After the Honeymoon - Prologue
She had run out on him.
Jason scowled and stared hard out the tinted windows of the black Continental as it drove slowly down the street in the middle of Brooklyn. Max and Ritchie fidgeted in the car, making sure to sit as far away from him as possible, and stared out the opposite windows. Francis was driving extra slowly, just so they'd be able to peer into the dim alleys and doorways in case she was hiding or passing through there.
Elizabeth Webber – no, scratch that, Elizabeth Morgan – had run out on him.
He never would have thought her capable of it.
All he knew was that she was there one night, brushing her teeth in the bathroom in the hallway, dressed in those soft, silky, modest pink pajamas he loved, and the next morning she was gone. Most of her things remained, like her collection of shoes (even though he thought he spotted a few conspicuously missing pairs of Manolo's and Jimmy Choo's…and his masculinity must also have been missing if he even remembered the names of those designers), and most of her books including the textbooks she had been using during her second year in college, right before they had married, and almost all of her clothes.
But the little things were gone. She had taken the Badgely Mischka original she had purchased with her last paycheck (as her husband, he took care of all her expenses once they married and so she really had very little to do with her own money but spend it on these things). The stuffed monkey that a three-year-old Michael Stone Corinthos had presented her with in Sonny's penthouse on the night she became Mrs. Morgan was no longer sitting on top of her bureau. The Yankee's cap that Ritchie had bought for her as a souvenir when the guards took her to her first ball game was missing, as was the Swarovski crystal-encrusted hand-mirror ("the magic mirror," he had once heard her call it when she thought he wasn't home) that Brenda had given to her on her birthday as some kind of inside joke they both shared.
Also gone was the piece of red glass she kept on her windowsill. She always tried so hard to make it look like she left it there and never touched it, but he had seen her admiring it and rolling it around in her palms more times than he could count. And he wasn't fully sure yet – more like hopeful – but he thought that the old black t-shirt he'd once lent to her so she could sleep in it was gone.
And in a situation as terrifying and maddening as this, that gave him a small measure of peace.
"Turning on Jefferson," Francis mumbled into the speaker that connected the front of the car with the tinted back. "Lots of little alleys and shops here, so keep an eye out. Maybe Eliz – Er, Mrs. Morgan is passing through. This is roughly the area where Spinelli said she turned up on security footage, so she can't be too far out yet."
Jason was fairly sure that he'd ground his teeth to powder by this point. And it was all the little wife's fault. He swore that once he got her home, he'd tie her to the bed if that was what it took to keep her from going out and making trouble.
"I don't see her," Ritchie admitted quietly, straining to search his side of the street. "She really must not want to be found."
Max glanced over at Jason, knowing his boss wouldn't take that remark kindly, and gulped when he saw that he had been right. Jason snarled and glared out the window, though both men wondered if he even saw anything at all.
"I can't believe she did this."
Max Giambetti was a sensible man and as such, he was perfectly content and willing to remain silent at such a remark. Ritchie SanMarco, however, opened his mouth and removed all hope that he could, on his best day, perhaps be a sensible man as well.
"You can't believe she did this, or that she had the guts to?"
Jason turned his head slowly, every muscle stiff, his eyes as cold and hard as steel, and looked directly at the guard. To his credit – and again, proving that he didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of ever being considered a sensible man – Ritchie didn't flinch or look away.
"I'm not saying this as Elizabeth's guard, or someone that works for you," he continued slowly. "I'm saying this as your friend."
He remained silent for a long moment, waiting for Jason to say something, but received only that glacial scowl. With a sigh, Ritchie scrubbed a hand over his face and raised his weary eyes to his boss's once more.
"Jase, she was so unhappy."
And remarkably enough, that was what got a reaction. Jason swore and swung back around to look out the window, this time more urgent in his quest to find her among the rest of the pedestrians out running errands on a brisk fall morning.
He knew he hadn't been the best husband to her. Hell, it was hard to be 'the best husband' when one wasn't planning on being a husband at all.
Marrying Elizabeth had been…what had he called it? Unfortunate. Yes, that was exactly what he told Sonny right after Father Coates bid them goodnight and Brenda escorted Elizabeth across the hall to give her a quick tour of Penthouse II.
Marrying Elizabeth Webber had been most unfortunate.
It wasn't supposed to have even happened. And it wouldn't, if that goddamn Manny Ruiz had realized that by kidnapping Michael Corinthos III, he would be signing his own death warrant.
It was about two weeks after Michael had been snatched from the playground. Spinelli had been working around the clock to find his employer's little boy, and Sonny had been frantic holding himself, the business, and his wife together during the ordeal. Then he got his big break: a dock worker in Boston had spotted a boy matching Michael's description in the company of several men along the St. Charles River waterfront.
They had left for Massachusetts within the hour. By early morning, they were already combing the waterfront and it wasn't until they reached the campus of Boston University that they found the clue they'd been searching for. Along with something a little unexpected.
Michael's shoe.
There it was, sitting in the middle of the alley. Just waiting for them.
Jason remembered too well how it felt to see that little tennis sneaker. Michael was a smart boy – far too smart for his own good – and he wouldn't have crossed out the possibility that the little guy had taken off his shoe and let it drop in the alley on purpose. Kind of like the kids in that Hansel and Gretel story Brenda and Sonny always read him at night.
The unexpected clue was a woman's charm necklace bearing only the letter E, found not too far away from the shoe, both items perilously close to the choppy, frigid waters of the St. Charles River.
They had found Michael that night. He was being held hostage by his kidnappers, but when Jason and the guards came upon them, the boy was actually being held in the arms of a petite brunette who couldn't possibly have been more than twenty years of age. She was wearing a BU sweatshirt and a pair of skinny jeans with a hole at the knee, and she had a shiny bruise on her cheek. Michael was curled up against her, huddled under her chin, and he stayed there the whole ride home.
And when Sonny and Brenda told him the following day that his uncle Jason had fallen head over heels in love with the woman that had risked her life and been kidnapped trying to save his, Michael had grinned his cheeky little grin and declared that he knew all along that was bound to happen.
But the little boy's dreams for his uncle and new aunt were just that – only dreams. Because the truth of the matter was that Jason hadn't fallen head over heels in love with the mousy Art major from Boston University. And he hadn't wanted to marry her. And when he joined her in his penthouse that night, he hadn't slipped into her bed. And he never planned on doing so.
Their marriage was difficult.
Everyone knew it. Sonny knew it, and did his best to keep his mouth shut and not bring it up. Brenda knew it, and always made sure to invite Elizabeth along with her on her many shopping trips and lunches at Kelly's. Spinelli knew it, and went out of his way to be his normal goofy, endearing self in hopes of winning the Intrepid Elizabeth over. The guards all knew it, and they similarly went out of their way to distract her from her sham of a domestic life.
But all that mattered was that no one else knew it.
In public, they were the perfect couple. She was his trophy wife, and she was always on his arm in a new designer gown and expensive jewelry whenever there was a society function to attend. She got along very well with his grandmother and sister, the only two family members he gave a damn about, and convinced them of her happy married life by knowing exactly how Jason took his tea, and by sharing a few giggles over a picture of him in that infernal reindeer sweater. To the rest of the town and to the rest of New England, Mister and Mrs. Morgan were the picture of domestic bliss.
In private, however, they could barely stand to be in the same room. She was afraid of what he did for a living – afraid of what it meant for her safety, he assumed. She didn't like the desolate look of the penthouse and remedied that by decorating her guest bedroom the way she wanted. She hated the people of Port Charles and abhorred society functions.
He, on the other hand, hated the music she listened to. It was some absurd blend of punk rock, indie, and extra whiny. He didn't like how she always put her hair back in a messy ponytail, especially when she had such beautiful curls. He didn't care about art, which he soon learned was her passion and possibly her reason for living. And he was just as much a loner as she was.
Their match was an unfortunate one.
And that was why the horror and the anguish that tore through him when he woke up and found her diamond-framed sapphire wedding bands and a signed copy of annulment papers resting on the pillow next to his surprised him to his very core.
Because he wasn't supposed to be afraid for her.
He wasn't supposed to care for her.
And he certainly wasn't supposed to need her.
It was really quite unfortunate for the both of them that he did. Unfortunate for him in that he certainly never wanted to feel this way about any woman and unfortunate for her because she certainly wouldn't know how to deal with knowing the truth about his feelings.
But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was finding her, pulling her off the damn street where any damned sniper could just pick her off, and taking her back home where she belonged.
That was all Jason wanted to think about. He didn't particularly want to think about the danger she was in; he certainly didn't want to think about what it would mean if he couldn't find her; and he definitely didn't want to think about how chronically unhappy he had made her as her husband.
"Just shut your damn mouth and keep looking."
Ritchie opened his mouth – really, would the guy ever learn? – and was just about to say something when Francis's voice cut through to the back. "There she is! I see her! There's Elizabeth, five o'clock, in the gray pullover!"
Jason swung around and peered anxiously in the direction Francis had specified, and a heavy burden lifted from his shoulders when he saw her walking down the street, dressed in her old sneakers and her BU emblazoned fleece pullover, sipping her coffee. She always had a weakness for pumpkin lattes.
He was out before Francis could fully stop the car at the curb, and Jason sprinted down the street in his black jeans and heavy black overcoat, not particularly caring that he jostled the other pedestrians that yelled obscenities at his back. She was walking just ahead of him, a curious spring in her step, the wind playing with her curls, completely unassuming…
His hand closed around her arm.
Before she could scream, Jason swooped forward and used the other hand to grab the latte that she almost dropped. With her sandwiched in his embrace, he continued to walk her casually down the street at her normal pace while Francis turned the car around and idled it up to them.
"You're pretty far from home."
She was too smart to scream or run away, God bless her.
"Not far enough."
He ignored her and reached for her latte. Plucking it easily out of her hand, he dropped it in a nearby trash bin and ushered her toward the curb where Ritchie was opening the back door of the Continental.
"I wanted that," Elizabeth frowned, trying to turn around and look back at the garbage can, as if doing so would cause her seasonal coffee blend to return to her.
"You were done with it," he informed her briskly, giving her a not-so-gentlemanly little shove toward the car. Ritchie caught her hand, and Jason could have sworn he saw the younger guard flash the still-Mrs. Morgan a regretful look before he pulled her into the car. Jason slipped in behind her and pulled the door shut, rapping on the window with his knuckles to let Francis know to pick up speed and get the hell out of here.
Trapped inside the car now, Elizabeth yanked her hand free from Ritchie and scooted back across the seat, as far as she could, until she was pressed up against the right rear door. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she had no intention of making this easy for them.
Max and Ritchie remained silent, which was funny to Jason because just a few minutes ago those two idiots couldn't keep their opinions to themselves. Instead, they had the nerve to look almost apologetic – no, forget that, they were apologetic! To his wife! The one who left him!
He scowled at her, not surprised when she frowned right back. "We're going home."
Her eyes narrowed and she jerked her thumb toward the back windshield. "Massachusetts Turnpike is that way."
"Elizabeth."
"Jason," she mimicked, doing a pitiful imitation of him. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
His blood began to hum hot and loud in his ears; her righteous indignation had a habit of getting to him every single damn time. "I came to bring my wife home."
Elizabeth closed her eyes, her chin dipping down slightly. "You didn't sign the papers."
Max and Ritchie looked at him questioningly, but Jason had quite frankly forgotten their presence. "No."
"Why not?" she burst out, throwing her hands in the air and then bringing them down on the leather with a smack. "Jason, that would have been the answer to all our problems."
Not realizing that Max and Ritchie were staring at him, waiting to be let in on the juicy gossip, Jason scowled at his little missus. "How would annulment papers have solved our problems?"
"Because the threat has passed," she emphasized wearily. "The Five Families all believed that our marriage was legitimate thanks to the show we put on at my birthday party. And they helped you and Sonny deal with Manny Ruiz. He's gone, Jason. There's no need for us to stay in this marriage."
A cold feeling began to grow and spread in the pit of his stomach as Jason realized just how much thought she had given to ending their union. "Elizabeth-"
"Why couldn't you have signed the papers?" she burst out again, looking perilously close to tears. "All you had to do was sign and we would have been free. Jason, this is what we both want more than anything. Think about it: you won't ever have to see me again! Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that isn't what you want?"
Not realizing that his lack of an answer was a negation of her question, Elizabeth rushed on. "We could both be free again, Jason. It would be so easy. I already have my fake papers – I could live the rest of my life as – as Emma Keynes, like it says on my new license. No one would ever find me, if that's what you're worried about. It would be like starting over – like we never met."
Her liquid eyes pleaded with him to reconsider. "Jason, please. It's what we both want."
He felt his face burning, and the car suddenly felt too small. Realizing that he was having a little trouble breathing, Jason coughed and jerkily shifted in his seat so that he was facing forward. Max and Ritchie (perhaps there was hope for him yet) wisely averted their gazes.
"I can't do that," he replied, marveling at how he was able to keep his voice even and clear. "You might think that everything's over, but it's not."
Her lips parted in surprise. "But-"
"It's not up for discussion," Jason interrupted firmly. "You will come back to Port Charles with me. You'll stay at Harborview Towers and we'll keep…we will stay in this marriage."
Her eyes were dry now, but Elizabeth's expression was still stricken. "I don't understand-"
"When I feel that the threat's been neutralized, I'll let you know," he told her quietly. "Until then, you'll stay my wife. You will keep up appearances and show the Five Families that despite this…"
"Lover's quarrel?" Ritchie supplied helpfully.
Max closed his eyes. Idiot. Unmitigated idiot.
Jason glared at him. "…that despite this stunt, we're still very much in love."
Elizabeth squared her jaw. "I see."
He nodded, more to himself than at her. "We'll show them and the rest of the town that nothing's changed between us. You will still play the part of Brenda's best friend and Michael's aunt."
Her hand, which had been in her lap, crept toward the armrest on the door. "Yeah."
"And speaking of Michael, we'll explain to him together once we get home that sometimes grown-ups fight, but that doesn't mean they don't love each other." Jason's brain was already itemizing a list of things that needed to be done in order to run damage control on this, and then a list of ways he could possibly get her to understand and get her to change her mind about him and their life together, and then it began ranking those items separately based on order of importance.
"And three nights from tonight, you'll be expected to have dinner with me at the No Name. It'll be just the two of us, not Sonny and Brenda this time, and it'll be our first public appearance together after we get back."
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked out the window.
"And we'll take it from there."
Before Jason could even look over at her to see if she found this even remotely agreeable, Elizabeth's hand was on the door latch and she threw it open, quickly hopping out and rolling to the side of the road to keep from getting hurt.
Ritchie lunged after her, but it was too late. Max pounded on the separator, yelling for Francis to stop and turn it around, and Jason almost fell out of the car when their driver slammed on the brakes.
Max gaped out the open door at Elizabeth's petite frame as she ran like hell down the sidewalk before disappearing into one of the dark alleys, safely hidden from view.
"Damn. She must really not want to be married to you."