Page 126 of Stolen Vows

Florence’s smirk widens as she saunters toward us, all arrogance and superiority. But once she gets closer, I see the cracks. The fissures deeply embedded into her mask of arrogance.

My wife tenses, tilting her head up. “Call me when you’re ready to be my sister, Flora.”

Florence’s steps falter, her smile curling down at the edges before she forces it back into place. She arches a brow, stopping a half-foot in front of Francesca. “Don’t you even want to know how I got in here?”

Francesca shakes her head, jaw set. “You’re not welcome here, Flora. Not like this.”

She lets out a humorless laugh, but it lacks any real malice. “Fine. Have it your way, Frankie.” She brushes past Francesca, purposely bumping her shoulder. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. This little fairytale life you’ve built here? It’s not going to last. Mother won’t let it.”

Francesca stiffens, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. But she doesn’t rise to the bait. “Goodbye, Flora,” she says evenly, not turning around.

Florence pauses in the doorway, and that’s when I see it. The pure longing and deep regret etched into her face when she looks at my wife.

Without another word, she spins on her heel and stalks out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway until the distant slam of the front door signals her exit.

Silence.

Thick, suffocating silence.

Francesca doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn around. She just stands there, stiff and unmoving, like a statue carved from tension and old wounds.

Romeo lets out a soft whine, nosing at her leg, but she doesn’t react.

I don’t move either. My grip tightens on the bat still hanging loosely in my hand, my mind replaying the last five minutes on a loop, turning it over, dissecting every second.

What the fuck was the endgame here?

The answer is obvious. To make Francesca doubt. To make her second-guess everything. And it almost worked.

I set the bat down, exhaling through my nose. This is not fucking happening.

I step toward her, curling my hands over her shoulders and pulling her against my chest. She sags against my chest, trembling faintly beneath my touch.

“Francesca,” I murmur, my thumbs rubbing soothing circles over her skin. “Talk to me, sunshine.”

She draws in a shuddering breath before turning to face me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice thick. “I’m so sorry she did this, that she came here and?—”

“Hey, no.” I cut her off gently, cupping her face in my hands. “You have nothing to apologize for, Francesca. This isn’t your fault.”

She exhales shakily, leaning into my touch. “Still.”

I smooth my hand over her back once more before stepping back.

“I’m going to make sure everything is locked up. You and Romeo wait for me here. In my bed.”

I hesitate for a beat, my jaw flexing as my gaze drifts to the doorway. Where Florence stood just minutes ago, her final words still ringing in my ears.

My voice comes out low, calm, even. But edged with something lethal. “If she or anyone else ever tries this shit again, they won’t make it past the front door.”

Francesca exhales, tension unraveling slightly. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to.

Installing more security measures will have to wait until tomorrow.

44

GRAHAM

Sunday dinner at my parents’house is usually a predictable thing. Same house, same meal rotations, same fucking noise level that should be illegal for a gathering of less than fifteen people.

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