Page 50 of Full House

“They are.” Nate leaned his head down, kissing her temple. “Victoria agreed to become my wife this morning.”

“The news will crush a lot of your female fans.” Fake smile forgotten, April had slipped her bitchy mask back on.

“Maybe we should write a press release before the tabloids get ahold of the news.” That came from Byron.

“No.” Nate’s voice was a sharp command. “Not until after we’re married. Reporters hound us enough as it is. They get wind of this, they’ll be up our ass looking for the money shot of our wedding.”

April was quick to announce, “Not sure how long we can keep something like this quiet, especially with her running around with that thing on.” April flicked her hand at Victoria’s.

“You let me worry about that,” was Nate’s curt reply.

“Have you set the date?” Ms. Twenty Questions asked.

“We haven’t talked about it yet, but it’ll be soon.”

“What’s the rush?” Damn, she was persistent. Wasn’t she aware she was pissing Nate off? Victoria couldn’t see him, but even still, knew he wasn’t happy.

“That’s none of your business. We’ll update you when it’s a done deal.”

Victoria flicked her eyes to Byron, silently hoping he didn’t open his mouth.

“Fine.” April sounded affronted.

“Are we done here?” Nate didn’t give April or Byron a chance to answer. “Good.” Then in a lower voice, steering her toward the door, he said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The heat smacked her as they stepped out of the air-conditioned building. As she’d predicted, it was sweltering.

“Still feel up to packing?” Nate asked as they walked hand in hand through the parking lot.

“Absolutely.” She eyed Nate’s car with a critical eye as they passed it. “Will we be able to fit everything in that?”

“I’ll make it work.”

“Okay.” She brushed his cheek with a kiss before starting a light jog to her trailer, calling over her shoulder, “Last one packed is a rotten egg.”

She slowed at the stairs to search through her bag for her keys. Still not finding them when she reached the top, she leaned her butt against the handrail. Raising her left knee, she placed her foot on the middle bar, creating a shelf with her leg for her purse so she could properly look through it, and felt the railing give against her weight. Her purse flew from her hands, sailing over her head, its contents raining around her.

She teetered—for what felt like endless moments—staring up at the bright light of the sun, until unable to keep her balance, she shrieked as she tumbled backward over the top of the handrail. The ground swooped up, and she landed painfully on her hip with her shoulder taking the next brunt then finally her head. Dazed, she saw a sprinkling of stars before blackness.

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