him to go on his own. Or take Tag. Whatever. Maybe he’d embark on the new chance she’d given him by finally, mercifully, breaking them both free.
She wondered if he was doing that…or if he was already struggling to patch things up. At least, leaving as she had, clearly showing that he’d had no knowledge of it, he could be the poor victim, and martyr the whole thing. If he wanted to go that way. She fervently, fervently, prayed he would not. If he didn’t use her escape to break free, she knew he never would. And he’d spend the rest of his life living a lie. Multiple lies.
She wasn’t doing that. Not anymore. She’d go to Italy, soak up lovely scenery, drink copious amounts of alcohol, eat an obscene amount of pasta, and figure out what a woman did who’d just turned her back on every scrap of support she had—on her family, on her entire life. If that wasn’t enough of an emotional whirlpool, she was also going to come home to the stark reality of no roof over her head, no bank accounts she could access, and surely no job to report to. And most likely no one to turn to while she got on her feet. She doubted her friends would stand up to the pressure her family was certain to bring to bear on them. She couldn’t blame them for that. Her only true friend was Blaine. And she doubted he’d be opening his door to her after what she’d just done to him.
It struck her then. So obvious, and yet previously so unthinkable. But…What if…Could she just…never go home?
She stifled an urge to gasp. But the skies didn’t open, terror didn’t reign down. She wasn’t even struck by lightning for daring to have such an anarchist thought.
Wow. Could she really not go home? Actually, now that she thought about it, did she really have a choice?
She rubbed a spot over her heart, the pain there like a sharp stab. But what other choice had there been left to make? Her family hadn’t left her much of one. Yes, she should have planned a better exit strategy than bailing out on a lifetime commitment to the joint family empire then ditching it and running away from it on her wedding day.
But…too late! There was no turning back, no do-over.
So, okay. Fine. Good. She’d spent the past six years since completing her MBA making sure that McAuley-Sheffield, a company that employed hundreds of people, ran like a tightly oiled machine. Surely she could figure out how to run a tightly oiled company of one. She’d just pick some new place and…start from scratch. She was educated. She had