Runaway Princess

By Corinne Mazille

Sofia Winters is about to say, "I do." To begin her life with her husband… until she gets cold feet and runs away.

But her groom has plans for the money her father promised; plans he's not about to throw away just because his bride-to-be has second thoughts. When Sofia refuses to return his phone calls, he resorts to blackmail.
Blackmailing a hotel heiress.
Sofia doesn't want her private life thrust into the public spotlight. But she has no choice and returns to her fiancé's side. 
He rescuer from the church was a hot, muscled biker. Someone who has no idea who she is. A stranger who treats her like a person and not a checkbook.
She's forced to choose between a loveless marriage and taking her rightful place as heiress to Winters Palm Hotels or to follow the growing feelings for a man she's only just met and the freedom to do as she pleases with her life.

Will she choose the path her parents have groomed her for, or will she choose her own forbidden path?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corinne Mazille
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201512255

Corinne Mazille

Corinne was born and raised in Melbourne Australia, where she currently resides with her own family. After her first daughter was born she found her love for books all over again. Her nose always stuck in a book reading all the romance books she could find. Sometimes even reading a book a day! Fast forward a few years and her obsession grew, turning into a love of writing. Her first book debut in February 2018 and while it's been slow going there are many more to come, so watch this space. Make sure to click FOLLOW above to stay up-to-date on all new upcoming releases.  Learn more about Corinne on her website at www.corinnemazilleauthor.com, or you can find her on social media (@corinnemazilleauthor) or her Facebook fan page Corinne Mazille's Bookworms.

Book preview

My mother straightens my crown, her fingers clipping in my long veil just underneath my family’s treasured rubies. Looking in the mirror before me, I try to pull up a smile, but I can’t. Instead, I stare at the person reflected back at me while looking like a replica of myself—it couldn’t be further from who I feel like inside. I’m standing here on what should be the happiest day of my life, but instead I’m miserable and hopeless, even while draped in a Vera Wang original. A lace ball gown with a high halter neck and layered skirt in a romantic princess bride cut.

Some snobby, fancy makeup artist to the stars has spray-painted my face on so thick with expensive products, I hardly look like myself. The one thing I do like is the half updo of my hair, secured with a million bobby pins, but with some strands of hair pulled out at my temple and curled, perfectly framing my face.

You look beautiful, Sofia. A single tear falls to my mother’s cheek. Show me that stunning smile of yours.

I turn around to face her, my lips tight. Mom…

Sofia, she replies sternly. There will be none of that today. Today is happening, and in time, you will learn to love your husband. She pats my cheek, then walks out.

My mother is a cold-hearted bitch. At events, in front of company, in front of paparazzi, you would think she was the most loving and caring mother, but as soon as the cameras are gone, as soon as company has left, she becomes her unloving self. Egocentric. Growing up, it was always the nannies and house staff that looked after me.

Knock, knock, my wedding planner, Tara, announces herself as she walks in, her diary permanently attached to her hands.

Wow, Sofia, you are gorgeous on any given day, but today you are breathtaking.

Thank you, Tara. Is it time?

Yes, it’s time. Why do you sound like you’re walking to your doom? If I were getting married to an Adonis like Thomas, I'd practically be running down the aisle.

If only she knew how stuffy he was—just like both our fathers. He may be handsome, but that’s as far as it goes. Behind closed doors, he is the most narcissistic man I know, and that is saying something given the circles I run in.

She presses her finger to her ear before saying, We’re on our way. Her eyes meet mine. Ready?

Yes. As ready as I’m ever going to be.

As we walk along the long hallway, then down the spiraling staircase, my heartbeat starts to echo in my ears. My hands lift the hem of my dress, so I don’t trip over it, my palms sweaty. As we near the bottom step, I stop for a moment to compose myself. Tara is mumbling behind me, my train in her hands. 

Everything okay, Sofia? she asks. I look to the right, where two massive doors are, a flower arch in front of them. My pending doom is that way. Looking to the left, I see double doors with a lit-up exit sign.

I close my eyes and take in some much-needed deep breaths to try and calm my pounding heartbeat.

Sofia.

I open my eyes to Tara, now standing beside me.

You’re not having cold feet, are you?

My eyes go wide, and I fervently rock back on my heels. Little does she know I’ve had cold feet since the day my and Thomas’s parents declared we should get married. They didn't stop to see if it was what we both wanted. The wedding planners were called the next day, and that was it. 

"Sofia, keep it together," I chant to myself. 

I offer her a small, tight smile. No, Tara, but I could do with some water. Can you please get me a glass and then I’m ready to do this.

She nods and walks to the kitchen, and as she leaves, I move toward the exit door.

Sofia, don’t do this. 

My body is not currently listening to my brain. It has a mind of its own. Praying the doors I’m about to open don't have alarms, I press down on the handle, looking behind me before I push it open. Seeing the coast is clear, I walk through the doorway, quickly pulling my dress and train before closing the door behind me, my back and palms flat against the smooth, metal surface.

---

I inhale deeply. Are we doing this? 

I exhale and look around. These doors have opened to the parking lot on the side of the church. 

Maybe I should… I turn around, my hand going back to the handle. What I should be doing is what is expected of me—go back in there and get married. 

But I can’t. 

Pulling my hand away, I take a step back, looking in both directions. Going right will take me to the church's front, the first place they will go to look for me, and going left will take me toward somewhere—I don’t know where.

Making the decision that will, hopefully, not end with me being caught or seen, I choose left. Lifting my dress and train layers, I run as fast as I can on my Jimmy Choos until I reach a line of palm trees at the end of the parking lot. Just beyond them is a street. Perfect. I weave around the parked cars, then the trees, until I hit the road. Looking both ways, I don’t see any traffic, so I glance back at the church to make sure I haven’t been seen. Dropping the train and hem of my dress, I put my hands on my waist to try to catch my breath. 

Please, God, please. I need a lift. Please.

Looking back at the church once again, I don’t see or hear anyone coming this way. Not yet anyway. But it won’t be long. Tara will know I’m missing by now and will have reported it to my mother. How am I going to get out of here? An engine roars behind me. Not a car engine; a higher-pitched engine of a motorcycle.

Just my luck.

The motorcycle rounds the bend—some black and chrome monstrosity—and slows as it nears me, coming to a stop at the curb by my feet, the bike idling.

A guy with broad shoulders, wearing washed-out jeans and a white tee that’s mostly covered with a weathered leather jacket, lifts his aviators off, his incredible blue eyes twinkling, his lips curling up in a grin.

Are you running late to your wedding, princess, or are you running away from one?

I look behind me, then back to the rough but surprisingly hot stranger in front of me. Running away from one. I was hoping to find a lift. In a car, obviously. I motion to my long dress.

Hop on, babe.

I look at his bike and back to my dress. But…

If you scrunch you dress around your waist and throw a leg over, it’ll work. But, princess, you’ll need to lose that long thing attached to your head.

My veil? My hand goes to my head.

Looking back to the church once more, I know I don't have much longer before they realize I’ve left, so I rip it off and throw it over my shoulder. I gather my dress in my hands, lifting it as best I can around my waist. I glance quickly at the church before I turn back around to see hot biker guy looking at my legs. The way his eyes move slowly, like he’s caressing them from my ankles to my…

Shit, how am I going to do this without flashing everyone? I mumble.

His eyes find mine. You have two choices, stay here and be found, or jump on the back and risk flashing a few people.

When he puts it that way, I don’t hesitate to jump on awkwardly. When I’m straddling the bike, I yell, Where do my feet and hands go?

He turns his head to the side, his large hand cupping my leg, lifting it up. My skin sears where his hand touches my thigh. See that peg there. He helps me position my foot.

I do the same on the other side.

Now, as for hands, keep hold of your dress and hold on to me.

Tight, I think I hear him say as he revs the engine before taking off. And I do, because he takes off fast. My arms wrap around his waist, landing on what feels like a taut, flat stomach, hugging him this tightly. My head turns, my cheek resting on his back. From this angle, through the trees, I see some people come around the corner of the church.

Go, go, go, I scream, squeezing him as I close my eyes and mumble, I’m so sorry, Thomas.

I have never been on a bike before. I was raised in a way that it should not be done. But the lightness I’m feeling, the way the breeze is blowing through my hair and on my face, it's the most incredible feeling in the world. The powerful machine vibrating between my legs, mixed with the buzz of the stranger touching me, is intoxicating.

My exhilarating joyride comes to an abrupt end quicker than I want when I see us pull up in front of a Target. Sexy biker puts down a stand and turns off the engine, tapping my thigh.

Need you to dismount, babe.

Oh, ah, sorry. I unceremoniously let go of the semi death grip I have around his waist and lift my leg over the bike, looking around to make sure I’m not flashing any nearby families.

I settle my dress down and watch him dismount. His legs and arms are thick as tree trunks. This guy is seriously built. When he stands in front of me, I have to look up at him.

He takes off his aviators and tucks them inside his jacket. What are your plans now?

Oh, crap, why