Page 128 of Stolen Vows

Mason nods, his smile softening. “We’d love that. Everyone is welcome anytime.”

As the conversation flows around me, I keep my attention on Abby. She’s quieter than usual, pushing food around her plate and only offering brief comments when directly addressed. It’s not like her. Abby is always the life of the party, the one leading the conversation and keeping everyone engaged with stories.

Something isn’t right with Abby. I can feel it in my gut. She’s too quiet, too withdrawn. It could be nothing - maybe she’s just tired from traveling or stressed about work. But my instincts are rarely wrong when it comes to my family.

I catch her eye across the table and raise a questioning brow. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly, her smile tight. Later, she mouths before turning her attention back to Mason and Wilder.

I let it go for now, but make a mental note to pull her aside before we leave. If something is going on with her, I can help. I’d rather not use my software to figure it out, but I will if I have to.

By the time dessert rolls around, the noise level in the dining room has reached a decibel that should require ear protection.

Beau and Mason are still talking shit about that hypothetical footrace, but now my dad’s chimed in, making bets. Cora’s scrolling through her phone, shaking her head like she’s embarrassed to be related to any of us. Vivienne and Margot are whispering about something that makes them giggle every few seconds. Francesca, ever the diplomat, is helping my mom clear plates and somehow still managing to keep up a conversation with Eloise.

I should be used to this. Iamused to this.

And yet, all I want is to be home with my wife, in bed, where I don’t have to share her with the world.

Francesca catches my eye from across the room, like she can read my mind. A small, knowing smile tugs at her lips, her fingers brushing subtly along the inside of her wrist—a promise.

The only thing keeping me in this chair is that look.

That, and Abby.

She’s been off all night. I’ve been watching, cataloging every too-quiet moment, every glance she ducks, every forced smile. And it’s not just me. Beau’s noticed too. He keeps cutting looks in her direction, frowning between bites of pie.

Abby stands, dusting imaginary crumbs off her hands. “I’m gonna head out. Long day tomorrow.”

I push my chair back and follow her into the kitchen. “I’ll walk you out.”

She doesn’t argue, which means I’m definitely right.

Francesca’s voice floats in from the dining room. “Beau, I think you owe Mason an apology.”

Mason lets out a victoriouswhoop, and my brother groans dramatically.

I shake my head and nudge Abby toward the door. Once we step into the night air, she folds her arms tight across her chest. “You don’t have to do this, Graham.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” I correct, keeping my voice even. “Talk.”

She exhales, eyes flicking toward her car. “It’s just work stuff.” That’s a lie. I say nothing, just wait. After a beat, she mutters, “And some other stuff. I’ll tell you soon, okay?”

I hold her gaze. “If you need anything?—”

“I know,” she interrupts, forcing a real smile this time. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

45

FRANCESCA

The store smellslike freshly brewed coffee and the crisp pages of new books, courtesy of the fragrance plug-in behind the counter. And for once, I’m content to just exist in it. No distractions. No pressing thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind. Just the steady hum of Fiction & Folklore around me, the low chatter of customers, the rhythmic jingle of the door as customers enter and leave. It’s peaceful.

A small part of me still expects the other shoe to drop. But I’m working on ignoring that part.

“Alright, which one?” Eloise asks, holding up two books like she’s weighing them in each hand. “The one with the morally gray warlord or the one with the sunshine heroine who falls for a grumpy reclusive artist?”

I barely glance at the covers before pointing. “Warlord.”

She grins. “I thought for sure you’d go for the grumpy sunshine combo.”

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