Page 126 of The Vow

"Riggs would never put my life at risk like you just did!" I declare.

He grunts and asks, "You want to bitch all day or go meet Scratch? I'll warn you, he doesn't like divas."

"I'm not a diva."

"You're acting like one now."

King Madden barks.

"That dog was a bad idea," Noah claims, then gets out of the car.

I take a deep breath, mutter, "It's okay, sweetie," and open the door. I follow Noah to the elevator.

We get in, he punches a code, and his voice turns sweeter. "Let's make nice. This is a big day for you."

I decide he's right. I nod. "Okay."

We stay quiet, and the elevator stops at the penthouse. The doors open, and the L.A. skyline is visible through the windows. White leather furniture fills the living space. The corner of the room has a piano, several guitars on stands, and a drum set.

"Wow. Scratch has an awesome setup," I state.

"It's not his place. It's mine," Noah informs me.

Confusion fills me. "Did you move?"

He shakes his head. "No. I only bring special people here."

His statement makes my chest tighten. Blood pounds between my ears. I set the puppy purse on the table and unzip it. I pull King Madden out of it and hold him to my chest. His heart is beating as fast as mine.

I coo, "It's okay, sweetie." I lift my chin, asking Noah, "Where's Scratch?"

"He'll be here—"

The elevator opens, and my mouth turns dry. My parents step off it and into the room.

Alarm fills me. I turn my head toward Noah. "What are they doing here?"

"Baby! There you are!" my mother announces and runs toward me.

King Madden growls at her, snipping like he did at Noah.

She jumps back. The smell of vodka flares in my nostrils. Her bloodshot eyes widen. She replies, "Oh! What do we have here!"

"Why are they here?" I ask Noah again.

My father steps forward. "To get my money back as well as your husband's."

Of course. It's always about money with them.

I seethe, "Over my dead body!" I glare at Noah. "Why would you bring us here?"

Noah's lips turn into a tight smile. He stays quiet, angering and scaring me further.

"Well?" I demand.

My mother's drunk laugh makes me cringe. She pats the back of my head and slurs, "Oh, honey. You can't let us stay poor."

King Madden wiggles so violently that he slips through my hands. He nips at her ankles, tearing the bottom of her pants.

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