Page 14 of Of Vows and Betrayal

His father orders him in Italian to move along, and Romero throws one last heavy look at my chest and legs before following his father into the house.

“I don’t like him,” Javier grumbles as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Who?” I ask just before he closes the door behind me.

He rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. “Romeo.”

“Romero?” I correct, though I can’t suppress a smile as he starts the car.

He snorts. “Maybe, but he’s acting like a ten-cent Romeo.”

I grimace, acknowledging the uncomfortable truth in his joke. “He’s not that bad, at least compared to the other options.”

Javier throws me a sideways glance as he pulls away from the curb. “Where to?”

“East Harlem.”

He turns to me, a hint of concern edging his voice. “Why?”

“Don’t worry, I know the area well. I’m from there.”

“You are from East Harlem?” His emphasis onyoudoesn’t escape me, but I leave it unanswered; he’ll see for himself soon enough.

“So, who’s that guy anyway? Someone I should keep an eye on?” he asks after a few moments of tense silence.

I turn to look at him, noting the hard set of his jaw. “The cheap Romeo—should I worry about him? You seemed pretty tense.”

“Oh, I—no, he’s okay. But they don’t like being questioned, and you got right in there.”

“I see… Who are they, though? Why are they coming to your house?”

It makes me uncomfortable, this questioning; it’s not something I’m used to. My father taught me early on that the less you know, the better, to act as if you see nothing and never ask about things that don’t concern you.

“Can we stop on 116th first?”

“Sure.”

As Javier drives, I gaze out the window, my heart filling with a familiar, bittersweet nostalgia. “Here. Stop here.” I direct him to an empty storefront.

He parks by the curb, and I don’t wait for him to speak before exiting the car. But before I take two steps, he catches my arm, stopping me.

“Hey! Don’t do that,” he says sharply. “You don’t just exit the car like that. It’s my life on the line too. I made a commitment.”

I blush, both embarrassed and annoyed. I pull out a set of keys from my pocket and dangle them in front of him. “And this is my home.”

I unlock the rolling curtain and pull it up before unlocking the glass door beneath the fading green sign that reads “Midsummer Petals.”

“This was my mom’s flower shop,” I explain as I enter the empty locale, ensuring all windows and doors are secure and that the place hasn’t been used for anything illicit. It’s a ritual I maintained when Jeremy was around, and though it pains me each time I cross the threshold, I feel better afterward—it was our happy place.

“Midsummer Petals?” Javier’s deep voice echoes in the empty space.

I glance back at him as he stands in the doorway, surveying the emptiness. “My mom had quite an obsession with Shakespeare.”

“You don’t say… Ophelia.”

I shrug with a small smile. “Well, it was either that or Desdemona. So I guess I got the better of the two.”

“Both have quite a tragic fate.”

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