Page 73 of Stolen Vows

I look at Graham, searching for hesitation. There is none. I wet my lips, steady my breath. “Okay. Let’s get married.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features into something boyish and heart-achingly handsome. He reaches up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a tenderness that steals my breath.

He exhales sharply, like a weight he’s been carrying just lifted off his chest. His fingers tighten ever so slightly on my jaw, his thumb still resting at the hinge. His voice is low, rough. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

And then he kisses me again.

25

FRANCESCA

Twelve weeks ago,I agreed to marry Graham Carter.

And today, I’m putting on my dress, getting ready to sayI do.

It should feel surreal, but it doesn’t. Not in the way I expected. For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreaded my wedding day. Not because I didn’t believe in love or happily-ever-after. How could I not, when I'd spent countless hours immersed in the pages of romance novels since before I was old enough to truly understand the depth of emotion and connection they depicted?

But I didn’t think it was something I could achieve.

Because my wedding day was never supposed to be mine. It was a transaction, a signature on the dotted line of a contract I had no say in. My parents spent my childhood curating my future until it was perfect. For them. They tied me to a family they deemed acceptable before I was ten years old.A family that ensured our name and status soared.

The Ashburns and the Baldinis. A business arrangement masquerading as the perfect society marriage.

I was given a name and a role to play. Francesca Ashburn, the dutiful daughter. The quiet, obedient girl who would smile prettily and sign away her future to a man she barely knew. All to uphold a promise made over brandy and cigars in an oak-paneled study.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I hadn’t been for a long time. When Aunt Miriam left me this building, she gave me more than a bookstore. She gave me hope. A chance to break free from the gilded cage my parents had crafted for me. A chance to choose my own path, build a life on my terms.

Of course, my parents couldn’t let that stand. Not entirely. So they twisted her gift, her legacy, until it served their purposes once again. Impossible profit margins, legal loopholes, anything to maintain their hold on me. On my future.

Until Graham.

I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman gazing back at me. Sunkissed cheeks from spending long afternoons and evenings outside with Romeo. Freckles dust across the bridge of my nose and apples of my cheeks, more prominent now than ever. Graham said they remind him of a constellation the other day, and now I can’t unsee it.

My eyes seem bright, clear. Free of the shadows that once lingered there, the weight of familial obligation and an unwanted future. At least temporarily.

Every time I imagined myself walking down the aisle, I pictured a life where I was permanently tethered to Giovanni. A life where I’d be passed from one set of hands to another, my fate sealed with a well-timed smile and a champagne toast. It was a future that made my stomach turn, that made my chest squeeze so tight I thought I might suffocate under the weight of it.

But this wedding, this marriage to Graham, feels different. It’s not the fairytale I secretly dreamed of as a little girl, but it’s not the suffocating trap I feared for so long either. It’s something in between, something unexpected and thrilling and terrifying all at once.

I don’t know what kind of marriage this is going to be, but I know it’ll be light years better than anything I could’ve hoped for with Giovanni.

There are no grand receptions, no society pages writing aboutFrancesca Ashburn’s wedding of the season.There is no dress hand-selected by my mother, no audience of well-bred socialites waiting to judge every move I make.

It’s just a courthouse and Graham.

And his immediate family, a little voice whispers inside my mind. The thought of meeting his family for the first time should be more alarming, but there’s a certain level of nonchalance to the whole thing. The personal, romantic stakes are relatively low.

Of course I’m attracted to him. Of course he makes me feel things I’ve never experienced with anyone. But this isn’t a love match. Not really. It’s a partnership, an alliance. A means to an end we both desperately need.

And maybe that’s why I’m not panicking. Maybe that’s why I can still breathe.

I chose this.

Romeo lets out a dramatic sigh from his spot on my bed, sprawled across my pillow like the world’s most spoiled fluffy prince. His tail flicks once before he stretches, his little paws pushing into the mattress.

I toss my phone onto the comforter and lean against the dresser, arms crossed over my chest. “I feel like I should be more stressed about this.”

Romeo blinks at me.

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