Page 101 of Stolen Vows

I close my eyes briefly, counting to three in my head before responding. My anxiety is spiking, and I hate this feeling. How can she be a thousand miles away and still have the safe effect on me as if she’s standing in front of me?

“I’m sorry, Mother. I—” Self-loathing curdles in my gut like spoiled milk, swallowing the rest of my explanation. I hate how easily I slide back into that role. Not when I’ve spent the last six months growing out of it.

Temporary insanity. An out of body experience. Lucid dreaming.

Alien abduction.

It’s the only explanation for what comes out of my mouth next.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t answer because I was having dinner with my husband and his family.”

The line goes quiet. Long enough that I pull my phone away from my ear to make sure the call didn’t drop. It didn’t. She’s intentionally being quiet, which is worse than if she was raging at me.

My heartbeat echoes inside my ears, and it feels like I might hop right out of my skin I’m so scared.

“Francesca. Tell me you didn’t marry Giovanni Baldini without telling your family about it.” Each word is a controlled bite of rage.

I swallow and roll my shoulders back. God, I wish Romeo was here. He’s like an emotional support fluff, and I think I need some grounding right now.

“I didn’t.”

She exhales. “Thank god. You would’ve ruined everything if you married him without giving me a chance to plan it. We need this wedding to be big. I don’t have to remind you how important this merger is for us, do I? Because your father?—”

“You misunderstood,” I interrupt her for the first time maybe in my entire life.

“Excuse me?” she seethes.

“I said you misunderstood. I’m already married. And it’s not to Giovanni Baldini.”

There’s a beat of silence. “You little bitch. You’re going to pay for making me fix thismistakeof yours. Why can’t you be more like your sister, hm? Instead of always making my life harder. You’re an ungrateful child, Francesca, and?—”

“Gotta go, Mom. It hasn’t been a pleasure talking to you.” It’s the second time interrupting her, and it feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

I hang up the phone, my fingers tingling with adrenaline.

“Shit,” I whisper. “What did I just do?”

I take a deep, shuddering breath, my heart pounding against my ribs as I stare down at my phone in disbelief. Did I really just hang up on my mother? After telling her I got married without her knowledge or permission? To someone who isn’t Giovanni Baldini?

A laugh bubbles up my throat, edged with hysteria and giddy liberation. I clap a hand over my mouth, but it spills out anyway, echoing in the quiet night air.

Holy shit. I did that. I stood up to Catherine Kennedy Carrington Ashburn and lived to tell the tale. Lightning didn’t strike me down and the world didn’t end.

I feel incredible. Alive and liberated. Like I want to celebrate.

“Francesca.” His voice is lower than usual, rougher.

I spin around and see my husband standing on the porch, the fading sun highlighting his jawline. My legs move of their own accord, carrying me toward him in quick, purposeful strides. The adrenaline from my conversation with my mother still sings in my veins, making me feel reckless and bold. Invincible.

He watches me approach, his brows knitting together. “Francesca, what?—”

But I don’t let him finish. I launch myself at him, jumping up and wrapping my arms around his neck. He catches me effortlessly, his strong hands gripping the backs of my thighs as my legs wind around his waist.

I crash my lips to his in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of exhilaration and triumph into it. He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but recovers quickly, his arms banding around me as he returns the kiss with equal fervor.

His lips are firm and demanding against mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to claim me. I moan into the kiss, my fingers threading through his hair, tugging him impossibly closer. He tastes like champagne and something uniquely him, and I can’t get enough.

I pull back, panting against his lips. “Take me home.”

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