When we finally broke apart, I was shaking. My lips felt swollen. My whole body felt like it was vibrating at a frequency I didn’t recognize.
“Hi, my dearest wife,” Michael said, his voice gentle and dark and full of promise.
“Hello, husband.”
The officiant cleared her throat gently. “Congratulations. You’re officially married.”
Michael grinned, and it was pure trouble. “Perfect. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me toward the door. I hesitated for a while, then he said, “Trust me.”
Twenty minutes later, we were standing in front of a cherry red convertible. Michael tossed the keys in the air and caught them, looking very pleased with himself.
“You rented a convertible.”
“You said road trip was on your list.”
“I said Highway One.”
“We’ll get there.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Tonight we’re going somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“The desert.” He walked around to the driver’s side. “I want to watch the sunrise with my wife.”
The way he said wife made my stomach flutter.
We drove out of the city as the sky started shifting from black to deep blue. The strip disappeared behind us, all those impossible lights fading until there was nothing but desert and stars and the road ahead.
He pulled off the road, finding a spot overlooking red rocks glowing in the pre-dawn light. “We’re married now. Which means we get to do everything you’ve always wanted.”
He killed the engine and turned to face me fully.
That was when the headache hit—like lightning.
Sharp. Sudden. It felt as though someone had driven a spike through my skull.
I tried to say Michael’s name, but my mouth wouldn’t work. The words came out garbled, nonsense sounds that didn’t mean anything.
“Claudette?” Michael’s voice changed instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I tried to tell him. Tried to explain. But my body wasn’t listening anymore. My vision blurred and the beautiful desert sunrise started bleeding into itself, all the colors running together.
“Claudette!” Michael’s hands were on my face, his voice urgent. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”
The last thing I heard was Michael’s voice—panicked, desperate—calling my name over and over.
Then nothing.
CHAPTER 4
Claudette
I wokeup staring at a ceiling that wasn’t mine.
That was the first thought. Wrong ceiling. Too high, with crown molding that caught the morning light in a way that looked almost artistic. The kind of architectural detail you noticed in other people’s homes, not your own.
