Page 32 of The Vow

“I haven’t been your wife for years,” I snapped, dredging up every icy inch of hurt from the tomb in my chest. “And I won’t be your spouse for much longer.”

His teeth gnashed together like grinding stones. “I won’t let you go again.”

I shivered, swearing his ring burned hotter where it rested against my sternum, branding his promise into my skin.

Lifting my chin, I warned, “You won’t have a choice.”

He could swear his sincerity to the moon and back. Unfortunately for him, my shattered heart served as a sieve, weeding out all sweetness from his destructive secrets.

I wouldn’t be fooled by Damon Remington again.And neither would I become a fool for him.

I fled from the room without another word. Yes, I was still stuck in his house, but it felt good to walk away from him. It felt good to feel the heat of his furious stare scorch my spine.

It didn’t feel as good to crawl into my cold bed alone.

And it definitely didn’t feel as good to fruitlessly search for release when the source of my ache was in the bedroom above me, taunting me with satisfaction if I only said the word.

Chapter Nine

Robyn

The large diamond winked from between my fingers.

In certain lights, I swore I could see the microdot of information spelling my husband’s downfall, but then in others, I had to wonder if it was there at all. I had to wonder if all of this was just another of Damon’s games.

I set the ring back on the nightstand with a clunk. Whether the kompromat was in there or not, it wouldn’t change how this ended for him. For us.

A week had passed since he brought me to his house, and so far, I hadn’t heard a single word of Belmont or what Damon’s next step in his top-secret plan was. More than once it crossed my mind that it was all another lie. That he’d lured me here because he wanted me. To wear me down. To weave his spell around me. And then to shatter whatever pieces were left.

I was sorely tempted to believe it. Angry enough to believe it. And on more than one occasion, I’d picked up my phone andthe diamond ring, prepared to turn it on, call Harm to come get me, and to surrender my husband to the FBI.

But I didn’t.

If Damon’s sole purpose for bringing me here was to get me back, he was doing a shit job of it. Not that winning me back was possible,because it absolutely wasn’t, but even a man with a sense of confidence as inflated as Damon’s would have to admit it was impossible to win over someone’s affection without being present.

Damon had been gone ever since that night in the kitchen.

Where? I had no idea. With whom? Even less of a clue.Or care.

Every day for a week, I woke up and ventured to the main floor, heart hammering and prepared for battle. And every day, I only found Nonna, homemade food, and a puzzle on the coffee table in the living room.

I loved puzzles, so naturally I resisted the temptation at first, but by the third day, I had to do something to take my mind off my evasive husband. So, I sat down and began to piece the landscape together until daylight withered away. But he didn’t come back. The light underneath his bedroom door never turned on. Even as I lay in bed, my senses stayed alert to even the slightest sounds of footsteps above me, but nothing. He was gone.

Instead of the solitude feeling like a blessing, it only lingered like a curse. Each time I caught a whiff of his scent or saw one of his hats missing from the rack by the front door. And every time I looked out the window and the sight of the pool dredged up the memory of him in it…and the memory of what happened—what could’ve happened after it.

The irony that a man who wasn’t present, a man who’d hurt me in the worst possible way, had so consumed my thoughtswas like a thousand paper cuts. Individually, their pain was nothing but annoyance. But altogether, their injury was agony.

And I was tired of suffering. I needed answers, and I was going to find a way to get them.

Sliding off the bed, I headed for the door, still wearing the clothes I’d arrived in. Freshly washed, thanks to Nonna, who religiously, though chidingly, took the black leggings and dark tee every other day to launder them. Why didn’t I wear the clothes in the closet? Because I refused to give Damon another inch. I was already in his house. Eating his food. Living with him. Abiding by his rules. I wouldn’t do anything to conflate his confidence that this life here would ever be mine.

The only exception I made was for the lush purple robe hung in the bathroom. Even hotels had robes, and I didn’t trust myself in a towel around him again.

The winter sun drenched the main floor in dwindling light. It was late afternoon, but the sun already hung like a yolk dangling toward the horizon. I heard commotion in the kitchen but had no expectation to find anyone other than Nonna at the counter, shirtsleeves rolled up, and wearing an apron that was covered in flour.

“Buongiorno, Nonna. Is Mr. Remington home?” I buried the twinge of embarrassment for asking about him. Something I’d refrained from doing for days.

The old woman looked up, her expression falling just like it did every time she saw me wearing the same clothes, and then went back to rolling her gnocchi.

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