Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 97: I Hate Martinis

Chapter 97: I Hate Martinis

The sounds of splintering wood cut through the howling wind. One moment, Nathan was pulling me toward the safety of the house ... and the next, I was shoving him forward with all my strength as the pergola groaned and gave way above us.

A scream tore from my throat as the wooden beams crashed down, barely missing Nathan as it sent a spray of debris between us. Rain lashed at my skin, stinging like needles, and the wind roared in my ears, drowning out everything but the frantic hammering of my heart.

"Vanessa!" Nathan’s voice was raw, barely audible over the storm.

I stumbled back, my bare feet slipping on the rain-slick deck. The storm had transformed our paradise into chaos. The infinity pool was a churning beast, the ocean beyond it a frothing, blackened maw. Lightning split the sky again, illuminating Nathan’s face, his eyes wide with terror. Not for himself.

For me.

Another gust of wind slammed into me, knocking me off balance. My hip hit the deck hard, pain shooting up my side. The pergola’s wreckage shifted, beams groaning as the storm raged on.

Nathan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist.

"Move!" he shouted, hauling me to my feet.

We ran, the storm chasing us like a living thing. The double doors leading back into the house rattled violently in their frames. Nathan wrenched them open, shoving me inside before slamming them shut behind us.

For a moment, all I could hear was the ragged sound of our breathing and the storm raging outside, barely muted by our wedding house.

Nathan cupped my face, his thumbs brushing away the rain dripping from my lashes. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, though my hip throbbed. "Just shaken like a dirty martini. As an aside, I hate olives. And martinis."

He laughed, but it was a choked sound. He scanned me for injuries. When he found none, he exhaled sharply and pulled me against him, his arms locking around me. His heart pounded against my chest, a rapid, unsteady rhythm.

"We’re okay," I whispered, as much for myself as for him.

He kissed the top of my head.

A sudden crash from outside made us both flinch.

Nathan pulled back just enough to look at me. "We need to secure the house."

I nodded, already moving. The elegant villa that had been our sanctuary minutes ago now felt fragile against the storm’s wrath. The windows rattled, the walls groaned, and somewhere upstairs, a shutter banged relentlessly against the siding.

Nathan grabbed a flashlight from a drawer, clicking it on as the power flickered once, twice. It went out entirely, plunging us into darkness.

The beam from the flashlight cut through the dark as we moved through the house, checking windows, locking doors, securing what we could.

When we reached the master bedroom, the wind screamed through a partially open window, its strength nearly tearing the curtains from their rods. Nathan crossed the room in three strides and forced it shut, latching it securely.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, leaving my limbs heavy.

Nathan sat beside me, his shoulder pressing against mine. "Next time, I’ll check the weather forecast before whisking you away to a private island."

His fingers laced through mine and squeezed.

For a moment, I actually felt like the worst was over.

Hah.

We heard a thud and both looked toward the doorway.

Two people-sized shadows passed by, scurrying down the hallway.

Nathan was on his feet instantly, shoving me behind him.

Who the hell was in our house?

The flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating nothing but empty hallway. But I knew what I’d seen—two figures, moving fast.

Nathan’s body was rigid in front of me, his grip on the flashlight white-knuckled.

The storm still raged outside, wind battering the windows, rain hammering the roof. But beneath that I heard a very familiar voice.

"Oh my God. No! The champagne!"

"Oliver?" Nathan and I said together.

Oliver King, my best friend, in a Hawaiian shirt with pink pineapples, a straw hat askew on his head, stood awkwardly in the living room holding a half-crushed bouquet of tropical flowers. Behind him stood his exasperated boyfriend, Leo, wearing a matching shirt (minus the pineapples, because Leo had some dignity) and rubbing his temples like he was already regretting his life choices.

"Ollie, what the actual fuck?"

Ollie blinked up at us from the floor, completely unfazed. "Surprise honeymoon visit! We brought champagne!" He held up the flowers. "And... uh... floral arrangements?"

Leo sighed. "We had champagne. Then Ollie dropped it while climbing through the window."

"The window?" I gaped at him.

"We locked it." Then Ollie waved a hand. "We knocked first. Like, a lot. But you guys were clearly too busy honeymooning to hear us over the storm." He waggled his eyebrows.

I groaned. "We thought you were murderers."

Ollie gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Excuse you, I am fabulous, not felonious. We just wanted to surprise you! Leo even packed matching couple outfits for us all!" He whipped out two more hideous Hawaiian shirts from his bag.

"I did not, in fact, pack them," said Leo.

"Leo!"

"I will take the hit for you in many ways, Ollie, but I refuse to take credit for these awful shirts."

Nathan put up his hands as Ollie attempted to give him a shirt. "Absolutely not."

Leo, ever the voice of reason, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I told him this was a terrible idea."

Ollie pouted. "But ... couples clothing. C’mon. It’ll be fun!"

"We’ll bury you in them," said Nathan. "How about that?"

"Spoilsport. Besides, Neenie would let you harm a hair on my precious head."

"Oh, yes I would," I said.

Ollie, ever the mature soul, stuck his tongue out at me.

Nathan, ever the pragmatist, grabbed the flashlight and gestured toward the living room. "Since you’re here, you might as well help us secure the place."

Ollie saluted. "Aye aye, Captain Honeymoon!"