Her Wildest Wedding Dreams. Celeste Hamilton

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СКАЧАТЬ had realized she saw her marriage only as an escape, a way out of the luxurious prison of her life. Before today, she had convinced herself she really wanted to make a life with Marshall. Now she saw he was prepared to join her father as an additional prison guard. And that was no life at all.

      All day she had entertained fantasies of running away. Of kicking over the tables of wedding gifts downstairs and racing out the front door. Of stealing one of the caterer’s uniforms and sliding anonymously out the kitchen entrance. Of mingling with the guests, getting into a car and driving away.

      But all she could think of were the times she had tried to escape. To an afternoon alone at the movies with a friend from school. For a weekend with her one-and-only boyfriend before Marshall. Or in Paris last year, when she simply wanted to walk down a legendary street with the knowledge that she was truly on her own. Her father’s men had found her. They had always found her.

      Her father regarded these attempts at independence as indications of Olivia’s immaturity. He called her impulsive and naive, and made her feel foolish and none too intelligent. At the same time, he said he loved her and wanted to protect her.

      Maybe that’s why Olivia couldn’t hate him, even when he made her feel so inadequate. He truly believed he was saving her as he had been unable to save her mother. The people who had kidnapped Leila had been hired to work here at the ranch. Roger had trusted them, let them into his family’s lives, and they had betrayed him. Since then his vigilance had never wavered. It never would.

      Once more Olivia found she couldn’t breathe.

      “Are you okay?”

      Glancing up to meet Mary’s concerned gaze, Olivia managed to draw in and release a breath. “I’m just…excited…”

      “Of course you are.” Smiling, Mary turned toward the corner where a shimmering dress of satin and tulle hung in front of a three-paneled mirror. “Tomorrow, you’ll wear your mother’s dress, walk down the aisle at the church, dance at the reception at the country club, and you’ll be the most beautiful bride Austin has ever seen. Mr. Roger and Mr. Marshall will be so proud. Those people downstairs will never forget you.”

      Yes, she would be memorable. As Roger Franklin’s daughter. Marshall Crane’s bride. They would never know Olivia Kay Franklin. No one was allowed to know her. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself.

      Puddin’ gave a startled yip just as the door banged open. Roger Franklin strode into the room, and the dog leaped to the floor to greet him.

      Olivia’s father wasn’t a tall man. No more than average height, he was stout of build and not handsome by any stretch of imagination. His red hair, which Olivia had inherited, had gone gray at the temples. His brown eyes, also like hers, flashed in a face unremarkable of feature. But what Roger Franklin lacked in looks, he made up for in presence. He exuded power, confidence and strength.

      As was often the case, Olivia resisted an impudent temptation to salute him. “Hello, Father.”

      “You should be downstairs.”

      “I know.”

      “Then why aren’t you?”

      “I needed to get away for a few minutes.”

      “Marshall wants you at his side.”

      “Does he?” Hard as she tried, Olivia could not keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Once she might have been pleased to think she was needed at her fiancé’s side, but now that charade seemed foolish.

      Her father lifted an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong, Olivia?”

      Only everything, she wanted to say. But what would that prove? Instead, she shook her head.

      At Roger’s feet, Puddin’ jumped and yapped, begging for his attention. Olivia had seen her father indulge her pampered pet, who was not the least bit intimidated by the man, but now he snapped, “Could you make her hush, Olivia?”

      She picked up the dog, but Puddin’ continued to whimper, her soulful black eyes fastened on Roger.

      He sighed wearily. “Olivia, you should return to our party, especially since I need to step away for a while.”

      “Something wrong?”

      He made an impatient gesture with one hand. “The breeder who is buying Royal Pleasure just arrived.”

      Mention of one of her favorite mounts sent a pang through Olivia. “Must you sell her?”

      “She served her purpose.”

      The prize-winning Tennessee Walker had produced two colts sired by the cream of the Franklin stable. Now she was going to the highest bidder. Olivia felt a distinct kinship to the beautiful horse, who had no say in her own fate.

      “Can’t the breeder just deal with Jake?” Olivia asked, referring to her father’s foreman. “Or wait until after the party?”

      “You know I take care of these things myself. And there’s no reason to wait. The breeder can be on his way with Royal Pleasure first thing in the morning.”

      “Of course,” she murmured, feeling silly. Her father made his own deals, operated strictly hands-on, in control, on his own schedule. It had been suggested that he would be even richer, his company even more successful, if he would loosen the reins a bit. He scoffed at such suggestions.

      “Come down to the party,” Roger commanded.

      “Just let me touch up my makeup.”

      Her father nodded, scowled down at Puddin’ and reluctantly reached out and patted the dog’s head. Shivers of delight erupted in the tiny dog’s body.

      Dryly Roger observed, “She’s coating you in dog hair.”

      Glancing with dismay at her sheer white blouse, Olivia felt sixteen instead of twenty-three.

      Roger started to turn away, then paused. His voice deepened. His harsh features softened somewhat. “You know you look like your mother tonight. Very lovely.”

      Olivia swallowed hard. She knew she was nothing like her elegant, blond mother, and couldn’t imagine why her father mentioned any resemblance.

      He continued, “She would be happy about this wedding. Just as I am. Marshall can take care of you.”

      Words stuck in Olivia’s throat. The thought of being taken care of for the rest of her life was too terrible for comment.

      Her father seemed to take her silence as agreement, for he nodded and strode out of the room.

      Olivia sank down on the edge of the bed, anger pounding inside her.

      I have to get out of here. I have to escape.

      Puddin’s protests and Mary’s voice gradually penetrated the shouting in Olivia’s brain.

      “You must go,” Mary murmured, regarding her with concern. “Go.”

      Slowly Olivia released her dog and looked up at her longtime nanny. “Yes,” she agreed. “I must go.”

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