Page 81 of Stolen Vows

My husband.

The word sends a little thrill down my spine, even as my stomach flips with nerves. This is real. We’re really doing this.

“Keys?” Graham asks, holding out his hand.

I blink at him. “To my car?”

He nods. “I rode with Beau so we’d ride home together.”

Home. The word makes my heart do a strange little stutter-step. Because home isn’t just my loft above the bookstore anymore. It’s Graham’s house. Our house. At least for the next year.

I dig into my small clutch and hand over my keys. He takes them, his fingers brushing against mine and sending a tingle up my arm. Then he opens the passenger door for me, waiting patiently as I settle into the seat, arranging my dress around my legs. Romeo hops into the backseat, curling up on the seat behind mine.

I try not to notice the way Graham looks tucked behind the wheel of my car. But it’s impossible. The man commands attention and space without even trying. The engine purrs to life beneath his hands. He glances over at me as he pulls out of the parking lot, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches between us, thick with everything left unsaid.

I fiddle with the skirt of my dress, smoothing non-existent wrinkles just to give my hands something to do. My wedding ring catches the light, the diamonds sparkling against the gold band. It’s still a shock every time I see it, this tangible reminder that I’m a married woman now.

The courthouse fades in the rearview mirror.

I sneak a glance at him, expecting him to look relaxed, unaffected. Instead, his grip on the steering wheel is just a fraction too tight, the leather creaking under his fingers. His jaw shifts and his throat bobs, like he’s swallowing words he won’t say.

But when the next red light stretches a second too long, his fingers flex before curling back into a fist against the gear shift, and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s replaying that kiss in his head as much as I am.

I glance over my shoulder at Romeo, his eyes closed as he catches a nap on the short ride. He’s already settled into this transition better than I am. I stare out the window, watching the trees blur past, wondering for the hundredth time if I’m doing the right thing.

Graham doesn’t fill the silence, and I don’t know if I appreciate that or hate it. Because my mind is too loud.

You kissed me like you meant it.

I sneak a glance at him. He’s focused on the road, his expression unreadable.

Did you?

I swallow the questions burning my tongue and look back out the window. The weight of the ring on my finger is heavier than it should be. I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, as if testing its reality.

I’m married.

Legally bound to Graham Carter. By choice. And tonight, I’m moving into his house. By choice. Everything feels surreal. Like I’m walking through a scene I never could’ve imagined for myself.

My husband.

The words feel strange, too big for my mouth, too heavy for my chest. Like a dress I haven’t quite grown into.

Not Giovanni.

That’s the difference, isn’t it? The title had always felt like shackles when it was tied to him. But Graham . . .

I roll the words around in my head again, trying to see if it fits.

My husband Graham.

I exhale quietly, shaking my head slightly. I can’t tell if it thrills me or terrifies me. The thought of Giovanni makes my stomach twist with trepidation, but I push it away. I need to focus on what’s ahead of me, not what I left behind.

The car slows as we turn onto his quiet street, the headlights illuminating the red brick facade of Graham’s house. It’s the first time I’m really seeing it. Last time, I wasn’t paying enough attention. I should’ve asked to come over in the last three months, but something always held me back.

And now here I am, really seeing the details of my new home for the first time. The dark shutters. The sprawling windows. The soft glow of light from inside, spilling onto the porch. It’s inviting and charming.

Home.

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