Five years ago, I broke my ex-boyfriend Kyle Norton's heart. He left for the international racing circuit and had only just come home. Ironically, my doctors had just told me the treatment had failed and sent me home to die. A convoy from the Iron Saints Motorcycle Club roared to a stop outside my house. Kyle, their new president, removed his helmet and handed it to the woman riding behind him. I sat in my wheelchair and touched my wig, making sure the wind wouldn't blow it off. His gaze swept over the wig and the blanket covering my legs, and his mouth curled in mockery. "Cora Harrington. Five years, and now you're in a wheelchair?" I smiled calmly. "I slipped while dancing and fractured a bone. That's all." Kyle gave a scornful laugh. "Perfect timing. I'm getting married, and I want you to be my fiancée's bridesmaid. We used to be such close 'friends,' after all." I turned to my best friend, Wendy Kessler, and asked her to wheel me inside. "I'm busy. I'll be leaving on a long trip soon."