VANESSA BELMONT
The Maybach peeled away from the hospital, tires screeching. I twisted in my seat—or tried to, before my ribs reminded me that sudden movements were a bad idea. Pain lanced through my side, sharp enough to make me gasp.
"Hold on. What did you just say?" I demanded, my voice strained.
"Do you not know or are you pretending not to know?"
"Pretending," I admitted. "Getting married is not on the agenda, Nate. I want you to break the contract. I don't want to--"
Wait a minute. In my previous life, I died on my wedding day. But things had changed. Fiona was in the wind, but she couldn't kill me. Right? Maybe getting married to Nathan was the right thing to do. No wedding. Just another signed piece of paper.
My parents would be thrilled.
Nathan pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then lifted it to his ear. "Yes. I need the bureau kept open. Half an hour." A pause. His tone dropped dangerously. "No, I don't care if it's after hours. Open it."
