Page 82 of Stolen Vows

I swallow against the lump in my throat.

Graham pulls into the garage, cutting the engine and closing the garage door. And for a second, neither of us move.

I look over my shoulder at him to find his gaze already on me. “Ready, Francesca?”

I inhale slowly, my fingers tightening around the strap of an overnight bag at my feet. “As I’ll ever be.”

He nods once, then opens his door and steps out. I follow suit, my legs feeling slightly unsteady as my feet touch the concrete. Romeo hops out after me, his tail wagging in excitement at the new surroundings.

He rounds the car and opens the trunk, pulling out a few boxes and two suitcases of my belongings that I’d packed earlier.

I open my mouth to tell him I can take care of my stuff myself, but the words get lost somewhere between my ribs. Instead, I let him help me and follow him inside.

He sets down my belongings and turns to face me, his hands sliding into his pockets. The simple, casual movement draws my attention to the breadth of his shoulders, the way his suit jacket stretches across his chest. My breath catches in my throat, something hot and tight coiling low in my belly.

“Welcome home,” he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to reverberate through my bones.

Home. The word feels foreign on my tongue, unfamiliar in this context. But as I look around the entryway, taking in the gleaming hardwood floors, the bookshelves, and the colorful area rugs, I think I’m going to love it here.

Awkwardness floats around us, and I don’t know what to do to fix it. “Bet this isn’t what you expected for your wedding night, hm?”

He doesn’t smirk, and his lips don’t even twitch. He just holds my gaze as he destroys me a little bit. “I never thought I’d get married.”

I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended. I think I’m a little bit of both, if I’m being honest.

“Right.” I rock forward on my toes a little.

He drags his hand along the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like?—”

“No, no. It’s fine. Really,” I assure him, waving my hand in the air like I can waft my emotion away. I clear my throat and glance to the left. “I’m kind of tired. Long day and all.”

“Of course. I’ll show you your room.”

I nod, trying to ignore the strange little pang in my chest at his words.Yourroom. Notourroom. But that’s how it should be. So I don’t know why I thought any differently.

This marriage is just an arrangement. A partnership. Nothing more.

I think it’s just the dress. I got caught up in the fantasy of it. That’s all.

I follow Graham up the two flights of stairs, my hand gliding along the smooth wooden banister. The stairs creak slightly beneath our feet, a comforting sound that makes the house feel lived-in. Homey.

The third floor is quiet, the air softer somehow. Graham stops outside the last door. “This is you,” he says, pushing it open. “I’m next door, and my office is across the hall.”

I nod absently in his direction, my new bedroom stealing all my attention. It’s beautiful. A large window overlooks the backyard with an incredible view of the landscape in the distance. The bed is plush, layered with soft linens in neutral tones. A small reading chair sits in the corner, a throw blanket draped over the armrest. Two bookcases and a TV above the long dresser.

I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting any of this. I turn to Graham, my throat tight.

He doesn’t hover. Doesn’t ask for anything. Just watches me for a beat before nodding. “I’ll go get the rest of your things. And then I’ll let you get some rest. I’m right next door if you need anything.”

The words sink deep, pressing into something fragile inside of me. I swallow and murmur, “Thank you.”

He lingers for a second longer, like he wants to say something else. Then he nods once more and steps back into the hall.

I follow, intending to close the door behind him. But as I step toward the threshold, Graham turns at the same time.

Our bodies brush—his chest against my shoulder, the heat of him bleeding through the delicate fabric of my dress.

My breath catches.

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