Page 54 of Stolen Vows

So I keep my voice level. “I’m not marrying Giovanni. And I’m not moving back home. So, please, drop it. If you need to stay here for a little while, to get away from Arthur, that’s fine. But I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

She looks away, her shoulders squaring, her mask etched back into her skin. “Well,” she says, voice clipped, “I told Mom I’d try. Enjoy your littlebookstore while you can, Frankie. I’m headed off to Mexico with some friends, so thanks for the offer to stay, but I must pass this time.”

“Another time then,” I murmur.

She flashes me a close-lipped smile and turns on her heel. The bell chimes as she leaves.

I exhale shakily, bracing one palm on the counter and reaching to pet Romeo with the other. My chest is tight, my throat thick.

Florence might have come here to convince me to leave. But all she did was remind me why I can’t.

19

GRAHAM

The bellabove the door chimes, and I don’t hesitate.

“Francesca.”

I say her name like a greeting, like a prayer, like an inevitability. Because that’s what we are: inevitable. I stopped pretending that Tuesdays aren’t the best part of my week over a month ago.

The bookstore is just as inviting as always. The scent of fresh paper and sugared lemons drifts through the air. But something is off. The usual spark, the quiet hum of energy that Francesca always carries, it’s dimmer today.

She’s behind the counter, rearranging a stack of receipts that don’t need arranging. When she looks up, her lips part, but the smile that usually greets me is absent. Her shoulders are tight, expression guarded in a way I haven’t seen before.

Something’s wrong.

She’s not my sunshine today.

And I don’t fucking like it.

I cross the store in a few long strides, setting the drink carrier and pastry bag on the counter. “What happened?”

Her brow furrows for a fleeting second before smoothing out again. “What? No, I’m fine.” It’s too quick, too bright to be genuine. Her gaze bounces around, never settling on me like it usually does.

I lean a hip against the counter, studying her face. She’s my weekly dose of warmth, of color. And right now, she’s muted, color leeched from her aura. I glance at the ball of fur pressed against her legs behind the counter with a raised brow. Usually, Romeo trots out to greet me, and not just because I started bringing treats for him too.

But not today. Further proof that something happened.

I push off from the counter, straightening up. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

Is it me, or is there a spike of panic in her voice?

I rap my knuckles on the counter twice. “I’ll be right back.”

I make my way around the store slowly, methodically. My gaze sweeps over the rows of bookshelves, the cozy reading nooks tucked into corners, the vibrant displays of new releases and staff picks.

Everything looks the same as always. The books are neatly organized, spines facing out in orderly rows. The plush armchairs are free of discarded jackets or forgotten coffee cups. The warm glow of the vintage-inspired light fixtures casts a soft, inviting ambiance over the entire store.

There aren’t any customers, but that’s expected since she closes in twenty minutes. I make one final sweep of the store, glancing into the back room, even poking my head into the restroom. Everything is in its place, undisturbed.

With a growing sense of unease, I head back to the front counter where I left Francesca. She’s still there, one hand braced on the worn wood, the other carding absentmindedly through Romeo’s fur as he leans against her legs. Her shoulders are hunched, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stares unseeingly at the tablet screen.

“What happened, sunshine?”

She startles at the sound of my voice, even though I kept it low and even. She hesitates, a slow, genuine smile blooming. “Did you just call me sunshine?”

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