Page 16 of Graciously His

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.