I Woke Up on My Husband’s Wedding Day

CELINA

The night before our church wedding, a car ran me down. I slept for two years.

The day I woke up, I heard my husband was getting married again.

Outside my hospital room, his best friend asked, "Celina's awake. Are you really still doing this? You're marrying the woman who almost killed her. What happens when she finds out?"

Joren didn't even lower his voice.

"Romina never meant it. She's spent the last two years eaten up by guilt, quietly looking out for Celina. I hated her too at first, but her kindness got to me."

"And Celina?"

"She's my wife. I stayed for two years after the accident instead of walking away, which is more than fair. It's been killing me, being stuck with her when I can't even be with the girl I love. I've put up with enough. She won't blame me."

I didn't say a word. I found my old phone, charged it, and made one call.

On the day of the wedding, helicopters filled the sky over Halcyon City.

Every guest on that lawn thought they were the groom showing off.

Only I smiled.

Put the Grassi Don's little sister in a coma, and you'd better pray death comes quickly.

It won't.

——

My hands curled into fists under the sheet. Outside the door, they were still talking.

"Even if Celina forgives you, the Grassis won't," Silvio said. "They protect their own. If they find out you've been sleeping with another woman while she's lying here in a coma—"

Silvio Falcone. Joren's oldest friend, and the only one in that hallway who sounded worried.

Joren laughed. Actually laughed.

"Relax. The Grassis have had a civil war on their hands for two years. Why do you think nobody from Sicily has come to see her? Rhys can barely leave his own house."

"So what's the end game here?" Silvio asked. "Are you planning to divorce Celina next?"

This time Joren took a while to answer.

"She just woke up. She's weak. Her own family can't be bothered with her. If I walk away, who takes care of her?" His voice went soft, almost tender. "No divorce. If Romina doesn't mind, I'll buy Celina a house somewhere. Give her a home."

A house somewhere. Like an old dog you keep out of guilt.

Heat roared up my spine. The room tilted, and for a second I thought I'd go under again.

We'd signed the license at City Hall a week before the cathedral wedding we never got to have. The night before the ceremony, a car came out of nowhere. Headlights. Then nothing, for two years.

Footsteps. I slid back down and closed my eyes.

The door opened. Someone crossed the room and leaned over me, close enough that I felt his breath on my cheek.

I opened my eyes.

Joren froze. Then his face did the thing I used to love—it softened all at once into perfect, helpless concern.

"Celina. You're really awake. God, I was so scared you'd slip back under."

If I hadn't heard every word through that door, I would have believed him. That was the worst part.

I smiled back. "I forgot to ask earlier. What happened to the driver? The one who hit me."

His hand stopped on my arm.

"He's in prison. Twenty-five years."

He said it to the blanket. Joren had never been able to look at me when he lied.

"Shouldn't I identify him?" I kept my voice light. "I saw the driver's face, you know. Right before."

His head jerked up. His fingers twisted the sheet into a knot. I'd known him long enough to know exactly what that meant.

Then it was gone, smoothed over. "Baby, you were out for two years. Memories get scrambled. Don't worry about any of that now. Just rest." He stood. "I'll go find your doctor."

He was out the door almost before he finished the sentence.

I waited until his footsteps faded, then pulled open the bedside drawer. I grabbed my old phone, plugged it in, and called my brother.

It rang for a long time. Then:

"Celina?"

My brother's voice. Two years, and he still sounded like home. My eyes burned.

"Finally," Rhys said. "What, Felix gave you five minutes off?"

My heart stopped. "Who's Felix?"

"Yours and Joren's boy, obviously. Born a year ago. Did you really think I didn't know? Joren sends me pictures every month—says he's been keeping you too wiped out to call." His voice dropped. "I'm sorry I haven't visited. After Papa died, half the family made a play for his seat. I couldn't leave. I'm sorry, Celina."

A boy. One year old.

I had been asleep for two.

So Joren hadn't even waited three months.

And then he'd sent my brother photos of his mistress's son and let Rhys believe the boy was mine.

"Celina? Talk to me." The warmth drained from his voice. "You're too quiet. What's wrong? I'll figure out a way to get to you right now."

"No, Rhys." I breathed until my hands stopped shaking. "I just need you to find someone for me."