Page 22 of Of Vows and Betrayal

I nod, understanding more about her with every word she speaks. “You really loved her, didn’t you?”

“More than anything,” she says softly. “She was my best friend.”

Her resilience in the face of everything is striking.

“You speak French?” I ask, wanting to change the subject from such a painful reminder to her. I fail again as her face takes a certain bittersweet hue I know quite well.

“I don’t, not really.” She grimaces. “Mom and I discussed it. It was a dream, really, to go visit Europe. We were making plans, and we had a map… It was so much fun, you know?” She shrugs. “I think it was her way to keep me dreaming. I learned a few words in some of the languages they speak in Europe.”

“It may come to use someday. You might go.”

“We did. We went to Rome, actually, for one week—the best and worst time of my life.” She clears her throat and blinks a few times, probably clearing tears. “I… I suspect my father paid for that trip, one last hurrah—last fun time. That was when she announced to me she was sick and that it was bad. One year later, she was gone.” She takes a shaky breath. “Anyway, I better go finish what I’m doing. I’ll see you later.”

As she finishes her rounds, I watch her interact with the residents, feeling a growing respect. But my mission is clear, and I need to stay focused. Yet, seeing her now, the weight of what I must do begins to press heavily on my conscience. She’s used to hardness; she’ll be okay even when her father’s world crumbles. But for the first time, doubt creeps in. Am I really doing the right thing? My plan feels like a betrayal of everything she stands for. As I watch her, a knot forms in my stomach, and I realize I’m no longer certain. This is just another step in my plan, I remind myself, but my heart isn’t so sure anymore.

We get back in the car and start the drive back to the estate. I glance at her short, blunt nails. “Your father will know you didn’t go to the nail salon.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “He always does. I pretend I play the game, and he pretends he believes me. Much less drama and fights that way.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re good at it. The pretending.”

“Survival skill,” she replies, looking out the window. “You do what you have to, right?”

I nod, understanding that sentiment all too well. “So you do this often? Helping at the shelters?”

She nods. “Yes. This one and a few others. Jeremy and I had our habits.”

The mention of Jeremy piques my interest. “Jeremy, your former bodyguard?”

She smiles faintly. “Yes. He was more than just a bodyguard. He was a friend. He understood why I needed to do this.”

“And your father?” I ask, steering the car onto theinterstate.

“He disapproved,” she says simply. “But he tolerated it because it kept me occupied and out of trouble.”

I shake my head, still trying to reconcile the image of the spoiled Mafia princess with the kindhearted woman sitting beside me. “You’re different from what I expected.”

She glances at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good different or bad different?”

“Good,” I admit, surprising myself. “Very good.”

The rest of the drive is filled with more conversation. She talks about her mother, the shelters, and the people she’s met along the way. Her passion for helping others is evident, and it’s hard not to be impressed.

As we pull up to the estate, she turns to me. “Thank you for today, Javier. It means a lot that you came with me.”

I nod, maintaining my resolve. “Anytime, Ophelia. Anytime.”

She gives me a small smile and heads inside. I watch her go, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and strategies. This mission is more complicated than I ever imagined, but my focus remains sharp. I start the car and drive away, knowing that I’ll need to stay vigilant. For better or worse, Ophelia is part of the plan, and I won’t let anything derail my objective.

Chapter 6

Ophelia

As Saturday approaches, the anxiety gnaws at me like a persistent ache. Julia’s warning about my father’s broken promise echoes in my mind, making every heartbeat feel like a countdown to doom. The thought of losing Midsummer Petals, the last tangible piece of my mother, fills me with a dread so deep it feels like I’m suffocating.

Even the few days spent with Javier—visiting all the places I used to frequent, his kindness, and how much he actually inserts himself into my activities—don’t help settle the black cloud hanging over my head. The only thing I can do is get my answer, and how can I do that? Confront my father.

My steps are resolute as I head toward his office, my heart pounding louder with each step. Just as I reach the door, I hear the low murmur of voices from inside. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pause, pressing my ear against the wood.

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