Her Wildest Wedding Dreams. Celeste Hamilton

would have exactly what he wanted. So would Marshall.

      And what about her?

      Olivia found it difficult to breathe.

      She went into the house and made her way upstairs, nodding and murmuring excuses to the few who sought to detain her. How ironic. She was supposed to be the evening’s honored guest. The bride. But she could slip away almost undetected.

      An excited bark greeted her as she closed her bedroom door. A tiny ball of fur streaked from the bed and began a dance around Olivia’s feet. She knelt and gathered her Yorkshire terrier into her arms. “Hello, Puddin’, baby. Hello, sweet girl.”

      A sniff brought Olivia to her feet, still holding the dog. In the doorway to her dressing room, a mountain of a woman stood with a stack of clothing in her arms. Mary Gunter’s broad face registered her disapproval, and she addressed Olivia with the familiarity of over twenty years as nurse, maid and surrogate mother. “What are you doing up here?”

      “No one cares if I’m at the party or not.” Olivia’s bronze silk skirt swished about her ankles as she stalked across the room. Puddin’ gave her a comforting lick on the chin.

      Mary carefully tucked clothing into one of several suitcases open on the bed. “Poor little girl,” she said in a singsong voice, just as she might have when Olivia was ten. “All alone and feeling sorry for herself.”

      The woman’s persistence in treating her like a child was a long-running battle Olivia couldn’t face right now. Pausing at one of the windows beside her bed, Olivia drew back a sheer panel. Her room overlooked the side of the house closest to the barns and stables, away from the gardens and the party, but she could still hear the music and laughter. “All of those people are here to see Father. They don’t care about me.”

      “Now, now…”

      “It’s true.” Idly Olivia watched a truck with a camper and a horse trailer turn off the main drive and down the road toward the barns.

      “You’re being silly.”

      The truck and camper drew to a stop at the stables, and with a sigh Olivia turned back to Mary. “I’m just the great man’s daughter. Not a great beauty like her mother. Not a genius like her father. Nothing too spectacular at all. A mere curiosity worth only a glance or two because I’ve been kept under lock and key most of my life.”

      “Your father has tried to protect you. You know why.” The rebuke in Mary’s tone was clear.

      Olivia bit her lip to stop her flippant retort. Of course she knew her father’s reasons. An electronics whiz kid, Roger Franklin had started his own company while still in his twenties. A millionaire by thirty-five, he married the most sought-after debutante in Austin. Fifteen years ago, when Olivia was only eight, her mother had been kidnapped. Roger had paid the ransom, but beautiful Leila Franklin was killed. Roger had never stopped blaming himself or striving to keep his and Leila’s only child safe.

      Much of the time Olivia had been able to forgive her father his overprotectiveness. Though she had often felt like an unbroken horse kicking at the door of a stall, she had done as her father had asked. She agreed to the bodyguards who accompanied her everywhere, to school, shopping, on infrequent excursions with schoolmates or dates. She lived at the family town house in Austin instead of a dormitory or apartment while she attended college. She set aside her desire to use her artistic talents and start a career. Her father wouldn’t even consider her working in his own company.

      The reason she knew few of the people at tonight’s party was because he wanted it that way. He had discouraged friendships. Olivia had found friends despite him, especially during college. However, most of those friends were busy leading lives that didn’t include guards and gates and fences. Olivia spent most of her time here at the ranch, where her father often entertained. She played hostess, but never became really close to any of their guests.

      To some people she led an idyllic life. No worries about money. A beautiful home. Gorgeous clothes. Prize-winning horses. A pool and tennis courts. A staff to see to her every need. Travel to exotic destinations whenever her father deemed it suitable.

      Olivia had tried very hard to see herself as lucky.

      When her father had first pushed her to go out with Marshall, she had been surprised. And then grateful. For with Marshall, she had actually seen a way out of her gilded cage. With a man her father trusted, surely she could begin to live her own life.

      Marshall was easy to like—good-looking, educated, a pleasant companion. He sympathized with Olivia’s desire for independence. She never once deluded herself into thinking she loved the man, but she found him kind and attentive. They shared interests in horses, in music and books. Olivia had looked forward to moving into his home when they returned from their month-long European honeymoon. She had imagined them living a pleasant, normal life. Surely, as a married woman who managed her own affairs, she would finally escape the shadows of fear which had haunted her father and enslaved her.

      But this afternoon Marshall had informed her they would be living here. With the security cameras outside. With the guard at the gate. With someone watching her every move. When she had protested, Marshall had reminded her that here she was safe.

      Safe? More like trapped.

      He had sounded just like her father.

      This afternoon Olivia had realized she saw her marriage only as an escape, a way out of the luxurious prison of her life. Before today, she had convinced herself she really wanted to make a life with Marshall. Now she saw he was prepared to join her father as an additional prison guard. And that was no life at all.

      All day she had entertained fantasies of running away. Of kicking over the tables of wedding gifts downstairs and racing out the front door. Of stealing one of the caterer’s uniforms and sliding anonymously out the kitchen entrance. Of mingling with the guests, getting into a car and driving away.

      But all she could think of were the times she had tried to escape. To an afternoon alone at the movies with a friend from school. For a weekend with her one-and-only boyfriend before Marshall. Or in Paris last year, when she simply wanted to walk down a legendary street with the knowledge that she was truly on her own. Her father’s men had found her. They had always found her.

      Her father regarded these attempts at independence as indications of Olivia’s immaturity. He called her impulsive and naive, and made her feel foolish and none too intelligent. At the same time, he said he loved her and wanted to protect her.

      Maybe that’s why Olivia couldn’t hate him, even when he made her feel so inadequate. He truly believed he was saving her as he had been unable to save her mother. The people who had kidnapped Leila had been hired to work here at the ranch. Roger had trusted them, let them into his family’s lives, and they had betrayed him. Since then his vigilance had never wavered. It never would.

      Once more Olivia found she couldn’t breathe.

      “Are you okay?”

      Glancing up to meet Mary’s concerned gaze, Olivia managed to draw in and release a breath. “I’m just…excited…”

      “Of course you are.” Smiling, Mary turned toward the corner where a shimmering dress of satin and tulle hung in front of a three-paneled mirror. “Tomorrow, you’ll wear your mother’s dress, walk down the aisle at the church, dance at the reception at the country club, and you’ll be the most beautiful bride Austin has ever seen. Mr. Roger and Mr. Marshall will be so proud. Those people downstairs will never forget you.”

      Yes, she would be memorable. As Roger Franklin’s daughter. Marshall Crane’s bride. They would never know Olivia Kay Franklin. No one was allowed to know her. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself.

      Puddin’ gave a startled yip just as the door banged open. Roger Franklin strode into the room, and the dog leaped to the floor to greet him.

      Olivia’s father wasn’t a tall man. No more than average height, he was stout of build and not handsome by any stretch of imagination. His red