Page 66 of Stolen Vows

He’s spoiling me too. “You’re too good to me, Graham.”

He pauses, his gaze sliding to mine. “This is just the beginning.”

Something shifts in the air between us. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A different kind of weight, something unspoken pressing at the edges of our usual banter.

And I feel it. I see it in the way his eyes darken, the way his body angles toward mine like he’s drawn to me by some invisible force. My breath catches in my throat as anticipation sings through my veins.

“What do you mean, just the beginning?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates for half a second before pushing off the counter. “Come sit with me.”

My stomach flips. That’s not what we do. We have a Tuesday routine. Lattes, pastries, a walk through town with Romeo. But sit down and talk? That’s new.

Graham takes my hand and leads me over to one of the cozy armchairs tucked into the front window of the bookstore. I follow willingly, my skin buzzing at his touch. He sits, gently tugging me down in the chair across to him.

He doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he laces our fingers together, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a way that feels both soothing and electric. I swallow hard, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he studies me for a long moment, like he’s assessing something. Weighing his words.

“Francesca,” he starts, his voice low.

“Graham,” I mimic his low tone, a wry smirk twisting my lips.

His fingers drum once against the table. A sharp inhale, exhale. “Let’s get married.”

23

FRANCESCA

I laugh.Not because it’s funny. But because it’s the only possible reaction to what I just heard.

It’s a sharp, disbelieving sound, bursting out before I can stop it. Because Graham Carter just asked me to marry him.

No, not asked, exactly. More like stated it.

Let's get married.

Like he was suggesting we try a new restaurant or test out a different coffee order.

My laugh fades as quickly as it came, smothered by the look on Graham’s face. He’s not smiling. Not even a hint of amusement in the set of his jaw or the furrow of his brow.

He’s serious. Deadly serious.

“Wait, what?” I stammer, blinking rapidly. “You’re not—you can’t be serious.”

Graham leans forward, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped between them. His gaze is steady, unwavering as it meets mine. “I am.”

I stare at Graham, heart pounding. Did he really just say what I think he said? My mind races, trying to make sense of his words.

“Married?Us?” I shake my head, sure I misheard him. “Graham, we barely know each other. We’ve been on, what, six coffee walks?”

His lips twitch. “Seven. And they basically dates.”

I throw my hands up. “That doesn’t make it better! We haven’t even been on a real date and you want to get married?” A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat. I can feel how wide my eyes are right now. “This is insane.”

He holds my gaze as he shakes his head slowly. He’s watching me like he’s waiting for something. “No, what’s insane is the contract between you and your parents for this bookstore.”

My stomach drops, and time itself holds its breath. My gaze flies to his as the first thread of fear slithers beneath my skin. It’s a honed awareness I developed too young, something I never felt around Graham before.

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