Alexis Mae Kowalsky placed a hand on her stomach and closed her eyes. Through the earphones Jimmy had managed to get around the back of her head, she heard someone laugh. It wasn’t Jimmy, but at the moment she didn’t care. The floor beneath her rocked and rolled, and it wasn’t the Sea Hopper that made her stomach jump around. “I’m going to be sick,” she whispered. It was the thought of her father, waiting for her in the hall at the Fairmont, ready to walk her down the aisle, that made her stomach hurt. Her parents had been against her marriage to Peter Dalton. Her mother thought she should wait. Her father thought Pete was a sissy boy. They both couldn’t believe she was getting married to someone she’d met on a reality TV show. They’d been right about everything, but Lexie had been too caught up in Gettin’ Hitched fever to listen.

She’d really done it this time.

There had been moments, though, when her saner side had popped up and forced her to stop and think. In those few moments of sanity, her rational brain reminded her of the good and valid reasons to call off the wedding. The most important of all:

1. She didn’t love Pete.
   1. a. Not one bit.

In those few moments of rational thought, she knew that marrying him was insane. Anxiety gripped her stomach and choked her throat, and she’d felt like screaming at the top of her lungs, “I can’t marry Pete!” Just as suddenly, denial soothed her like a warm bath filled with rose petals and she embraced it. Denial whispered comforting lies in her head and told her exactly what she wanted to hear:

1. Pete seemed like a nice guy.
   1. a. He had good manners and opened doors.
2. She could grow to love him.
   1. a. He was handsome and he’d chosen her out of twenty women.
3. She didn’t have the best of luck choosing men on her own.
   1. a. She was cursed with being a bad picker as evident in her pick of former boyfriends:
      1. (1) Tim.
      2. (2) Rocky.
      3. (3) Dave.
4. Millions of people thought she and Pete made a good couple.
   1. a. The whole country expected a big wedding.

Lexie had a big capacity for denial, but she could not always ignore the second reason for rushing into marriage with Pete:

1. She hadn’t known how to get out of it.

The more she’d let it go on, the bigger it got. It was like a big boulder chasing her downhill and she’d felt powerless to stop it.

The only person she’d confided in was her best friend, Marie. She’d known Marie most of her life, and Marie had been the single witness to her panic attack in the housekeeping room at the Fairmont.

Fifteen minutes before she’d been set to walk down the aisle, her anxiety had grabbed her by the throat and made it hard to breathe. It grew more powerful than her capacity for denial and she’d blurted out to her best friend, “I can’t do this.”

The director of Gettin’ Hitched had stashed the two of them inside the small housekeeping room while the crew set up to get a shot of her father seeing her for the first time. The thought of involving her dad in the charade made her add, “This is wrong!” She raised a shaky hand to her mouth to keep her true feelings behind her lips, but they shot out anyway. “I have to, but I can’t! He has bad toes, Marie. Really gross!”

“And a mullet,” her best friend added.

“Our kids will have bad toes and mullets!” She moaned. “But I have to marry him.”

Marie had placed her hands on Lexie’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Do you love Pete?”

“No, but I have to go through with this! My face is on the billboards and in magazines. Gettin’ Hitched Honeymoon starts filming the day after tomorrow, and we film the reunion show in a few weeks! All the girls will be there. I have to be there. Married.” Her cheeks got hot and she felt dizzy. “There’s no getting out of it now!”

Someone knocked on the door, and Lexie about jumped out of her stupid dress. “Fifteen minutes.”

“You have to tell them.”

That was the right thing to do, but facing the director and producer and telling them that she couldn’t go through with the wedding they’d spent big money to bankroll—all because she’d said yes at the final barn-burning ceremony—made her vision go black around the edges. “I can’t.”

Then her best friend held out her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

“How?” Of the two of them, Marie had always been quicker on her feet. Lexie was the planner. She’d learned years ago that acting on impulse usually backfired. Sometimes with dangerous consequences.

“I’ll tell them you need to go to the bathroom.” Marie paused, and Lexie could almost see the scheme coming together in her brain. “You’ll need money. All I have is twenty bucks.”

Lexie patted her left breast. On the rare occasion when she couldn’t carry a purse, her DDD bra came in handy. “I got a Visa.”

“What else?”

“Driver’s license and spearmint Tic Tacs.”

“My car is right by the elevator in the parking garage.”

“You have a MINI Cooper!”

“No one will suspect it for the getaway car.” Marie found a piece of paper and pen on a housekeeping cart and handed them to Lexie. “All we have to do is get to it without raising suspicion.”

“Then what?”

Without missing a beat, the master schemer said, “I’ll call Jimmy. Let’s hope like hell he isn’t buzzing tourists around the Space Needle and can fly you out of here ASAP.”

It was crazy, but so was marrying a man she’d known for ten weeks, spent maybe a combined total of twelve hours with, and didn’t love. It was impulsive. She didn’t like to act on impulse, but it seemed like the only way out. She grabbed the pen before she changed her mind and wrote a quick note to her parents and an apology to Pete. “This is probably the worst mess either of us have been in.”

Marie grinned like when they’d been fifteen and running from the greenskeeper at Broadmoor. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

The production crew kept such a tight watch over everything, Lexie was almost certain the plan would fail, but luckily they’d made it to the elevator without being seen. Her luck held as Marie called Jimmy, who was about to take flight from the Lake Union dock.

“Where’s he headed?” Lexie asked.

“Canada.” Marie dropped her phone in a cup holder. “He didn’t say where. I imagine somewhere in Vancouver. Probably one of those swanky lodges or a lake with waterfront cabins.”

Again, luck was on Lexie’s side. Her father was Canadian and she had dual citizenship. She had an enhanced driver’s license, and a swanky little cabin sounded like heaven.

The most difficult part had been fitting into Marie’s MINI Cooper. She owed her friend big-time. Jimmy, too.

The seaplane lifted from Lake Union, and Lexie didn’t even try to get up. She stared at the dome light above her head, aware that she wasn’t alone. Besides Jimmy, there was someone else onboard. Someone who wore big leather loafers without socks. She didn’t bother to even turn to look up past the man’s shoes; she was too busy trying not to get sick. “I can’t believe I just did that.” She pulled her hand from within the three-tier, chapel-length veil and placed it on her forehead. Everything about Gettin’ Hitched had been planned and organized and controlled. Everything from the number of phone calls she could make from the pig-shaped phone in the Hitchin’ House, to her My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding–style dress. The producers had wanted everything to be tacky. If Lexie hadn’t been so fixated on winning, she would have seen the stereotypical portrayal of farmers, and if she hadn’t let her competitive side give her tunnel vision, she would have done something to get kicked off by the third episode.

If there was one thing Lexie avoided, it was tacky. She’d been raised to turn in horror and shield her eyes from tackiness. In her mother’s world, tacky was right up there with tying a bandanna around her face and not shaving her armpits. Or worse, wearing white shoes before Easter. It just wasn’t done.

The plane leveled off, and her stomach settled. She struggled to sit up and had to roll one way, then the other, like a beetle trapped on its back.

“Are you okay, Lex?” Jimmy asked through the earphones.

“I’ve been better.” She managed to scoot herself up and rest against the fuselage. The boning in her dress poked her ribs and pushed her breasts together. Her Louboutin satin-and-crystal stilettos hurt her feet. She was lucky that she hadn’t twisted an ankle as she’d sprinted toward the Sea Hopper. She was an expert at running in five-inch heels and considered it an art form. For several years now, she’d run the Heels for Meals, a one-mile race to benefit local animal shelters, and she’d run after a pickpocket in Italy, but she’d never run on a swaying dock.

The damn crown on her head pulled her hair and hurt her scalp as the full ramifications of what she’d just done rushed at her. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Her family would have discovered her gone by now. She’d run away from the mess she’d made and implicated Marie in her escape. She’d left her family to deal with it.

1. Because she was a coward.

“Need a drink?”

Lexie turned her head to the left and finally looked at the owner of the big shoes. Tears blurred Lexie’s vision, but she didn’t need to see perfectly to recognize a handsome man. The kind of handsome that made a woman glad she’d recently had her dark roots dyed to match her blond hair, and her eyelash extensions touched up. At the moment, she was immune to men. Even handsome men with dark skin and stunning green eyes.

“What do you have?” She brushed the tears from her eyes. The guy had dark brown hair that touched the collar of his jacket. The five o’clock shadow covering his square chin and jaws made his skin even darker. And he was big. The kind of big that came from genetics and workouts. Beneath that black jacket he wore, he was probably all hard abs, sculpted chest, and big pecs. The kind she’d sworn off after her last relationship. Well, the last relationship before Pete. Testosterone rolled off the guy like carbon monoxide. Invisible and deadly.

“Grey Goose and tonic.” He pulled a fifth of vodka from a YETI cooler between the seats.

“Any lemon?” He was the kind of big that might intimidate some women, but not Lexie. She was five-ten and liked the way she fit against a big man’s chest.

He chuckled, and fine lines creased the corners of his green eyes. “No, princess.”

“I’m not a princess.” Lexie was more of a wine drinker, but needs must, and a shot of vodka or two would calm her agitated nerves.

He pointed the bottle at her head. “You have a crown on your head.”

“Yeah.” She raised her hands and pulled the first of many bobby pins from her hair. Lexie had been raised around hockey players. Powerful men with big muscles and chests. At a young age, she’d been exposed to toxic levels of testosterone. She was immune to all three: powerful men, big muscles, toxic testosterone.

“Is that a ‘yeah’ you have a crown? Or ‘yeah’ you want a drink?”

“Both.” Her fingers pulled more pins until she was able to pry the veil off her head. “More tonic than vodka.” As a kid, she’d loved hanging out with her dad and the Seattle Chinooks. For the past few years, though, she’d paid less and less attention to the ice arena. She’d never admit it to her dad, but she hadn’t seen a game this season. She’d focused most of her time on expanding her company, adding new sections and subsections to her business plan, which now included opening her first brick-and-mortar store.

“Hey, Lex.” Jimmy looked over his shoulder at her, and green light from the instrument panel washed across his profile. “That was epic. Reminds me of the time I had to save you and Marie from Tony Bruno’s houseboat.”

That had been one of the few times she’d acted on impulse, and it served as a reminder that impulsive behavior had consequences, but high school shenanigans paled in comparison to today’s spectacle. “Thanks for helping me out.” Jimmy was steady and reliable and, more importantly, headed for Canada.

“Been a while since I had to rescue you two.”

Lexie was ashamed to admit it, but other than two real occasions, she and Marie had only pretended that they needed rescuing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they’d called Jimmy because he’d had a car, parents who were never home, and they’d needed a ride somewhere. They’d justified their behavior by telling themselves that it was okay because they were getting nerdy Jimmy out of his house. As an adult, she felt guilty about that and she’d been secretly trying to make up for it whenever possible by sending business Jimmy’s way—no matter his latest scheme.

“I think the last time was when someone stole Marie’s wallet and you two didn’t have cab fare home from the mall.”

While Lexie hadn’t been drawn to crazy impulses, she had been a huge liar, but she was a mature woman with her own business now. She was responsible for a dozen employees. She had an image to protect. She might lie by omission to spare someone’s feelings:

1. Marie’s combat boot.
2. Jimmy and his aviator cap.

She prided herself on telling the truth. She hadn’t concocted lying schemes in seven or eight years now, and she never gave in to crazy impulses.

Until today. Or rather the day she’d tried out for Gettin’ Hitched. That one crazy impulse had ultimately landed her in the Sea Hopper wearing a dress that looked like a meringue kiss.

“I got a new business you might want to invest in.”

Jimmy always had a new business. In tenth grade, it had been selling the pot he’d grown in his parents’ greenhouse in Medina. In the twelfth grade, he’d been a bookie. Jimmy’s businesses always thrived until the cops showed up. Even though she owed Jimmy for past lies and present peccadilloes, the last thing she wanted to do was listen to his latest scheme.

He told her anyway. “It’s called Scooter Subs. I have three couriers who deliver sandwiches and chips on red Vespas retrofitted with metal coolers on the rack behind the seat. Food delivery is the future. You and Marie should get in on this one.”

No thanks.

“Is Marie seeing anyone special?”

In middle school, Jimmy had developed a deep and abiding crush on her best friend. Too bad for him, Marie had never returned his feelings. Not then, not now. “Not at the moment.”

He smiled, and she was afraid she’d given him false hope. “How long is the flight?” she asked to change the subject.

“Three and a half hours.” He returned his attention to the controls in front of him.

Three and a half hours? It didn’t take three and a half hours to fly anywhere in Vancouver. “Where are we going?”

“Moresby Island.”

Lexie had never heard of Moresby Island, and she repeated herself, “Where?”

“Sandspit,” the man with the big shoes and pecs answered.

Lexie glanced up at him as he dropped ice into a clear cup. “Sand what?”

“Exactly.” He chuckled, but this time humor didn’t crease the corners of his eyes, as if he found no pleasure in his destination. He opened a short bottle of tonic, and the water fizzed and bubbled over his fingers.

For a few seconds, she wondered who he was and why he’d hired Jimmy to fly somewhere he didn’t seem happy about going, but she had her own problems. At the moment, Mr. Handsome’s happiness wasn’t one of them. She turned her attention to her lap and the veil her mother had helped pin in her hair. A fresh wave of anxiety rolled through her from the toes up. Her mother had hated the veil. Her mother had been right to hate it, but Lexie would rather have stabbed herself in the eye with a blunt stick than admit it. “I’ve done it this time,” she whispered. A quiver in her heart worked its way to her chin. She frowned at the pile of tulle in her lap and pushed it down with her hands. It sprang back up. “I made a fool of myself and my family on live television.” She tucked and smashed and tried to roll it up like a sleeping bag. When she was finished, it looked like a big Pillsbury crescent roll. She punched the middle to flatten it more.

“It’s dead, princess.”

Lexie looked up into the green eyes looking back at her, watching as if he couldn’t quite figure out what he was watching. Not that she blamed him. It probably wasn’t every day a runaway bride boarded the guy’s chartered flight.

He shoved the clear cup filled with ice and a healthy dose of vodka and tonic at her. His free hand motioned for her to hand him the veil. A chartered flight to somewhere called Sandspit. Lexie had never heard of Sandspit, and the way Mr. Handsome had said it, he’d made it sound like maybe Sandspit was next to Siberia. Lexie hoped their destination wasn’t anything like Siberia. Siberia probably didn’t take Visa, and she didn’t have a coat. Plus the cold gave her dry skin and chapped lips.

“Thank you.” She traded him the cup for the tulle crescent. It kind of burst open in his face.

“What the Christ?” He leaned behind him and wrestled the whole mess from the seats.

Lexie rested her head back and took a drink. It tasted like rubbing alcohol, but she didn’t care. She liked the way it burned a path across her tongue and down her throat. It burned away the quiver in her heart and the ache in her stomach. She took a few more sips to settle her chaotic nerves and kicked off her shoes. Alcohol wasn’t a solution to her problems, but at the moment, it helped.

Now, if she could just move a little and get comfortable. The layers of net and crinoline petticoat beneath her dress were constraining and itchy, and she didn’t want to sit on the floor for the next three hours. If it was possible to get out of the underskirt, she’d have to contend with a dozen or so yards of satin and lace and crystals that dug into her skin, but at least she’d be able to move and sit in the cozy leather seat.

Mr. Handsome, aka Mr. Unhappy Helper’s attention returned to the YETI and he pulled out another cup. She watched his long fingers unscrew the little bottle of tonic, then she turned to look at the back of Jimmy’s head and that ridiculous helmet he always insisted on wearing. He was a good friend but a tragic fashion victim. She wondered if the Sea Hopper had autopilot and if that meant Jimmy could leave the cockpit if it did. She thought of no one in control of the plane and got a little light-headed.

“Does the plane have autopilot, Jimmy?”

He laughed. “No. Just me.”

The sound of ice cubes in a plastic cup made her attention return to the guy with the green eyes and big shoulders. Beneath the dome light, his dark brown hair shone. The kind of shine that came from good products. A chunk of his hair escaped the comb job that looked like he’d done it with his fingers, and curved over his forehead as he looked down at the bottle in his hand. He had beautiful eyes, good hair, and nicely defined lips. The uni-brow practically crawling across his supraorbital ridges could use a pair of tweezers. He looked up as if he’d read her mind. He smiled and she thought, Holy crap.

She took a sip from her glass. She didn’t know anything about him, other than he’d chartered the Sea Hopper, drank vodka, and had a smile that was pure trouble. He’d helped her out with the veil—even if he didn’t look too happy about it. All she really knew was that he was a vodka-drinking unhappy helper. He could be a prison escapee on a cross-country killing spree, for all she knew, but needs must. She held out her hand toward him. “Lexie.”

He shoved the vodka bottle back inside the cooler, then looked into her face. His gaze ran down her shoulder and bare arm to her hand. He hesitated for several heartbeats before he took it in his. “Sean.”

She hadn’t realized her fingers were cold until she felt the warmth of his skin. His palm was almost hot against her, and she had an urge to shove her hand beneath the sleeve of his jacket and steal heat from his wrist. Instead she pulled away and kicked her shoes from her feet. “Well, Sean, I need to ask you something,” she said through a sigh as her toes were freed.

“What’s that?”

“How much experience do you have undressing a girl?”