Page 39 of The Vow

Fifteen years ago…

“You, mon chou, have only one love.”

My body turned, my gaze drifting toward Sandrine as she stepped beside me. Before I could address her, my focus snapped back to Robyn; Sinclair was handing her a sillyHappy New Yearheadband, the cheap silver plastic reflecting off the light.

Dozens of people had them on. Some wore glasses for the upcoming year, the date finagled around the eyeholes. Other guests had necklaces with the new year flashing violent colors.

But even with the silly party favor, Robyn looked exquisite.

She caught me staring, heat rising with delicious color to her cheeks, and I wished we weren’t here. I wished we were back at our apartment celebrating privately. A dangerous wish for a man whose sole job—whose life, literally—was designed for the purpose of being here.

Clearing my throat, I murmured back to Sandrine, “I don’t know about Miss Baker, but one love is more than enough for me.”

I took a quick drink of my champagne, though I wasn’t supposed to; the ball hadn’t dropped yet. The countdown played on TV in the background, the coverage from Times Square muted for another few minutes.

“What about you, madam? Do you have two loves?” Sandrine certainly sang the song like she did—like it was the only time she could ever confess the way she was being torn in two.

“It isn’t easy,” Sandrine said, a rare glimmer of sadness floating over her expression; she might have two loves, but I doubted either of them were the man currently chatting with my woman.

There was a time when Sandrine loved Magnus, but somewhere in the course of the last six months, that time ceased to exist, and the flickering ashes of her affection had been completely snuffed out.

Yes, Sinclair had always been evil. Always been greedy. Always been bent toward a life of illegal illustriousness. But cognizance was marked by contrasts. One recognized light by knowing shadow. Right by knowing wrong. And Sandrine was forced to face the complete devolution of their relationship only by comparison to the unalterable bond growing between Robyn and me.

Her front-row seat to our love story made it clear the tragedy of hers. And still, she rooted for us with every fiber of her being. A vicarious vindication that something beautiful and fruitful had grown from the destruction of her own happiness.

Part of me wished I could help her, but bringing an end to her husband was the only boon I could provide. That and the freedom to start over with her daughter.

If we ever got there.

Six months, and the end seemed only farther out of reach. Sinclair had devolved from madness into paranoia. More closed-door business. More dark-suited, dark-intentioned associates. More large men with larger guns around the house, watching our every move.

It seemed by bringing Robyn into this, I’d flown too close to the sun. Before, I’d been Sinclair’s right hand because I was every quality he admired; I was the man he wished he could be. Young. Handsome. Suave. I could sell ice to an Eskimo or a present to Santa Claus.

I was his finest warrior. His most lethal and trusted asset. And it was like Robyn made him realize just how strong and integral to him I’d become. How the power balance had shifted without him even realizing it. Like with the drop of my hat, the warrior could usurp his king.

No matter how hard I tried to disabuse Sinclair of that notion, the parasite of paranoia infecting him wouldn’t let the fear go. So, it had quickly become drastically harder to continue gathering evidence and information against Sinclair and all his associates. I’d become a trophy henchman. Kept around because I was too skilled and well-connected to get rid of but also too dangerous to really let close.

Sinclair turned then, noticing how Robyn’s eyes were only on me. With a tight smile, he lifted his glass in my direction, and I returned the mockery, both of us now keeping our enemies close.

He said something to Robyn then, forcing her away, and the noose around my neck tightened. I was working on borrowed time. Soon, Sinclair would finally work up the balls to try and get rid of me, and then the way he looked at Robyn…she was in his sights because of me.

Because I’d wanted her from the moment we met. Not likea delicious sweet or a forbidden treat. I wanted her the way one wants oxygen. More than a need for survival, she was the desire to live injected into my veins.

So, I’d brought her into this sham of a life, selfishly believing it was less perilous to invite her into this operation than it was to risk suffocation by letting her go.

“She’s in danger, Damon.” Sandrine stepped closer to me, her smile conflicting with her ominous message.

Tension snapped through my body like an arrow lodged in a bow.

“Excuse me?” I said, my eyes darting around the room for any sign of danger.

“Not here. Not tonight.” She chuckled, her head tipping so Magnus could only see part of her face from where he stood.

“Sandrine.” My voice dropped a notch. “What’s going on?”

“You know what’s going on, Damon. Who Magnus is trying to get in bed with.” She lifted her champagne glass, eyeing the TV over the rim, the countdown about to start.

I followed her lead, my mind accelerating into overdrive.

---