He’s a nonissue, she’d said, nearly choking as she said the words.

Stuart, who stood several feet away, wore a perfectly tailored suit. Unfortunately, it only made her think of the king-size suit she’d rented for Brent. How amazing it had looked on him. And off of him. With a gulp, she tried to think of something—anything—else besides the man who’d barged his way past her defenses. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been in bed with him. Hope burgeoning in her chest, along with a sense of rightness. Yesterday morning felt like it had taken place a decade ago, even if the pain of walking away from him was still horribly fresh.

Her fiancé laughed into his cell phone and checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He had a meeting to get to, after all.

Whoever said romance is dead?

“You don’t have to do this,” Story whispered to Hayden, blue-green glare fixed on Stuart. Having just met Hayden’s future husband for the first time, Story had taken an immediate dislike to him. A rarity for her amiable best friend. Hayden didn’t blame her. “There has to be another solution. I mean, my God, you’re not some…sacrificial lamb. This is archaic.”

“Did you come up with that line in the bathroom just now?”

“Yes. Did it work?”

Hayden patted her hand. “Sorry, Shakespeare.”

Story sighed. “I know you were in no mood to discuss the elephant in the room last night”—she dropped her voice—“but come on. What about Brent?”

“He’s more of an ape. And I’m still in no mood.”

“Too bad,” Story snapped, making Hayden’s eyes widen. “There is something between you two. What do you think he would say if he was standing right here? If he knew you were about to marry someone else?”

She swallowed hard. Don’t think about it. “He’d probably say ‘What are you doing here? The shoe sale is two blocks over!’ Then he’d walk away, knuckles dragging on the ground.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“The knuckles part?”

“All of it.” Story pushed to her feet and started to pace just as a happy-looking couple emerged from the clerk’s chamber. Their parents followed behind them taking pictures. Tears pricked Hayden’s eyelids. Her parents wouldn’t even be at her wedding. When she’d gone to Stuart yesterday afternoon and agreed to marry him, she’d done it on the condition that he leave her father in the dark. She didn’t want him finding out before it was finished or he’d try to stop it. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed satisfied with this turn of events and was presently making sure her father stayed occupied until the deed was done.

“Stuart Nevin and Hayden Winstead,” a court officer called from the chamber door, signaling their time had come. For a moment, she felt rooted to her seat, the pit in her stomach too heavy for her to move. Breathing steadily in and out through her nose, she stood on shaky legs and approached the chamber. She glanced over at Story, who chewed her lip as she followed them inside.

“Last chance, Hay,” she whispered. “Say the word and we’re out of here. I’ll have us riding donkeys in Mexico by tomorrow morning.”

Hayden gave a sad laugh. “I know you would, sweetie, and I love you for it.” When Story barely bit back a sob, the pit in her stomach yawned wider. She attempted a brave face even though she felt her world caving in around her. “Hey, none of that. We can still ride donkeys in Mexico. This isn’t going to change anything.”

Story looked her square in the eye. “It’s going to change you, Hayden.”

Hayden’s mouth dropped open, but no response came out. What could she say? Story was 100 percent right. A loveless marriage, a lifetime spent putting on a happy face, would kill her emotionally. She’d become just like every other bored and miserable high-society mama in Manhattan. Trying to fill the void with possessions.

Brent. What would become of him? He’d meet some spunky, outdoorsy-type with cute freckles she secretly hated. The kind of girl who would wear a Mets jersey and cheer like her life depended on every game’s outcome. She’d probably say things like, “Let’s grill out,” and “Grab me a beer, hon?” She’d probably love camping and The Three Stooges. He’d have her knocked up with Brent Junior before the icing dried on their wedding cake. Her name would be Becky or Beth or Betsy and she’d wear his shirts to sleep at night.

Not fair! I want to wear his stupid, bigfoot-size shirts to sleep. Just thinking about Becky/Beth/Betsy and their Brent Brood made her so depressed, she was surprised to find herself still standing. Just as surprising, the clerk was already halfway through the marriage vows. Panic set in. Oh God. It suddenly hit her what a huge step she’d agreed to take. Hayden’s frantic gaze flew to Stuart, who was asking the clerk if he could speed along the process. Marry this guy and forgo any chance with Brent? She couldn’t do it. Could she?

What about her parents? Without their dozen or so charities to run, she could put her college degree to use and find a job. They might not have the life they were accustomed to anymore, but they could be comfortable. She would make sure of it.

“Hayden Winstead, do you take Stuart Nevin to be your husband?”

She opened her mouth, hell no perched on the tip of her tongue, when everything happened at once. Story, after darting a nervous glance toward the closed chamber door, squeezed her eyes shut. And flashed her br**sts at the clerk.

Then the pounding on the door began.

…

This can’t be happening. I’m just having a nightmare. The nightmare of the century. No, it’s real. Too real. Oh my God, please tell me I made it. Please. She’s my girl. Mine. No, no, no. I need her.

Brent left his ESU truck parked haphazardly against the curb and sprinted up the steps to City Hall, lights flashing behind him and thunder roaring in his ears. He didn’t remember much about the last ten minutes. The high-speed race to Lower Manhattan. He’d managed to process most of Daniel’s rapid explanation of Hayden’s reasons for getting married, courtesy of Story’s phone call.

At first, he’d thought the whole thing was some horrible mistake. She wouldn’t marry someone else. They’d had a fight, yes, but shit, when were they not fighting? He’d made it very clear yesterday morning that she belonged to him and no amount of fighting would change that. However, marriage to some slimy corporate prick would. Legally. The more words that had come out of Daniel’s mouth from the passenger seat, the more Brent knew Hayden was actually getting married at that very moment.

Her halted speech on the boardwalk in Atlantic City had come back to him in startling clarity. He didn’t have to take me in. I kind of owe him for everything, you know? Even if it sometimes means I have to do things that are…difficult.

Not this. Never this. His Hayden married to the man who’d refused to take no for an answer that night in the kitchen? His vision went red all over again. He needed to get to her. No matter what it took, he wouldn’t let it happen. Jesus, if he’d even made it on time.

Matt and Daniel caught up with him at the entrance, thankfully having the presence of mind to flash their badges at the security guard. The guard eyed Brent warily and he knew he had to look like a man possessed. He felt like it, too. His heart pounded so loudly, he couldn’t think straight. All he could see was Hayden with someone else’s ring on her finger. In someone else’s bed. Having someone else’s children.