Saving the Bride

by Kira Blakely

  Chapter 19

  Katie

  I couldn’t sleep with him lying next to me, breathing low. He was still so massive, so powerful, and being next to him consumed every part of me when it shouldn’t. Goddammit, it shouldn’t.

  This could never happen again. We’d come from different worlds, and no matter how much I wanted him and, now, cared for him, being with Logan Wright was out of the question. It would have to be an island romance. That was all.

  A tense, suspense-filled island romance.

  I lifted my hand and looked at the tacky gold ring still on my finger. God, this was a nightmare. He’d said I was his, but that had to mean for the week, for as long as it took us to get rid of this ring and back to our lives in New York.

  Now that the danger of Marino and his cronies had passed, the surrealism of this entire situation had hit home.

  Needing Logan was out of the question. The goals I’d had for my life certainly didn’t include a shotgun wedding to a billionaire who didn’t have any time for more than business. That was his legacy. The scant research I’d done on him before I’d come to the island had shown me as much.

  Logan had work, and more work, and nothing else but work. And I could totally sympathize with that since I was a total ambition-whore myself. Which made the concept of us together even more ridiculous.

  And he didn’t trust you when it counted the most.

  I shoved that thought aside, because it wasn’t technically fair to him. We had only known each other two days, and he’d probably been on edge for months waiting for this showdown with Marino. How could I blame him?

  But the fact that all this had happened to him had highlighted how different our lives were. He was high society, and I was just, well... plain, regular old society. I had the business with Mom, a family who needed me, and goddammit, I was thirty this year. My priorities needed to be straight.

  Having Logan inside me was an amazing, life-altering event, but it certainly couldn’t be my priority, now.

  I shifted out from under his arm and scooted to the edge of the bed, sat upright. I needed a shower and a change of damn clothes, at last. And then... I needed to book my flight out of here and back to reality.

  The crazy fog on this island had officially lifted.

  I slunk out of his bedroom, away from the safe room and all the weird memories that it held, and into the shower. I bathed quickly but thoroughly, and allowed myself a few seconds to soak up the hot water after I was done. It was pure heaven after my night of hell with Agnete and her thugs.

  The medic who’d checked out my wrists had bandaged them because I’d managed to damage the skin pretty badly during my attempted—and failed—escape.

  I dried off and dressed in a pair of shorts and a camisole, then through a loose-knit cardigan over it. I dotted on some lip gloss to complete my look, then folded my arms and studied my reflection in the mirror.

  Could be worse, could be better.

  The glint of gold on my finger caught my eye again, and I sighed. Fuck, that was another thing we needed to sort out before I left. The marriage. How the hell had that even happened? Obviously, Marino’s people had drugged us, but I couldn’t envision them having dragged us down the aisle and up to the dude in the multi-colored robes to tie the knot.

  That wasn’t exactly Marino’s style.

  A burst of noise came from Logan’s room—“Congratulations” by Post Malone—and I rolled my eyes at the irony. “Shoot, it’s the damn phone.” It would wake him, and I’d totally have preferred to plan my “escape” by myself.

  I jogged through to his bedroom and snatched it off the dresser and frowned at the number on the screen.

  Logan sat up in bed, still naked, his hair standing up on one side of his head. “Whassamatter?”

  I answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Hi there. Is this Miss Katie Hendrickson?”

  “This is she,” I said.

  The woman on the other end of the phone sounded like a professional. A hospital intercom blasted out orders in the background and I tensed. There was only one reason a woman from a hospital would call me. After all, I only had one next of kin.

  “Ah, good. Your mother wasn’t sure whether this was the right contact number for you. I called the other, but there was no answer. Ma’am, my name is Regina Wyatt, and I’m a receptionist at Bellevue Hospital Center. I’m calling to inform you that your mother has taken ill. She’s in a private care ward here at the hospital.”

  “Oh my god,” I whispered. “What happened? Is she all right? Was she shot?”

  “Shot?” Regina sounded genuinely puzzled. “No, Miss Hendrickson. She’s taken ill. We think it’s stress-related.”

  “Oh, okay. Thank you for the information,” I replied. “I’ll hurry back.” I hung up and trembled my way over to the bed. I sat down on the edge and buried my head in both hands, conked it against the cell and swore under my breath. “Oh god.”

  “What happened?” Logan’s question was more of a command. He shifted across the bed and put an arm around me.

  I jumped up and took a step toward the door, then turned. I couldn’t have his hands on me now. I wouldn’t be able to think straight with him touching me. When he was around, I was torn between what I had to do and what I wanted to do. “My mom’s sick,” I said. “She’s in the hospital. I have to get back to New York. Now.”

  “All right,” he said and slipped off the end of the bed. He walked to his dresser, opened it, and quickly dressed in a pair of slacks and a tight shirt. It clung to his arms and crinkled upward around his muscles. “I’ll help you.”

  “Logan, that’s okay. I can arrange my own trip back to New York.”

  “Katie, your phone is missing because of me. Let me buy you a new one and help you with your flight arrangements. Fuck, we still have to get this whole marriage annulled and that ring cut off your finger before you leave.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. He was right, of course. We had to organize all of that shit first before I could get out of here and back where I belonged. “Shit, okay. Okay.” I didn’t have any money other than the cash I’d brought with me, and that certainly wouldn’t cover the cost of a new phone.

  “All right, first thing’s first. You pack. I’ll get you a new phone. We’ll meet in the lobby in one hour and get the number for a lawyer. Got it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Logan walked up to me and swept me into a hug. Once again, I couldn’t help melting into his touch, relishing it for probably the last time. It truly was “back to reality” after this. “Take this.” Logan slipped a card into my hand. “It’s my business card. The minute you get back to New York and things have settled down, you call me.”

  “Thanks,” I managed. I couldn’t promise to make that call or even consider it, right now.

  Logan was out the door and gone, and I was left to pack in silence, my panic building incrementally. I didn’t have much to put away. After all, I’d only just gotten my bags back from the Fuego. But it was a huge relief to pull out my laptop, fire it up and book my plane ticket.

  I was in control again, at least for this part.

  An hour later, I walked into the lobby, bags packed and ready to go. Logan was already there, waiting for me, a picture of masculinity and beauty. Leaving would suck, but this was not only what I had to do—it was the wise thing to do, the mature thing to do.

  Being abducted by a crazy mock Danish woman had taught me that life was short, and that I’d do anything to keep the people in it safe. My people. My family.

  “There you are,” he said and presented me with a brand new smartphone. “I couldn’t get your old number since I didn’t know it, but I took the liberty of loading your mother’s number on it for you, as well as the hospital’s, so you can call the minute you’re back in New York.”

  “Thank you, that’s so kind of you.”

  He slung his arm around my waist and dragged me closer, kissed my forehead,
then turned to the receptionist behind the front desk. “I need a number for a good divorce lawyer,” he said, without preamble.

  I shifted my gaze from him—pretty difficult to do when he was in super-powered billionaire guy mode—and onto the man behind the reception desk. “W-wha—?”

  The guy, sitting there in his hotel staff outfit, with a mustache and an almost maniacal grin, switched from me to Logan and back again. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “You!” I pointed at him.

  “Me?” He touched a hand to the name badge on his chest—Rodrigo—his brow wrinkling and smile fading. “What about me? Is there something I can help you with, Miss?”

  “What’s wrong?” Logan asked.

  “No, this isn’t possible. Unless— No, it’s not,” I said, my finger still dangling in the air, drooping a little now.

  “Uh, Katie?”

  “Does she need medical attention?” Rodrigo said, jerking up from his seat. He waved his hand in the air. “We need a doctor over here. A doctor.”

  “No,” I said.

  “No?”

  “No! Put your hand down,” I said, then dropped my own. “Um, please. I’m sorry, Rodrigo, I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you the man who wore the multicolored robes a few nights ago and married that couple on the beach?”

  “Oh!” Rodrigo’s confusion cleared right up and he lowered himself into his wheely chair again. “Yes, of course. I remember you two, as well. It was beautiful, was it not? The lights, the fireworks, the pop-pop of the crackers.”

  “But how can you marry people when you work as a receptionist at the resort?” I asked.

  Logan watched all of this, slow realization dawning in his expression.

  “Well, it’s just a bit of fun. The resort encourages these fake marriage parties as pre- or post-celebrations for those who are engaged to be married, or who are here on their honeymoons. It’s very popular.”

  “Fake?” I looked over at Logan, eyes widening. “Fake. Fake? It’s totally fake?”

  “Yes, of course,” Rodrigo said and touched two fingers to his mustache. “You need to get a wedding license if you wish to be married here. The ceremonies we perform are just for fun, to egg on the romance and the passion on the island.”

  “Oh,” I said and lifted my left hand. “So you were the one who provided the ring?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “I can’t get it off.” It was the only logical thing I could think to say. Disappointment had wiped away all rational thought about the “marriage.” Oh god, am I actually sad that we’re not really married? That’s ridiculous! It’s insane.

  “I see,” Rodrigo said. “I can give you a number for a man who will cut it off for you if you will wait a moment.”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  Rodrigo scuffled around and we stepped back from the reception desk, quiet yawning between us.

  “Well,” I said, after a second. “That’s a relief, right? No lengthy legal process to go through. It was all fake to start with.” Except it hadn’t felt fake.

  Logan didn’t reply.

  “Don’t you think it’s great?” I squeaked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I’ll take you to get the ring cut off once he finds the number.”

  “No, that’s okay. I can do it myself.”

  Logan tightened his grip around my waist, eliciting a shiver from me. “If you think I’m letting you go on your own, you’re insane.”

  “Actually—” I said, steeling myself, trying not to want him, trying to mentally push him away. “Actually, don’t worry about it, Rodrigo. I’ll get the ring cut off in New York. Could you call a taxi for me? I’ve got a flight soon.”

  “You booked a flight?” Logan asked.

  I nodded. “Thank you for everything,” I said.

  “You keep saying that, even though I haven’t done anything.”

  He’d done more than he’d ever known for me. To me. I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him once on the lips, a quick brush. He grasped the back of my neck, ran his hand through my hair, and tugged lightly. “Call,” he said, against my mouth.

  I couldn’t say the words.

  Chapter 20

  Katie

  Six weeks later.

  “It can’t be true,” I said and held out my hand. “Pass me another one.”

  “Sure,” Sam replied from her perched on the edge of the tub in her bathroom. She ripped open the cardboard box and drew out the foil-plastic packaging, then tore that open with her teeth. “But I gotta tell you, Katie, I think three positive pregnancy tests is a fairly good indicator that you are, in fact, with child.”

  “With child,” I said, and took the pee stick from her, shaking my head. “With child.”

  Samantha tucked her cherry red hair behind one ear and sighed, fluttering makeup laden lashes at me. She’d come straight from a meeting with her publicist, having decided that this was way more important.

  That was exactly why I loved her. Sam always had my back. Even if having my back meant telling me the hard truth—including this one, that I was… “with child.”

  “Oh my god,” I whispered. “Oh my god. It’s got to be a false positive.”

  “Three false positives?” Sam asked, pointing to the accusing tests, all lined up neatly on the edge beside her. She was a little anal that way. She liked things to be orderly, at least in her home. The rest of her life was chaos.

  “Ugh, I don’t think I can pee again yet,” I said and shifted my bare butt on the cold porcelain.

  Sam lifted the huge bottle of OJ she’d bought on her way to pick me up at my place and unscrewed the cap, then handed it over. “This kind of reminds me of when we were in college and you downed three shots of tequila in like a minute, and then I had to hold your hair back for the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Hey, fifteen minutes has to be some kind of record,” I replied, and glugged back the OJ. I coughed and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I mean, some people take hours in there when things aren’t feeling, right.”

  “You’re a very efficient puker, I’ll give you that,” Sam said.

  “Ugh, don’t say ‘puke.’ It makes me want to.”

  “Out of stress? Or morning sickness?” She asked.

  “Don’t make me whack you over the head with this bottle. There’s plenty of juice left inside. It’ll hurt.”

  “I believe it.”

  We fell into silence while I waited for the juice to race through my system and provide me with enough urine to go.

  “What are you going to do?” Sam prompted.

  I squished around on the toilet seat, but I still didn’t need to pee. It would’ve been the perfect way to buy myself time to think about the answer to that very question – the same one which’d been rattling around in my mind for the past week, ever since I’d missed my period.

  “I just don’t understand how this happened,” I said. “I’m on the pill. I mean, I was on the pill until this happened. I just don’t get it.”

  “The pill is only 92% effective,” Sam said, sagely. “Why do you think I have one of those horrible hook things instead?”

  “An IUD?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Wait, wait, wait a second,” I said. “Did you just say ‘92% effective?’ I’m pretty sure it’s 98%.”

  “No, no, that’s during the clinical trials. In actual practice, like, in real life? It’s more like 92. But, I mean, that’s still only an 8% chance that you’ll get pregnant. You took your pill every night, right?”

  “Apart from the night I was kidnapped, yeah,” I said, my heart already sinking. Oh god, and we’d had sex the day after. That had to be the reason.

  “Did you have to get shots before you left for the islands? You know, like disease shots for malaria or whatever?”

  “No.”

  “Then it was probably the night you missed it,” she said, matter-of-factly. Yeah, Sam was another pragmatist in my life. She brushed of
f her pencil skirt, popped her elbow onto her thigh, and rested her chin on her fist. “When did you take it again?”

  “The next night,” I whispered. “Oh god, it’s true. It’s totally— Oh, I’m ready to pee.” I popped the cap off the pregnancy test, then did the business.

  Three minutes later, the results were in.

  “Positive,” Sam said and flashed me the test. “That’s four positive tests and a missing pill. I think this is conclusive information, hon. You’re knocked up. Bun in the oven. A baby in the—”

  “No more analogies,” I said, and waved a hand at her. “I get it. I’m pregnant. Oh god, I’m actually pregnant.”

  “It’s not a disaster.” Sam reached over and squeezed my forearm. “So, can you get off the toilet now?”

  “Yeah.” I wiped, flushed, and washed my hands, then turned and leaned against the sink, shaking my head. “This is— It’s insane. This is the last thing I expected.”

  “It’s a good thing, though, right?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I collected the pregnancy tests and placed them in the trash, then walked out of the bathroom. My stomach was in knots. This wasn’t a disaster, but it was totally out of left field. And this was Logan’s child. Logan’s!

  “Katie?” Samantha had followed me out into her living room.

  I flopped down on her sofa and stared out of the window which looked out on downtown Manhattan. It was so full of life, people going about their business, and here I was, sitting, pregnant on my best friend’s sofa.

  It’d taken all my strength over the course of the past few weeks not to call Logan. Every second thought was about him and the time we’d had together, but the fact was that what we’d had had been based on lies and… god, I’d run out of excuses.

  Sam sat down next to me and pulled me into a hug. “Hey,” she said, “it’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

  “How do I know that?” I said into her hair.

  She pulled back and studied me at arms’ length, eyes narrowed almost to slits. “I’ve never known you to be negative, Jinx. What’s up with that?”

  “It’s just so goddamned complicated. I mean, this is the guy who I didn’t ever plan on seeing again.”