Chapter 276
Chapter 45
The car glided smoothly along the winding road, leaving Willow
Creek far behind. The further they drove, the more unfamiliar the
surroundings became–open pastures giving way to dense clusters of trees, the sleepy town she had known all her life fading in the
rearview mirror.
Isla sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her arms folded tightly across her chest, suspicion curling in her stomach.
Where were they going?
She had asked again and again, but Graham hadn’t answered.
Not once.
His hands gripped the wheel, knuckles flexing, his jaw locked in silent determination. There was no smirk, no usual glint of amusement in his sharp gaze. He was focused. On what, she didn’t know. And that
made her nervous.
She shifted in her seat, glancing at him warily.
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“Graham,” she tried again, forcing her voice to remain even, though
her fingers clenched at the fabric of her dress. “Where are we going?”
Still, nothing.
He didn’t even acknowledge her.
The unease in her chest deepened. Graham was never chatty, but this
level of silence? This complete disregard of her? It wasn’t like him.
She inhaled sharply, twisting toward him. “Graham, for God’s sake,
just tell me-”
The car jerked slightly as he turned into a parking lot, and Isla’s
stomach dropped when she caught sight of the large white building in
front of them.
The Lansbury County Courthouse.
She blinked in confusion.
Why were they here?
She tore her gaze from the building, turning wide, questioning eyes to
him, but Graham had already killed the engine.
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The second the car came to a stop, he unbuckled his seatbelt and
stepped out.
“What-” Her voice faltered as she scrambled to do the same,
was already moving. Already rounding the car to her side.
but he
She barely had time to react before he opened her door and extended
a hand.
“Out.” His voice was smooth, controlled.
Her fingers clenched around the edge of her seat.
“What is this?” Her voice was hushed, wary.
Graham didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned down, his towering frame caging her in, his broad
shoulders blocking out everything but him.
The scent of his cologne, that intoxicating mix of spice and
something purely him, wrapped around her like a snare. Her pulse
stuttered.
“Isla,” he murmured, his voice low, quiet–but laced with an
unmistakable warning. “Don’t make me carry you.”
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Her breath hitched.
The way he said it, the slow, deadly promise in his tone, sent a shiver
down her spine. Damn him.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her body betraying her,
heat curling deep in her stomach.
With a scowl, she pushed herself out of the car, her legs unsteady
beneath her. Graham shut the door behind her and–without another
word–placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the
courthouse doors.
Isla’s heart pounded louder with every step.
What the hell was going on?
She searched his face, desperate for some kind of explanation, but his
expression remained stoic, unreadable.
The moment they stepped inside, the cool air of the courthouse
wrapped around her, the scent of old paper and polished floors filling
her nose.
Still, no answers.
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She followed him blindly, her mind spinning, until they stopped at a
counter where a middle–aged man sat behind a desk, shuffling
through a stack of forms.
Graham barely gave her a second glance before speaking.
“Marriage license, please.”
Isla’s world tilted.
Her breath caught in her throat, her entire body locking up.
What?
The clerk, barely looking up, retrieved a stack of paperwork and slid it across the counter. “Both signatures at the bottom,” he said in a monotone. “I’ll need valid identification from both of you, a sixty-
dollar fee, and there’s a seventy–two–hour waiting period before the
license is valid. Any questions?”
Isla couldn’t move.
Her pulse roared in her ears, her hands trembling at her sides.
No. No, no, no.
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This wasn’t happening.
She turned to Graham sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Her voice came out in a strangled whisper. “What-”
But before she could even finish, he picked up a pen.
Calm. Unshaken. As if he had just ordered coffee, not requested a
damn marriage license.
Her stomach dropped.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
