Chapter 11
I woke up in the hospital three days later.
My shoulder was bandaged, throbbing dully. The doctor said the bullet had gone straight through, missing any major arteries or bones. I’d be fine, just sore for a few weeks.
Clara was sitting in a chair beside the bed, holding my hand. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her hair messy, her clothes the same ones she’d worn at the airport. She’d been there the whole time, the nurse told me. She hadn’t left, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept.
“Hey,” I said, my voice rough.
Her head snapped up. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw I was awake.
“You’re awake,” she said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Oh, God, you’re awake. I thought I’d lost you.”
“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” I said, squeezing her hand. “How long was I out?”
“Three days,” she said. “The gala is tonight. James and Marcus have everything ready. They said they can postpone it if you’re not up to it.”
I sat up, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. “No. We do it tonight. Vanessa and Liam are in custody?”
She nodded. “The police arrested them both. Attempted murder, fraud, embezzlement, bribery. They’re being held without bail. Rico testified yesterday. The DA says they’re looking at twenty years, minimum.”
“Good,” I said. “But I still want to do the gala. I want to tell everyone the truth. I want the whole world to know what they did. And I want to thank the people who stood by me.”
She brushed the hair out of my face. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”
“Learned from the best,” I said, pulling her down to kiss her. This time, there was no hesitation, no fear. Just us, and the quiet beep of the heart monitor, and the knowledge that we’d survived.
The doctor came in an hour later, clearing me to leave, as long as I took it easy. Clara helped me get dressed, her fingers gentle as she adjusted the bandage under my suit.
“Are you sure you can do this?” she asked.
“I have you,” I said. “That’s all I need.”
We left the hospital in a black limousine, heading straight for the hotel where the gala was being held. The sun was setting, painting the sky pink and orange, and the city lights were starting to come on.
Clara held my hand the whole way.
When we pulled up to the hotel, the red carpet was rolled out, cameras flashing, reporters shouting questions. I stepped out of the car first, then turned and held out my hand for Clara. She took it, stepping out beside me, her head held high.
The reporters went silent for a second, then started shouting louder.
“Mr. Hale! You can walk!”
“Who is that woman with you?”
May you like
“Is it true your fiancée tried to kill you?”
I didn’t answer any of them. I just held Clara’s hand tighter, walking into the hotel together, through the crowd, into the grand ballroom where it had all started.
