Page 9 of Stolen Vows

“I’ve been looking for you.” She exhales, planting a hand on her hip, chin lifting just enough to be condescending. “Time to go. I gave you your hour, and now it’s done.”

Francesca shifts her weight, her smile gone. “I’m fine, Florence.” She slides her gaze to mine, teeth raking across her bottom lip before she tips her chin toward the other woman. “My sister.”

I nod. “I figured.”

She exhales softly, like she’s about to say something else, but Florence doesn’t give her the chance.

Florence’s eyes flash. “Well, you’re about to benot finewhen yourfiancéfinds out you’ve been cozying up to a baseball player in the basement.”

The words aren’t a threat, exactly. More like a warning. But I can’t even wade through that tone, my brain snagging on one specific word.

Fiancé.

She’s engaged?

My gaze drops to her hand before I can stop myself, searching for a ring. Her fingers are bare. No telltale glint of gold or diamonds. Nothing that screamsI’m taken.

“What did you do, Florence?” It’s barely a whisper, an accusation laced with something I can’t quite name.

Florence holds Francesca’s stare, both eyebrows lifting deliberately. “Saving you from bad decisions.”

A beat of silence stretches between them.

Francesca’s shoulders pull back, her jaw tightening, but she doesn’t snap at her sister. Doesn’t argue. Instead, she tilts her head just slightly, gaze steady, like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Before either can break it, a phone rings, sharp and intrusive, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Francesca exhales, flashing me an apologetic smile as she reaches out, her fingers curling lightly around my forearm. My skin burns beneath her touch, and before I can stop myself, I flip my hand over, sliding my fingers along her pulse once more.

“It was nice to meet you, Graham.”

I incline my head toward her. “Francesca.” Her name feels heavier than it should on my tongue—a shape I want to get used to, a sound I want to hear again.

She tilts her head to the side, her hair sliding off her shoulder, the corners of her mouth curving down. “Good luck in your next game.”

I don’t blink. Don’t move. “Until we meet again.”

She lingers for half a second before Florence snaps her name. She sighs and lets go.

I watch her leave, feet rooted to the basement floor as she disappears up the stairs. The door closes behind her, muffling the party noise once more.

I exhale and glance down.

My hand opens, and in the center of my palm, her orange hair tie rests against my skin.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

3

FRANCESCA

five years ago

The air feels too thick,like I’m wading through split pea soup, slow and sluggish, my senses all off.

Main Street in Avalon Falls stretches ahead of me, unchanged, like it’s been trapped in time. The same brick storefronts, the same faded awnings, the same old-fashioned streetlights that flicker on at dusk, buzzing faintly in the quiet.

I should feel something. Nostalgia, maybe. Or familiarity.

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