The sound of her own heartbeat was deafening.

The church bells rang behind her, but she didn’t stop running — not for the whispers, not for the gasps, not for the cries of her name. The satin of her gown tangled around her legs, her veil ripped loose somewhere on the church steps, and her heels clacked madly against the cobblestones.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Just run.

By the time she hit the empty stretch of road at the edge of town, her lungs were on fire. Her bouquet was long gone, her hair falling loose in messy curls around her face. She stopped just long enough to kick off her heels and stand there barefoot, the hem of her wedding dress already streaked with dirt.

And that’s when she saw him.

Leaning against a black motorcycle, dressed in a white tank and jeans, his sunglasses reflecting the setting sun, a faint smirk curling his lips. Like he’d been waiting all along.

Her breath came in shaky gasps. “What are you looking at?” she snapped automatically.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even straighten up. Just tilted his head a little, eyes sweeping over her from head to toe — the gown, the bare feet, the wild panic in her eyes.

“Runaway bride,” he said simply.

“Not your business,” she shot back.

That smirk widened. “No. But you’re gonna need a ride if you plan to get any farther.”

She froze.

He lifted his gloved hands, fixing the strap of his helmet lazily. “Don’t worry, princess. I don’t care why you’re running. I just figured you’d rather not be found standing in the middle of the road in that dress.”

She swallowed hard. The sound of shouting voices carried faintly from behind — the wedding party still searching.

“You have a point,” she murmured.

He swung a leg over the bike, started the engine with a deep growl that made her heart stutter. Then he held out a hand to her, palm open.

“Well?” he called over the roar of the engine. “You getting on or what?”

She stared at his hand for half a second. Then — before she could change her mind — she lifted her skirt and took it.

The leather seat was hot under her, the smell of oil and sun and leather surrounding her instantly. He didn’t even glance back as he handed her the helmet.

“Hold on,” he said.

And then they were flying.