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Wehavebeendrivingfor ten hours by the time Anthony finally pulls off at this crappy-looking motel.
It's attached to a gas station and a diner, though, so it's convenient for us.
I have to imagine that Anthony is exhausted.
He has been driving the whole time, thirteen hours if you count the three hours we spent driving around, waiting to see if it's safe enough to return home or not.
We both have also been up since six o'clock this morning to get ready for the wedding.
A dress I am still currently in, and despite how gorgeous it is, it's not designed for spending thirteen hours in a car.
I am fairly certain my ribs are numb, and it's a small miracle that the seams at my back haven't popped.
"What do you think the odds are that the gas station has any clothes in it?" I ask as Anthony pulls into a parking spot.
"For your sake, I hope so. I have my bag in the trunk. I have some shirts you can wear, but you won't fit in any of my pants. Though, seeing you in nothing but my shirt has many appeals to it," he says with a tired, sexy smirk.
"That is never happening again." As good as the sex was, I am not about to make this situation any more complicated than it needs to be.
"Now that is a tragedy." He turns the car off as he continues. "Do you want to wait here, and I'll grab us a room and check the station out, or do you want to come?"
"You grab the room, and I'll see if there are clothes in the station," I answer.
I have no idea if there will be any clothes; it just depends on how big the station is.
Some places like this will have some clothes offered because there isn't really anything else around.
It might not be much, but if I can get a couple of shirts and some sweatpants or something, then it will at least be a start.
We can always hit a Walmart tomorrow now that we have put a good amount of distance between us and the shooting.
We both get out, and I feel really uncomfortable in my dress.
It's not the dress itself, but the fact that we are at some off-the-road motel parking lot, looking like we both just eloped with the cheapest budget in the world.
"Here," he says, as he hands me some money. "I'm assuming you don't have any cards or ID hidden in that dress somewhere."
"Thanks. My purse and bag were in the town car that brought me," I say as I take the offered money.
"I'll text Lorenzo and make sure someone has it."
"I'd appreciate that," I say as we get out of the car. "I never thought I would be a runaway bride," I comment as we head towards the walkway.
"Does it count, though, if we both had to run?" He counters.
"I have no idea, but there's gotta be a few teenage sweethearts that are envious of us."
"See, I never understood that. Why run off and get married at sixteen when you have your whole life ahead of you? Even when I was a teenager, I never dated a girl who I was so madly in love with that I would risk my father's wrath to sneak off and get married. I can't imagine you did either."
"What are you kidding me, guys at that age are idiots. Hell, guys at your age are idiots."
I have known girls that would fantasize about running away and starting their own family with some blue-eyed boy.
I was never interested in any of that, though.
If falling in love and getting married happened, then I was all for it, but it wasn't my only desire in life.
"We have our good moments too," he says with a tiny smile.
