Stop the wedding! Steal the bride! And fall for a perfect
stranger?
Billionaire Ethan Connors vows to stop his ex’s wedding so they
can be together. But crashing the wrong nuptials and spiriting away the wrong
wife-to-be is more than he bargained for! Divya Singh is beautiful, talented,
passionate…and from a traditional Indian family who won’t accept him as a match
for their daughter. Can Divya and Ethan’s unexpected relationship stay the
course or will one of them run again?
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“Stop this wedding!”
Ethan Connors searched the
stage on the back lawn of the Mahal Hotel where a mandap had been set
up. The couple was seated on floor-level settees under a pergola-like structure
in front of a small fire. A priest dressed in loose orange clothing chanted and
threw things into the fire, making it crackle and smoke.
Ethan wished he’d paid more
attention to the wedding sequence the one time he’d been to an Indian wedding
with Pooja. He had no idea if he’d made it in time to stop hers.
At his outcry, the bride,
groom and the dozen or so people surrounding them looked at him with surprise.
The priest froze and the chatter of the crowd behind Ethan died. He could feel
the stares of hundreds of guests on him. He tried to catch Pooja’s eyes but the
heavy bridal veil covered her head and fell halfway across her face. The smoke
from the fire swirled around her. He looked at the older Indian couple seated
next to her. Were they Pooja’s parents? If the glare they were shooting
him was any indication, they were.
A knot twisted in his
stomach. After six months of dating, including three months of living together,
she’d never introduced him to her parents, and he couldn’t pick them out based
on the pictures he’d seen on her bookshelf.
A younger man seated next to
the bride stood and made his way to Ethan. “I don’t know who you are but you’re
interrupting my sister’s wedding. You best leave quietly before I call
security.” The man’s voice was low and icy.
But Ethan was determined he
wasn’t going to lose her again. He may have come to his senses in the eleventh
hour, but he was going to save himself, and Pooja. She’d known the guy sitting
next to her for three months. How could she marry him? I want to know my
husband and be sure that we’re compatible, she’d said to Ethan. He and
Pooja were compatible. Why hadn’t he seen that sooner? When she’d first brought
up marriage—and how her family wouldn’t approve of her relationship with a
white Midwesterner unless he put a ring on her finger—he’d thought he needed
more time to figure things out. But what was left to think about? He was
pushing forty. His brother was ten years younger and had been married for nine
years and had two kids. Pooja was the only woman who had deemed him worthy
enough to even discuss marriage. He wasn’t going to let her get away a second
time.
Pooja was now standing, but
Ethan still couldn’t get a clear line of sight through the crowd that was
gathering around him. He hadn’t spoken to her since she walked out three months
ago, but she’d sent him an email telling him she was getting married today. Why
would she do that if she didn’t want him to make a grand gesture? It would’ve
been helpful if she’d sent him some details other than that her groom was planning
“a grand baarat down the Vegas strip.” He’d spent the entire morning
driving up and down the strip, looking for a groom on a horse surrounded by a
bunch of people dancing. The traditional Indian baarat, the arrival of
the groom’s party, would be hard to miss, or so he thought. He’d been on the
other side of the strip when he’d heard on the radio that traffic was snarled
because of an Indian wedding, and he’d driven like a madman to get there.
He had charged in ready to
take on the world, or at least a bunch of angry relatives, but now doubt snaked
its way through him. Did Pooja really want him to rescue her? And how the hell
was he going to get out of the hotel without hundreds of guests and hotel security
guards stopping him?
Take off your veil and
look at me, Pooja. He wanted to tell her
that she didn’t have to succumb to her parents’ pressure and marry whichever
Tom, Dick or Hari they had found for her. He was ready to step up and
make a commitment.
Another man who bore a family
resemblance to the one who’d identified himself as Pooja’s brother broke
through the crowd and strode toward him. Who knew how many family members there
were, and Ethan had zero backup. When will you stop being so impulsive? His
mother’s familiar recrimination blared in his head.
He focused on Pooja, who was
clearly looking in his direction, despite the veil on her face. “I’m sorry I
was such an ass and didn’t realize how much you meant to me. I want to marry
you. Run away with me.” Brother One whispered something into a phone, no doubt
calling security. “We must go now!”
“Yo dude, this isn’t some
Hollywood film. What do you think you’re doing?” Brother Number Two was now
within punching distance and didn’t seem quite as reserved as Brother One. “My
sister doesn’t know who you are. Get out before I…” He pulled his arm back,
clearly preparing to punch Ethan in the face.
“Wait!” Pooja’s voice sounded
strange.
Sophia puts
her childhood habit of daydreaming to good use by writing stories that will
give you hope, make you laugh, cry and possibly snort tea from your nose. She
was born in Mumbai, India, and has lived in the Canary Islands, Spain and
Toronto, Canada. Currently she calls the madness of Washington, DC, home. She
loves to read, travel to exotic locations, bake, scuba dive and watch Bollywood
movies. Contact her through http://SophiaSasson.com.
Author Links:
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