Chapter 9
Nate
Ihave Grace. She’s mine, and all I need to do is keep my appointment at the registry office to make it fucking official.
I walk her through the station, ignoring how faint she looks.
Recovery will come later. We’re in the carpeted corridor, almost home free, when I hear the Munchausen bitch’s voice.
“Graciously? GRACIOUSLY!”
Constance Reid marches after us, and I flash back two decades to that old park.
I remember the look in Grace’s eyes when her mother closed in.
I look at my girl now, seeing the younger version of her palimpsest over this one.
This time, I get to wipe that terrified expression off her face; this time, she’s coming with me, no matter what.
I slide in front of Grace, widening my stance before I greet the Munchausen bitch with my sharpest smile. She’s escorted by a baby-faced cop who has obviously failed to contain her. He puts a hand on her arm, stopping her a few metres away.
“Let go of me!”
“Ms Reid,” I interrupt, drawing her eyes, “I suggest you avoid saying anything more until you’ve had a chat with your lawyer. I’ve just submitted preliminary documentation of your abuse of Grace over the years, so you’d best—”
“You bastard!” she snarls.
The junior officer steps between us and my hand tightens on Grace’s arm, keeping her behind me. The bitch turns her glare on the cop.
“You question me for hours without any kind of due process, then you let this creep take my poor daughter away? You should arrest him for—”
“Ms Reid,” a deep voice interrupts, and my grin widens when Tim steps into the corridor. His timing is impeccable. “I have to ask you to stay here with us.”
Grace’s hand is shaking in mine. “I can’t let this happen,” she whispers from behind me. “Nate, please.”
I step more fully in front of her, making sure she doesn’t have to see her mother being led away. Tim’s partner, that paragon of good policing, marches Constance Reid back into the main office. She sends me one final, venomous look, then she’s gone.
“What just happened?” Grace asks, her voice tiny.
“Come on.” She tries to pull away, but I’m not having it. I slip an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. I half-carry her when she drags her feet.
Looking over my shoulder as we leave the station, I get a last look from Tim, one that flickers with something I don’t like.
His lips are set in a firm line, something like suspicion darkening his eyes.
If I’m going to make good on my promises—to myself as well as to Grace—we need to get going before the big guy decides to question me.
I tighten my grip on Grace, hurrying her into the car park.
“We’ve got an appointment we can’t miss. Into the car, now.”
“What appointment?” she asks.
“We need to see a solicitor. Nick revised his will recently, so we need to make sure your mother can’t contest it. We’ll sign the papers, confirm everything is locked in, then catch our flight.”
I try to push her into the passenger seat, but she resists, one of her cold hands gripping my forearm. Her eyes are big and worried, the expression layered with all that grief and pain she let out in Tim’s shitty little office.
“Nate, I haven’t agreed to any of this.”
“You don’t have to.” I cup her cheek and it takes everything I’ve got to keep myself in line. “I’ve already put everything in place so you don’t have to worry. Didn’t Tim tell you it’s time to get away from your mother?”
She glances back towards the station. “He did, yeah.”
“Well, you should listen to him. And to me.” I lower my face until we’re almost nose to nose.
“You’re in shock, Grace. I know how much pain you’ve been through lately, and how this situation is going to inflame you even more.
Let me take care of you—not the way Nick did, and not the way your mother did.
Let me do what no one else can. I’ve been helping you from a distance for too long—let me keep the promise I made twenty years ago. ”
She closes her eyes, letting herself loosen up enough to be tucked into the car. It’s compliance rather than acceptance, but I’ll take it.
The drive is quick, and I keep a tight hold on Grace’s hand. She’s silent, staring blankly out the window. When we arrive, I open the car door for her, then lead her towards the registry office, my heart throbbing hard and fast, my steps sure.
“Wait, why are we here?” Grace asks, looking around.
We’re in the famous train station near the centre of Dunedin. It’s steeped in old world aesthetics, which makes it the perfect place for our wedding.
“Quickest way to settle everything,” I say, looking around for the hired witnesses who’ll facilitate my next steps. Either Watson has come through, or he’s failed me fucking miserably.
I’m about to pull out my phone to call him when two people walk up. They’re young. Students, most likely.
“Witnesses?” I ask, not bothering with introductions.
They nod, and I steer Grace towards the entrance.
She stares from the students to me, clearly unsure.
I keep her walking, murmuring reassurances as we go deeper into the building, passing through the central train station, past the art gallery, and down a corridor towards where I know the celebrant will be waiting.
“Just a minute here, Grace, then we’re off to the airport. I’ve already hired people to clean out your townhouse, and they’ll be on the way soon enough. You tell me what you want shipped, stored, or thrown away, and it’ll get done within the week.”
Her steps falter. “How have you done all of this so quickly?”
“Don’t worry about that, love.” I tighten my hold on her hand. “Come on, just in here.”
I usher her into the office. Practically a closet and stinking of mildew, there’s nothing here but some filing cabinets and a beat-up old desk. The celebrant is a smarmy man in his fifties. He looks at Grace for a moment longer than I like.
“Mr and Mrs Hadley, I presume,” he says, his voice slightly sly.
I clear my throat, suppressing my complex reaction to his words.
“Let’s do this fast,” I say, handing over the documents Watson prepared. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”
He nods, stamping the papers. Then he motions the students forward for their signatures. They hightail it the moment it’s done, and I mentally remind myself to give Watson a bonus for ensuring all payments have occurred away from my unwitting bride.
The celebrant spreads his hands as if to encompass Grace and myself.
“Here we are together,” he says, an oily imitation of the usual marriage ceremony, “and all I need from you, Mrs Hadley, is a signature right here.”
Grace peers down at where his fat finger hovers.
The papers are overlapped, their contents hidden, though the signature lines are clear.
Now is the time I feel the strongest urge to use force, to make her sign the papers quickly—without reading them.
Instead, I step right fucking back, tucking my hands into my pockets and biting the insides of my lips to keep my mouth shut.
As with any serious negotiation, there comes a time when the only thing to do is let the hammer fall.
I hold my breath as Grace approaches the desk, reaching for the pen.
“Did—did Nick really leave everything to me, after all?” she asks, her voice tight with tears.
I take a breath, forcing myself to keep my distance. I know why she’s asking and I want my answer to make things as clear as possible, even as I maintain the most essential aspect of this deception.
“No, not originally. We both changed our wills a few months ago to comply with advice from the company’s lawyers, and I made it a condition of our continued business together that Nick put me rather than your mother as the executor of his will.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes red-rimmed with sorrow. I vow silently to make sure she never wears that expression again.
“You had to force Nick to…?”
I let the question hang between us, unanswered.
Because the answer is yes. I had to force Nick to take care of his wife properly and cut his grasping mother-in-law from the will.
What Grace doesn’t understand yet is that Nick actually left everything to me.
As things stand, she gets nothing, but I made it clear to Nick that I would take care of her, should something happen.
The dumb fuck thought that meant financially.
“Christ, who did I marry?” Grace whispers under her breath.
Then—I start breathing again—she slashes her signature first on the form renouncing her right to contest Nick’s will, then on the marriage contract. She throws the pen down and steps away, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips.
I want to kiss her—my wife.
“Excellent,” the celebrant says, interrupting my thoughts. As Grace turns to leave, the smarm-pot gives me a look I can only interpret as expectant. We both know that, victorious as I am, everything will fall apart if he opens his mouth.
Not everyone we buy stays bought…
Watson’s perpetual warning. He’s known my plans for months now, and I know he’ll be twisting with anxiety to have them changed with virtually no notice, all of his carefully-concocted legal chicanery discarded.
Holding up a forestalling finger, I gently steer Grace into the hallway, pissed off that I have to leave her for even a moment.
“I’ll just double-check a couple of things, love.” I lead her to a row of chairs. “Can you wait a few seconds for me?”
She nods, crying quietly as she sits down. I feel my jaw harden as I leave her there.
This had better be fucking good.
I shut the door to the celebrant’s office firmly, watching the man’s smug smile falter.
I don’t bother with small talk. In fact, I say nothing as I stare the fucker down.
If he’s got fraud on me, I’ve got corruption on him.
The one thing he can do, however, is tell Grace what we’ve just done, and I can’t have that.
“Well, everything went smoothly,” he says, breaking the silence. I maintain my cold stare. “So smoothly, in fact, that I almost feel… maybe a bit strange about it.”
I inhale. Exhale.
“And,” he continues, discomfort mounting as he shuffles papers, “I’ll file this today, of course. The certificate is all set, precisely as agreed.”
I slip my hand into my pocket, then take out my money clip.
His eyes widen.
“N-no need, sir.” He holds up a shaking palm. “I’ll see to it exactly as we agreed—”
He shuts up when I start laying hundred-dollar notes down on the desk one by one, keeping my eyes on his. Two spots of colour blotch his cheeks. I count in my head until I’ve reached ten.
“We’re done here,” I say, not bothering to listen to his stuttered thanks as I exit.
In the hall, I collect my wife, wipe her eyes with the tips of my fingers, and kiss her cheek.
Then I take her home.