in front of the door to block the exit, further trapping the two on the other side before grabbing her purse and pulling her checkered trench coat from her own closet.
The argument from the next room continued, mixed with knocks against the walls and periodic swearing. “You said you were with the wrong sister. That you wanted me. Was that just a line to get me to—?”
“Shut up, Taylor.” The doorknob rattled. He pounded on the wall between them. “Samantha, open this door. We need to talk. You’re being a child.”
And you’re being a bastard.
“I love you,” he insisted, in the most rote, carefully practiced and insincere tone she could imagine. “I’ve told you that countless times.”
“If only you meant it any one of those times,” she muttered before slipping into her black-and-white coat and exiting into the hallway.
She barely noticed Brandon springing to his feet. She hated that her eyes were gritty with tears, hated that she cared enough to hurt like this. But her brain seemed to function, even when her emotions couldn’t get their act together. Although Kyle couldn’t get to her through the room they’d shared, he’d be able to reach her through Taylor’s door. No sense risking that he’d be able to break out of the closet and chase after her. She knocked over the side table, spilling it and the silk fern in front of Taylor’s door.
“Um, trouble in Happy Couple Land?” Brandon dodged to one side as she dragged the leather chair in front of the door, building a bigger barricade. “Your mother asked me to remind you—”
“Stepmother, Brandon. Joyce is my stepmother. My real mother died.” And apparently, so had any chance at a relationship. After swiping at the tears that clouded her glasses, Samantha booked it down the hallway toward the elevators, leaving the banging and swearing and shouting behind. “Tell Joyce and Dad something came up. I’m leaving.”
Brandon stayed right with her. “What did that lowlife do? Is he cheating on you again?”
Samantha stopped in her tracks. “Again? You knew he...? This isn’t the first...?” So much for protecting her. She tore her gaze away from the bodyguard’s pitying brown eyes and punched the elevator button. Be angry, not hurt. “I knew something wasn’t right between us. I was trying so hard to make it work. I’m such an idiot.”
“Where are you going? I can’t let you leave on your own. Especially when you’re like this.”
“Like what? Awake to reality? Standing up for myself? Saving what little dignity I have left?” The strain of the evening intensified the rash on her torso. Ignoring the habitual urge to scratch, she dug into her purse. “Fine. Then you’re coming with me. Here are my keys.” She stepped into the elevator, handing them to the confused bodyguard. “Bring my car around back by the kitchen entrance. I’ll meet you there. I’m not walking through that lobby and facing all those people again.”
“Pellegrino will want to know your destination. He doesn’t like changing plans when security is already in place. The rain is pouring—”
“I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care if I get wet. I just have to get out of here.” She jerked at the crash of splintering wood from down the hallway and punched the first-floor button. “Now.”
Brandon grabbed the door to stop the elevator from closing. “What do I tell Pellegrino and your father?”
“Tell them I’m not feeling well. Tell them I’m flying to the moon. I don’t care.”
“Samantha!” Kyle’s shout reached her through the makeshift barriers she’d put up. The closet door was down.
Brandon pulled back his jacket, resting his hand on the gun holstered there. “You want me to stop him?”
At last someone was on her side. But she needed him to do what she needed him to do. “Either get the car right now, or I’m leaving on my own.”
He nodded and ran toward the stairs, allowing the doors to close. “I’ll meet you under the parking canopy at the kitchen’s delivery entrance in back.” She could hear him reporting in as the elevator dropped toward the first floor. “This is Metz. Be advised that Filly One is...”
Without even a glance toward the lobby, Samantha hurried toward the kitchen area by one of the lodge’s service corridors. With the catering staff out working the party, there was only the chef and her assistant in the kitchen when Samantha pushed her way through the swinging metal door. Ignoring their curious looks and offers to help, she quickened her steps toward the walk-in refrigerator and storage pantry near the back entrance. When the door crashed open behind her and the assistant squeaked in startled surprise, Samantha ran as fast as her aching feet and starched dress allowed.
“Samantha! You have to talk to me.”
Kyle hadn’t stopped to put on his shoes, and his stockinged feet made no noise as he raced up behind her. She yelped when he grabbed her and spun her around, backing her into a stainless-steel worktable, pinning her there with his hips and hands. His chiseled cheekbones were flushed with exertion, his perfect white teeth clenched as he panted in her face. “I thought you were an adult. Running away is what a child does. You owe it to me to listen.”
“I owe you?” His fingers clamped down tightly enough to bruise her skin when she shoved at his chest. “Let go of me.”
“Clear the room,” he ordered the catering staff. When they were too stunned by the argument to budge, he shoved a tray of hors d’oeuvres onto the floor. “Get out!”
Samantha wished she could leave with them as the door swung shut on their backsides. Dishes and pans rattled on the steel table as she squirmed in Kyle’s grasp. “You need to let me go.”
He released her arms to grab either side of her face, pulling at the pins that held her long hair in place and pinching her scalp, forcing her to look up at him. “You and I are getting married. We have an agreement. Your family likes me.”
“Some more than others, apparently.”
“Don’t get snarky with me. Yes, I screwed up. You have to forgive me.”
“Says who?”
“You think there aren’t things I would change about you?” he challenged.
How was this her fault? She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes and fought through her emotions to find the words she needed to say. “I’m not the one who’s cheating.”
“I have a weakness. Okay?”
“No. It’s not okay. You didn’t even pick out the ring yourself. You couldn’t spend that much time on me?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I can see that.”
“With work! I was a little strapped for cash and couldn’t afford the ring I wanted to get you, so Joyce helped me out.” He was the son of a millionaire and had a good job with the Midas Group. How could he possibly be short of money? Before she could voice the accusation, Kyle touched his sweaty forehead to hers in a supposedly tender gesture, and Samantha wondered how she’d ever found him handsome or charming. “I am committed to us.
