Page 5 of Stolen Vows

“Are you even listening to me?” Florence snaps, stepping into my space, her face filling my vision.

I level her with my most neutral expression, refusing to let her see even a flicker of hesitation. “I don’t want to talk about Giovanni right now, and I certainly don’t want to marry him.”

Her sharp intake of breath is loud in my ear. Her fingers close around my arm, nails biting into my skin. “What has gotten into you? Of course, you’re marrying him.”

I’m already shaking my head before she even finishes speaking. “I’m not. And you can take that back to Bash and Mom and whoever else sent you here as their little spy.”

Her grip tightens for a second, like she thinks she can physically hold me to the life they’ve planned out.

She can’t.

I untangle my arm, stepping back, my pulse thrumming with the music, with the adrenaline of saying it out loud. Then I turn and stride toward the living room, leaving her standing there, still trying to fit me into a box I’ve already outgrown.

Her hand snaps around my bicep, stopping me in my tracks once more.

“What do you think you’re doing right now?” she hisses. “You spend one semester away at college and then, what? You’re going to blow up your whole goddamn life? Get a fucking grip,Francesca.”

It’s the way she says my full name. The sharp consonants burrowing inside my ear, somehow cutting through the music. Or maybe that’s just my imagination playing tricks on me again.

I pivot on the ball of my foot, meeting her gaze without flinching.

“I’m going to go dance,” I say simply. “You can stay or you can go. Dance with me or don’t. The choice is yours,Flora.”

Her gaze bounces between my eyes, her lips twisted into a frown. I watch the moment she decides to give in. Her brows smooth out, settling into their usual, perfectly arched shape. She nods once and releases my bicep.

“This isn’t over, Frankie. But fine, you can have your little frat party. I’m going to find something to drink.”

She turns and disappears into the crowd. The moment she’s out of sight, I take my first full breath in twenty-four hours.

Relief unfurls inside me, loosening something tight in my chest. But the guilt follows just as quickly, curling around my shoulders like a too-warm scarf.

I shouldn’t be relieved to have my sister gone. I should want her here. Should want us to be inseparable, the way we were when we were kids.

But wanting something and accepting the truth of it are two very different things.

I maneuver between bodies, slipping into the thrumming mass of dancers, the heat of the room wrapping around me like a second skin. The music pulses beneath my ribs, the bass vibrating in my bones, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself just—be.

I tip my head back, feeling my hair tickle my shoulder blades, and close my eyes.

I strip it all away.

The betrothal. The family name that carries weight in five countries. The expectations written in ink before I even had a say. The generations of wealth that make people bow their heads when they hear it, even as they sharpen their knives behind our backs.

Right now, I’m just a girl at a college party.

No family. No last name. No future already carved into stone.

Just me.

The song shifts, the tempo picking up, and my lips curve.

Let them try to drag me back.

I’m already gone.

2

GRAHAM

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