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Back The Runaway Heiress
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR MEG TILLY AND HER NOVELS
  3. TITLES BY MEG TILLY
  4. Dedication
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. Excerpt from SOLACE ISLAND
  70. 1
  71. 2
  72. 3
  73. 4
  74. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  75. What’s next onyour reading list?

As a boy, he used to slip into the school library at the end of the day and head straight for the P section. Then, when no one was looking, he’d slide one of Peggy Parrish’s Amelia Bedelia books inside his sweatshirt, and out he’d saunter, no one the wiser. He’d hop on the school bus, glare at anyone who attempted to sit next to him, scare them off, his secret warming against his skin. He’d loved those books, even though Amelia Bedelia was a girl. Amelia seemed like a perfectly normal person, but she was always goofing up, making mistakes, and yet her wondrous apple pie at the end always solved her every problem. Once a mouthful of that delicious pie was popped into their mouths, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers forgave all her mess-ups. Amelia didn’t know how normal people saw and did things. Maybe she had grown up in a brothel, too.

His mouth was watering by the time he pushed open the swinging doors. Should have known disappointment awaited him. Should have known better than to start building castles in the sky, because, yes, the kitchen was spotless, but there was no tasty treat on the counter. Maybe she tucked something delicious in the fridge? He moved to the refrigerator and opened it. Empty shelves of gleaming glass and chrome stared back at him mockingly. And suddenly he was back on the school playground again. Shane Endicott had grabbed Mick’s brown paper lunch bag and was dangling it in his big meaty hand over Mick’s head. Didn’t matter how high Mick jumped, he couldn’t reach it. All the kids jostling, gathered around, laughing their stupid heads off. “And what do we have today?” Shane would call out every time. And like a call-and-response, the other kids, with their fancy lunches stuffed with Hostess Twinkies and barbecue potato chips, would shout, “Peanut butter sandwiches!” as they fell about laughing.

“Goddammit.” Mick slammed the fridge door shut. He could feel the heat rising up his neck and ears. “What the hell am I supposed to eat?”

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