My Delicate Wife Is A Medical Genius

Diana heard the word "Good." She didn't hesitate. She leaned across the wide leather seat, closing the distance between them.

She reached out and lightly pinched the cuff of Houston's dark suit jacket. She tilted her head up, looking directly into his face.

"I don't regret it," Diana said. "I'm glad. I left a terrible place, and now I have a husband who looks like you."

Houston looked down at her. As she leaned in impossibly close, he caught a subtle trace beneath the heavy cedar of the car interior-a faint scent of cheap soap and something clean, like crushed herbs, clinging to her skin. His pupils contracted.

He pulled his arm back instinctively. Diana didn't let go. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve, and her thumb brushed against the bare skin of his wrist.

Houston froze. The muscles in his arms turned to stone. His breathing stopped completely for a full second. No woman had ever touched him this casually, this fearlessly.

Diana acted as if she didn't notice his paralysis. "Since we are going to be legally married, we should fulfill our duties. Like taking care of each other."

She shifted her weight and rested her head gently against his shoulder. She looped her arm loosely through his.

Houston's back hit the leather seat hard. He could feel the heat of her body seeping through his suit jacket. A tight, unfamiliar knot formed in the center of his chest. He looked down at the top of her head resting against him. His pale lips pressed into a thin line. His Adam's apple bobbed once.

He didn't push her away.

Diana felt the rigid tension in his muscles. She smiled against his jacket and rubbed her cheek slightly against the expensive wool, settling in.

"Your shoulder is hard," she murmured. "But it feels safe. Safer than anywhere in the Hutchinson house."

At the word "Hutchinson," the air around Houston dropped ten degrees. A dark, violent shadow crossed his gray-blue eyes.

Slowly, the iron tension in his arm eased. He shifted his shoulder down just a fraction of an inch, angling his body so she could lean more comfortably.

The Maybach slowed down, pulling to a stop along a quiet street.

"Stop the car," Houston ordered.

Diana lifted her head, confused. She looked out the window. "Aren't we going to sign the prenuptial agreement first?"

Houston looked at the faint red mark the wool had left on her cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, a movement so small it was almost invisible. "The agreement is here."

Butler Hayes opened the door from the outside. Houston stepped out into the night air. He turned back and held his hand out to Diana.

Diana looked at his large, pale hand. She placed her hand in his. His palm was cool, but his grip was absolute. His fingers closed around hers, locking them together.

They walked up the wide stone steps of City Hall. Houston's grip didn't loosen.

A man in a sharp gray suit stood at the top of the stairs, holding a leather folder. Aiden Foster's eyes widened to the size of saucers when he saw Houston Vanderbilt holding a woman's hand. He quickly snapped his jaw shut and bowed his head.

"Mr. Vanderbilt," Aiden said, holding out the folder. "The prenuptial agreement, drafted exactly to your specifications."

Diana took the folder with her free hand. She flipped it open. She scanned the dense legal text. Her eyes stopped on the asset division clauses. The document essentially transferred a massive portion of the Vanderbilt liquid assets and real estate into her name, effective immediately upon signing. The only condition was a strict non-disclosure clause regarding his health.

She looked up at Houston. "Is this a mistake? You're giving me everything. You get a wife who might just be a liability."

Houston stared down at her. His face was an unreadable mask. "My life isn't worth much. Buying your commitment with money is cheap."

Diana's chest tightened. She looked at his cold, beautiful face and saw the deep, isolating void beneath his words.

She closed the folder. She didn't read another word. She took the pen Aiden offered and signed her name at the bottom of the page. She shoved the folder back into Aiden's chest.

Houston watched her signature dry. A dark satisfaction settled in his eyes.

He pulled her hand, leading her through the heavy brass doors of City Hall.

The grand lobby was mostly empty at this hour. A few clerks looked up. When they recognized the man walking across the marble floor, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Director Miller came rushing out of his glass office. He took one look at Houston, then at the woman holding his hand, and physically stumbled over his own feet. He grabbed the edge of a desk to steady himself, his face draining of color.

"Mr. Vanderbilt," Miller stammered, bowing so low his tie brushed the desk. "Right this way. Please."