Page 20 of Stolen Vows

I roll my shoulders back, pushing away the thought as I take a step inside. I fought for this. Just like I fought to stay in school for as long as humanly possible. And it worked—for a while.

But once it became clear that I could no longer be a career student, no longer stall the proposed Ashburn and Bandinimerger, I walked away with a BBA in Entrepreneurship & Business Administration, a BFA in English Literature, and a minor in Musical Theatre.

And that’s something no one can take from me.

Giovanni gifted me an entire summer without pressure from him or my parents to get married.

Sometimes, I hate myself for feeling gratitude for a man who does the bare minimum—for not constantly pressing me to tie my life to his.

No matter how many times I remind myself that this affects his life as much as mine, it never feels the same.

Not even close.

Florence was only too happy to take a trip with me up and down the East Coast. She never wastes an opportunity to be away from her husband these days.

And I don’t blame her. She’s been telling herself she loves wanderlust for so long that I think she has herself convinced it’s true.

But I know my sister.

And I have to believe that somewhere, deep inside, is the girl who once told me she wanted land. A meadow in her backyard. Rocking chairs on a wraparound porch. A house full of kids she’d bake cornbread and chocolate chip cookies with.

I have to believe that version of her still exists.

Somewhere.

We ended our trip in a tiny town about three hours north of Winthrop Harbor.

I didn’t know it at the time, but my sister had already arranged to purchase the first pick of a litter of Australian Labradoodles from a reputable breeder. And, because she’s nothing if not strategic, she timed everything perfectly.

The morning before we were supposed to head back home, we drove to a breathtaking farm—all rolling green pastures, white-fenced paddocks, and a red barn that looked like it belonged on the cover of a country living magazine.

And there he was.

So small. So reserved.

The only apricot-blond pup in the litter. And the moment I saw his sweet little face, I knew. He was mine.

Romeo came home with me that day, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

I look down at his sweet face, his long, floppy ears lifting when he feels my attention on him.

“Ready to go, boy?”

Romeo’s tail swishes, his entire body wiggling with excitement.

I chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Stepping inside, the scent of fresh lemon and wood polish wraps around me, pressing against my ribs.

“Wow.” The word slips out on an exhale, my fingers tightening around Romeo’s leash as I absently close the door behind us.

The cleaning crews I hired before I even set foot in Avalon Falls did an incredible job. The space is immaculate. Almosttooclean.

A tiny part of me mourns the loss of that distinct Aunt Miriam scent—the familiar mix of patchouli and oakmoss, the warmth of something lived-in.

I breathe in again, forcing my chest to expand. The fresh air is different.

New. Hopeful.

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