How To Romance A Runaway Bride

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He blinked. Hard.

But it didn’t do any good. When he opened his eyes, Allegra was still sitting at the kitchen table—in his chair—with her hair piled on top of her head, staring right back at him. The Princeton coffee mug in her hand—also his—had paused en route to her pillowy lips.

The longer she gawked at him, the looser her grip on the mug became. Zander sighed and reached for it before she spilled coffee all down the front of the pajamas she was wearing, because yes, those were his, too.

The brush of his fingertips against hers as he plucked the mug out of her hand seemed to pull her out of her trance. Wide-eyed, she swiveled her gaze to his mother. “Um, Emily. You did indeed forget to tell me that Zander lives here.”

Zander wholeheartedly doubted it had been an innocent omission, mainly because his mother was avoiding looking him in the eye.

As if he didn’t already have enough going on in his life without Emily Wilde playing matchmaker. Marvelous.

He took a gulp of coffee, forgetting it was actually Allegra’s until her head snapped back in his direction. Her eyes widened, and he took another, more deliberate sip.

His house, his pajamas, his cup, his coffee.

Allegra arched a single eyebrow. “You still live with your mother?”

Technically, it was the other way around. He’d purchased the brownstone from his mother three years ago when the dance school first began to have financial troubles. But Allegra could believe whatever she wanted to believe. He didn’t want to share personal family matters with her any more than he wanted to share his pajamas.

He shrugged. “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Then he drained her coffee cup and set it down on the kitchen counter with a thud.

Allegra’s gaze flitted to the mug, then back to him. Her cheeks flared pink. “So what’s with last night’s suit? Is this some of kind of CEO walk of shame?”

Quite the opposite. He’d been working all night, trying to figure out a way to get ahead of the Vows column. But again, Allegra could believe whatever she wanted. Especially since he could have sworn her deepening flush had a distinctly jealous edge.

He didn’t want Allegra to be attracted to him. But he didn’t particularly hate the idea either, especially since he’d made such an idiot out of himself the night before.

He crossed his arms, giving her a clear, unobstructed view of the unfastened French cuffs of his dress shirt. “I can’t help but wonder why you find that idea so unpleasant.”

She rolled her eyes, but Zander wasn’t buying it. Not this time. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Especially since you seemed so preoccupied with marrying me the last time I saw you.”

Emily stifled a laugh.

Zander loved his mother. He really did. But at the moment, she was trying his patience about as much as the reporter from the Vows column.

He narrowed his gaze at her.

Emily cleared her throat. “Allegra, dear. You’ve got things wrong. Actually—”

“Actually, I sleep at the hotel more often than I do here,” Zander said. He didn’t need his mother to be any more involved with this situation than she already was. He had bigger problems than whatever assumptions Allegra wanted to make about either his living situation or his sex life. And he certainly didn’t want to discuss the latter in front of Emily. That would have been about the only way to make this conversation more awkward than it already was.

He cleared his throat. “The Bennington is full at the moment.”

“So I heard,” Allegra muttered.

“She had nowhere else to go, Zander.” Emily looked up at him.

He knew better than to argue, and a part of him didn’t want to. He cared too much about Allegra to turn her out on the street.

But how had she ended up so alone?

Not your problem. You have enough on your plate, remember?

He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Read anything interesting this morning?”

Emily followed his gaze until she, too, was staring at the folded copy of the New York Times on the kitchen table. “So you’ve seen it.”

“Seen what?” Allegra asked.

Emily shook her head. “It’s nothing, dear.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Zander said, choosing not to examine why his mother seemed to have chosen sides in the matter.

He flipped through the newspaper until he landed on the Weddings page. His throat went dry as he looked at the headline. He’d already seen it, of course. He and Ryan had stayed up until the early-morning edition was released so they could get a full assessment of the damage.

It was extensive.

Familiar or not, looking at the words splashed below the Vows header still made his gut churn.

Is the Bennington Hotel Cursed?

He spread the paper open beside Allegra’s place mat.

“Your hotel is cursed?” She blinked up at him, and for the first time since he’d stumbled upon her sitting at his kitchen table and making herself at home, Zander allowed himself to look at her. Really look.

She was gorgeous in ways that were both foreign and familiar. How many times had she sat in that same spot? More than he could count. But never like this. Never with years of silence stretching between them. Even in his sleep-deprived state, there was a very real part of him that wanted to pull up a chair and just talk. Talk the way they used to.

He wasn’t altogether sure why that wasn’t possible. Maybe because her sudden appearance had just thrown a major wrench in his life, businesswise. Or maybe it had something to do with the way he couldn’t quite keep his gaze from straying to the enticing swell of her curves beneath his pajamas. Either way, they couldn’t just take up where they’d left off. They weren’t kids anymore.

He clenched his jaw. “My hotel is not cursed.”

“Of course it’s not.” Emily waved a dismissive hand. “We know that, dear. I don’t understand how the New York Times could say such a thing.”

“I suggest you read the first paragraph.” Zander turned toward the coffee maker and refilled the mug in his hand. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for him to deal with the mess he had on his hands.

But when he turned back around and saw the color draining from Allegra’s face as she read the article, guilt got the better of him. He set the full cup onto the table in front of her.

She glanced up at him, blue eyes shining bright.

Don’t read too much into it, sweetheart. It’s just coffee, not an invitation to stay.

Their gazes held until Emily broke the loaded silence. “I hadn’t realized there’d been so many runaway brides at the Bennington lately. Zander, why haven’t you said anything?”

“It seemed slightly odd, but calling it a curse never crossed my mind. Probably because I’m a rational person.”

Allegra cleared her throat.

Zander glared at her. “I’m very rational.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said, but he wasn’t buying the innocent act. Not for a minute. “Tell me, did you assume all of the other runaway brides wanted to marry you, too? Or just me?”

He clenched his fists to keep himself from scooping her into his arms, carrying her out the door and depositing her into the nearest snowdrift.

“Four runaway brides in the span of a few months does seem strange,” Emily said.

Great. If his own mom was buying into the Vows nonsense, what chance did he have?

“Until last night, no one seemed to care. Apparently, three runaway brides are acceptable. But not four.” He looked pointedly at Allegra. “The fourth one means it’s a curse.”

Allegra’s gaze narrowed, but Zander couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t quite looking him in the eye anymore. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s completely arbitrary.”

“The fact that your groom is rather high-profile wasn’t helpful. When a political candidate gets left at the altar, people tend to notice.”

Too far.

He knew he’d crossed a line the moment the words left his mouth. The article wasn’t Allegra’s fault. Not entirely, anyway. He had no right to taunt her about her almost marriage. No right whatsoever, especially given how close he’d once come to tying the knot.

He didn’t know why he was acting like such a jerk.

You know exactly why.

Allegra stared down at the newspaper.

Look at me, damn it. Look at me and tell me again that you don’t remember.

“I’m sure each and every one of those brides had a perfectly legitimate reason for walking away,” she said. Her voice had gone calm, but Zander could see the tremble in her fingertips as her hands twisted in her lap.

He hated himself just a little bit then. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He wanted to know. He needed to know. “I’d love to hear what those reasons were. Seriously, I’m all ears.”

It wasn’t the time or a place for a heart-to-heart. He was exhausted, her wedding gown was probably still lying in a heap somewhere and they weren’t even alone. But he couldn’t think straight when she was sitting there looking like that.

So beautiful. So tempting.

So lost.

“Enough.” His mother stood. “Zander, you need to get some sleep. You look like a train wreck. Besides, Allegra doesn’t have time for the third degree right now. We have to get to work.”

Allegra’s head snapped up. “Work? Emily, I’m not sure what you mean.”

His mother smiled. “The dance studio, dear. Surely you remember.”

Zander turned to go. He’d heard enough. Allegra was back in New York. Back in his life. It made sense she’d end up back at the Wilde School of Dance, as well.

It was where she belonged, even after all this time. Once upon a time Zander had belonged there, too. But those days were over.

* * *

Walking into the Wilde School of Dance was as close to going home as Allegra would ever get. It looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago. Same smooth wood floors, same mirrored walls, same old blue record player sitting on the shelf inside the studio where she’d spent the majority of her childhood.

The wave of nostalgia that hit her when she walked through the door nearly knocked her off her feet.

She’d never imagined coming back here again. Ever. But given the choice of either accompanying Emily to the studio or staying back at the brownstone with Zander had been a no-brainer. Still, she purposefully turned her back to the collection of recital photos that lined the wall of the entryway and took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you flip through the records and choose some barre music for the adult ballet class?” Emily slipped out of her coat and turned on the computer at the front desk. “You remember where they are, don’t you?”

“Sure.” Allegra couldn’t quite believe Emily’s dance school wasn’t streaming music for class, but she was happy to have something productive to do. Anything to keep her mind off the last time she’d been in this building.

The record albums were lined up on the shelves beneath the turntable, right where they’d always been. As she flipped through them, she spotted several of her favorites—music that made up the soundtrack to less complicated days, when her biggest concern had been whether or not she’d remember the steps to her competition dance numbers.

She would have given anything to be able to go back to those days.

That was impossible, obviously. She hadn’t realized just how impossible until she’d spotted Zander staring at her from across the Bennington ballroom.

Her throat grew tight. Why did she keep thinking about him?

Maybe because you’re wearing his coat.

Indeed she was. And it smelled magnificent, like cedar and sandalwood. Wholly masculine.

She wiggled her way out of it and tossed it as far as she could throw it. It landed on the chair situated at the front of the room and was now draped over the seat as if Zander himself had just slid it off his broad shoulders.

Allegra’s face grew hot. Again.

Enough thinking about Zander Wilde. She might have slept in his pajamas last night, but that didn’t mean he had any place in her thoughts. No man did. She was starting over. Alone.

She slid one of the albums from its sleeve, placed it on the turntable and gingerly lowered the needle. The familiar sound of the needle scratching against the record’s grooves filled the air. Without thinking about it, Allegra pointed her foot and began sliding it against the polished maple floor in a smooth rond de jambe.

“You always did have the best turnout,” Emily said.

Allegra moved back into a normal standing position and crossed her arms. “I didn’t hear you come in here. I was just messing around.”

“Messing around quite beautifully. You’ve kept up with your technique.” Emily winked. “It shows.”

Allegra laughed. “You can tell that from one rond de jambe?”

“I could tell before you set foot in the studio. I knew the moment I saw you. You carry yourself like a ballerina, dear.”