“Please Trust Me,” the Driver Said as He Hid Me in the Trunk on My Son’s Wedding Day.

“He called again. If we don’t pay him by Monday—”

“Not now,” Natasha cut him off sharply. “Blake is inside.”

The man’s face crumpled. “You’re really doing this. Marrying him. He seems like a good man. He doesn’t deserve—”

“His goodness won’t pay Randall.” Natasha’s words were ice. “His family’s money will. The Hayes estate. The hotels. The accounts. continue reading …