The Runaway Bride

TO HAVE AND TO HOLD?

I still couldn’t believe I did it.

I stared out the oval airplane window as Seyra Island came into view. Emerald palms, glittering turquoise waters, and a shoreline that looked like it had been photo shopped by the gods. Meanwhile, somewhere in uptight suburbia, a church full of designer shoes and judgmental whispers was recovering from the biggest scandal since Aunt Mimi ran off with her yoga instructor.

Yup. I had officially left Pete at the altar.

God, I was such a bad b***h now. Hah.

And I felt… high. Not on drugs, though I probably could’ve used one of those tiny airplane vodkas, but on the kind of adrenaline that comes from blowing up your life with a single, reckless decision.

I glanced down at my phone. Ten missed calls from Mom. Sixteen from Pete. A dozen from unknown numbers that were probably his family’s lawyers or the tabloids or both. The last text from my dad just read: Unbelievable. Fix this.

I held the power button down.

“Jade,” Evie whispered from the seat beside me, peeking at my phone like it might explode. “They’re saying you had a breakdown.”

“Let them,” I replied, sliding the phone into my bag and zipping it shut like I was locking away a demon. “Breakdowns get better PR than epiphanies.”

She smirked. “You’re unhinged and I love it.”

We disembarked straight onto the island’s private runway. A sleek black SUV awaited us with a uniformed driver holding a GreyStorm sign. The moment the doors shut behind us, I let out a long breath.

I’d traded vows for palm trees. Lace for linen. Pete for… well, we’d see.

The resort was tucked into the cliffs on the far side of the island, looking like something out of a luxury magazine. Glass walls. Open-air lounges. Ocean views from every room. If this was rock bottom, I was kind of into it.

A woman named Liane from the guest liaison team greeted us with matching smiles and icy water in crystal glasses. “Welcome, Ms. Carter. We’ve been expecting you. Your team will be housed in the Cliffview Suites. Would you like a brief tour?”

“Yes,” I said, “as long as it includes where the alcohol reserves are.”

Liane laughed politely. She didn’t know if I was joking. Honestly, neither did I.

The tour was quick: meeting lounges, spa areas, outdoor platforms for sunrise yoga, infinity pools that looked like they merged with the ocean, and my personal favourite, “The Cove,” a private beach club for GreyStorm’s top-level staff. Apparently, this wasn’t just a retreat; it was a power playground. Executives from around the world would be flying in over the next few days, and I was supposed to make sure their exclusive bonding time came with the right shade of table linens and gourmet canapés.

No pressure.

Our rooms were next to each other, perched on the cliff with views so stupidly pretty I almost teared up. Evie collapsed face-first into her bed without even taking off her shoes. I kicked off mine and stood by the balcony, letting the breeze tangle my hair as I stared at the waves below.

Freedom had a sound, and it was the wind through island palms and absolutely no one calling me “Mrs. Greyford.”

We both slept through the rest of the afternoon. Jet-lag, shock, and rebellion were exhausting.

By sundown, we were showered, dressed, and hungry. Liane had recommended a place called Reef Bar, an open-air, seaside lounge just a short golf cart ride away.

“You’re really not gonna check your phone?” Evie asked as we walked in, the warm evening breeze brushing past us.

“Nope.” I popped the ‘P’. “If the world’s ending, it can leave a voicemail.”

The Reef Bar pulsed with music and golden light. Locals, staff, and a few early-arrival execs drank, danced, and flirted like tomorrow didn’t exist. It was exactly the kind of place a newly rogue almost-bride needed to celebrate her scandalous escape.

Evie immediately got pulled into a conversation about cocktails with the bartender. I wandered toward the edge of the lounge, drawn to the view and marveling at my own bad-assry, when I caught sight of the man leaning tucked in a corner, towards a bar counter and spread out like he owned the ocean behind him.

He was tall, lean but solid and muscular with messy dark hair, shirt slightly unbuttoned, icy blue eyes, and drink in hand. He was staring right at me. He didn’t even blink or flinch at the fact that I’d caught him staring.

Of course, he couldn’t look away. I was wearing my best “I’m fine, just ran away from my wedding” glow. I glanced back at Evie who was still engrossed and feeling bold, I walked up to his table and took the seat before him.

“This seat taken?” I asked, sipping from my drink.

His brow rose a little in interest and amusement. “Now it is. And thank God.” Came his reply. His voice was gravelly and low and raspy. It sounded like sin.

Damn.

“Rough day?” he asked as I set my glass down.

“You could say that,” I replied, taking the seat beside him. “Just left someone at the altar this morning. Nothing too serious though.”

He didn’t flinch, though the edges of his mouth twitched a little. “Wow. How…badass of you. How can I be like you when I grow up?”

“Right? "That’s what I’m saying!,” I scoffed, sipping the drink the bartender magically slid in front of me as I flicked my hair back with some pride. “Sadly. Badassry is an innate skill, boy. Not sure that I can teach it. I was just born that way, you know.”

He chuckled. “Well, he’s probably crying into a Rolex by now. You don’t seem like the type to stick around just to keep the peace.”

“I used to be,” I said. “Until today.”

He held up his glass. “To being someone new.”

“Hmm, preach, sister.”

He snorted and we clinked our glasses and drank.

“So,” he said, eyes sharp and amused, “runaway bride, gorgeous dress, mysterious island… are you on the lam or on vacation?”

I grinned. “A bit of both, really. And also gonna be my honeymoon. For not getting married.”

He raised a brow. “Must be one hell of a retreat.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Conversation flowed. Easy. Smooth. No pretence. No pressure. No mentions of bridal suites or napkin choices or mother-in-laws.

“I’m Jade, by the way,” I finally said.

He hesitated. Just a beat. Then smiled. “Call me Carter.”

Carter. It suited him. Sharp, cool, dangerous in a “might wreck your life and make it worth it” kind of way.

By the time I remembered Evie existed, she was across the bar, deep in conversation with a redhead wearing designer flip-flops. She caught my eye, gave me a dramatic wink, and waved me off.

I turned back to Carter.

“So,” I said, heart thudding in my chest, “what now?”

He leaned in, voice low and velvet. “Now…maybe you come with me. I’ll help you get over your obvious heartbreak.”

I snorted though I hesitated a bit. Would it be cheating? Technically yes. It wouldn’t really matter though. I’d send a message tomorrow and call everything off. The wedding and the goddamn relationship. Everything.

So we left the bar. Walked along a quiet path lit by torches and moonlight. He led me to his suite, one of the private villas overlooking the cove.

I should’ve been nervous.

Instead, I was electric.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t doing what was expected. I wasn’t performing. I wasn’t shrinking myself to fit inside someone else’s future.

I was alive. Barefoot and buzzing and ready to be reckless.

He opened the door and I stepped inside.

And just before the door shut behind me, my phone buzzed one last time in my bag. But I didn’t check it.

Instead, I carelessly flung it aside, turning to face him, just as he reached forward and claimed my lips in a passionate, hot and needy kiss.

By the time we were undressed and stumbling our way towards the bed, every thought had vanished from my head.