“Then we fight them first,” I said. “Tell me what you need.”
He remained silent for several moments.
When he finally answered, his request caught me completely off guard.
“Marry me.”
I stared at him, convinced I had misunderstood.
He met my eyes steadily.
“Let them say it,” he answered. “If we marry, I can sign a healthcare directive naming you as my medical agent while I’m still of sound mind. A signed directive would guard my final days from Gregory. There is no one I trust more than you.”
I searched his tired, desperate face.
“You don’t have to love me,” he added softly. “I’m only asking you to protect me.”
“I already do,” I said. “I have since the first game you let me win.”
A genuine laugh escaped him before dissolving into another coughing fit.
Three days later, we were married in his penthouse suite.
Mr. Vance stood as our witness.
