“I’ll marry you.”
***
The courthouse wedding took eleven minutes.
The clerk asked if we were entering the marriage willingly.
Adrian said yes. Then she looked at me.
I thought of Lisa’s hand in mine, warm but still, and forced the word out.
“Yes.”
There was no music and no happy witness, only a wilted gas station bouquet his driver had bought on the way.
When the clerk pronounced us married, Adrian did not try to kiss me. He only tightened his cold fingers around mine and squeezed.
The courthouse wedding took eleven minutes.
“Lisa gets the transfer?” I whispered.
“Tonight,” he said. “I’ll do it myself.”
***
Back at the mansion, Adrian dismissed the nurse, the housekeeper, and the driver.
“Everyone out.”
The nurse glanced at me. “Are you sure?”
I looked at Adrian. His face was pale, but set.
“Go,” I said.
“I’ll do it myself.”
When the door closed, he pulled out the crimson envelope.
“Open it.”
My stomach twisted.
Across the front was one name.
Lisa.
“Why do you have that?”
“Because this is why I really needed you.”
I tore it open.
“Why do you have that?”
The first page was an accident report.
Adrian’s name. His parents, deceased at the scene. Then, under surviving parties, Lisa.
“No.”
“Keep reading.”
I flipped the page and saw Lisa’s blue Honda under emergency lights. Rain shone on the crushed hood. From the mirror hung the yellow raincoat keychain.
My knees weakened. “She was there.”
Adrian’s voice broke. “Yes.”
“She was there.”
“My daughter was in your crash.”
“Our crash.”
I turned on him. “You knew.”
“Not when we met.”
“But before today.”
He didn’t answer.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“You let me marry you before telling me Lisa was tied to the night your parents died?”
“Our crash.”
“I thought you would refuse the help.”
“Then you knew I deserved the truth.”
His eyes filled. “Yes.”
I pulled out another page. “What’s this?”
“Transfer records.”
“You went to a private trauma center?”
“My family’s emergency plan moved me there.”
“And Lisa went to County General.”
