The Runaway Mrs Dela Merced ( English )

“Sorry I’m late.” I heard the voice behind me. I turned slowly, and my eyes went wide when I recognized who it belonged to. The tall, tan, and handsome man standing in front of me… was none other than Michael Vincent Dela Merced. My husband. I swallowed. The coffee cup slipped from my hand before I could stop it. Coffee splashed across the floor, over my heels, and onto my brown skinny jeans. I didn’t care about the mess. I just kept staring at the man in front of me. It felt like time stopped while I looked into Vincent’s eyes. My husband. “Are you okay?” Vincent asked. He glanced at the spilled coffee on the floor before his gaze returned to me. I blinked, trying to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, that Michael Vincent Dela Merced was really standing here. My husband. The only man my young heart had ever loved. I took a deep breath and felt my eyes blur. Tears I was fighting hard to hold back. My expression hardened. I wiped my eyes quickly before any tears could fall in front of him. I couldn’t cry. Not on the first day. Not on the first look. I couldn’t show weakness. “What are… you… doing here?” I asked, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. I looked away. I knew that coming back to the country meant I would see Vincent again. But I didn’t expect him to be the first person I’d see on my first day back in San Miguel. “Picking you up,” he answered, his tone authoritative, and took the handle of my luggage. I snatched it back and stood up from my seat. I glanced at the coffee spilled on the floor, bit my lip, then looked back at Vincent. I caught him staring at my mouth. I suddenly felt self-conscious and lowered my head. My chest felt like it would burst from nerves, fear, or whatever it was I felt with my husband standing in front of me. “Let’s go,” he said. I looked up fast. My eyes landed straight on his handsome face. I drew a deep breath because just looking at him made it hard to breathe. “Where’s my dad? Wasn’t he supposed to pick me up?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound firm to hide the nerves. “I’m your husband. If anyone should pick you up, it’s me,” he answered, stressing the word husband. The word sent a shiver down my spine. Husband? I whispered to myself, like only I could hear it. “Let’s go,” he said again, ignoring my whisper. He pulled my luggage and grabbed the other bag from the chair. Before I could protest, he was already walking, carrying my things. “Wait! Wait!” I yelled and ran after him. “Vincent, what the hell?” I shouted. I stopped dead. Something strange washed over me when I said his name. Ever since I left the country, I’d forced myself not to say my husband’s name. He didn’t even look back. Like he hadn’t heard me. I called him again, but still, he ignored me. So I had no choice but to follow him out of the airport. “Give me that! I’m going to call my dad! I want him to pick me up!” I said firmly when I caught up to him outside. I yanked at the bags he was still holding, but my strength was nothing compared to his. No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t get them. “Stop it.” “What’s wrong with you!” “He’s at the hotel. He called me to pick you up,” he answered coldly, his face expressionless. “I’ll call Nate! He can pick me up!” I said, raising an eyebrow, and reached for my phone in my bag. Vincent immediately grabbed the phone from my hand. “Hey! That’s my phone! What are you doing? Give it back!” I yelled, trying to snatch my phone. “You know, I don’t have time to play games with you. I have work. I have a meeting. But because your dad asked me to pick you up, I left work for you,” he said, anger barely controlled. I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest. I raised an eyebrow. If he thought he could intimidate me, he was wrong. “Well, I’m sorry if I interrupted your meeting! You can go now! I can call my brother or one of my friends to come get me,” I answered, matching his tone. If he was mad at me I was madder at him. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said coldly. “Do you want me to drag you out of here, or will you come with me without making a scene?” “What? I’m not making a scene!” I yelled, glaring at him. When I realized I couldn’t do anything for now, I just shrugged and nodded. Even if I was frustrated, I’d follow him for now. An expensive black BMW was waiting for us outside. I kept my eyes on Vincent as he loaded my things into the back of the car. “Are those all your things?” Vincent asked. “Yeah,” I answered shortly and got into the passenger seat. I didn’t bring everything because I had no plans to stay long in San Miguel. My life wasn’t here anymore. It was in England. And I was going back there. I secretly glanced at Vincent, who was focused on the road. He was still handsome. No doubt about it. I’d stayed away from my family for four years because of the heartbreak I’d experienced loving Vincent. And here I was on my first day back, Vincent was the first person I saw. But I wasn’t the same person anymore. I was twenty-two. Mature enough. I could handle problems now. I could handle the husband I’d left four years ago. I studied Vincent’s handsome face while he drove. Wavy black hair. Perfect eyebrows. Long lashes he got from his mom. Brown eyes that always seemed to hide a secret. Thin lips that matched the mole on his chin, adding to his s*x appeal. Sex appeal? Did I just think that? “So am I still handsome?” Vincent asked, sarcastic. “Ah… hmm, what?” I asked, tense, and quickly looked away. “Well, I thought you were staring at me,” Vincent said with a smirk. “No, of course not!” I answered defensively, feeling my cheeks heat up. Four years had passed, but nothing had changed about Vincent. He was still handsome or even more handsome now. I sighed and closed my eyes. I was tired. I wanted to rest. -- “Ella! We’re here, wake up.” I slowly opened my eyes. I felt someone shaking me and I was shocked to see Vincent’s face just inches from mine. “What are you doing?” I asked, shocked, and pushed him away. “Waking you up. We’re here,” he answered coldly. “Where?” I asked while looking out the car window. We were inside a beautiful yard I’d never seen before. I knew this wasn’t our house, and I was sure it wasn’t the Dela Merced house either. “Whose house is this?” I asked, frowning, turning to Vincent, who was already getting out of the car. “Whose house is this?” I asked again and got out too. I scanned the modern, large house and the wide yard. I turned to Vincent, who was talking to a teenage boy while getting my things from the back of the car. “Where am I?” I asked, but he just glanced at me. I heard him tell the boy to take my things inside. “Wait! Stop!” I told the boy. “Put my things down!” I ordered, angry. The boy looked nervously at Vincent. “Whose house is this?” I asked again, sounding like a broken record. “This is our house,” Vincent answered, bored. “Our?” I repeated, shocked. “You’re my husband, Ella. Naturally, you live in my house.” “No!” I protested quickly. “Take me to my house!” I snapped, blocking the boy. “Put it down,” I ordered firmly. The boy looked scared and glanced at Vincent again. “Take those upstairs to the master bedroom,” Vincent ordered. “What? I don’t get it, Vincent! Why did you bring me here?” “You’re my wife, Ella. If you forgot that, well, we got married four years ago. Because you worked hard to get ma—” “Stop!” I cut him off. I already knew what he was going to say. And I didn’t want to hear it again. “I just want to go home,” I whispered. “Dad told me to come home, and I don’t know why. I want to talk to him. If you won’t take me to our house, I can walk there,” I said with determination. I walked toward the gate. But after a few steps— A hard hand grabbed my arm. I stumbled into his solid chest. “Ouch! That hurts!” “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. His anger was controlled. His jaw tightened. I felt nervous. I felt something strange where he held me. Like electricity. I looked at his hand on my arm. He let go immediately. I took a step back. I felt like I couldn’t breathe because he was too close. “I can give you a ride,” he said shortly. Then he turned and walked back to the car. Four years. I thought I’d forgotten what this felt like. I was wrong.