Page 151 of Ruined Vows
Something’s coming. And if anyone eventhinksabout hurting her, I’ll burn this whole fucking city down to keep her safe.
Outdoor cafés leave too many variables. Luka and Dragan are stationed like sentinels, and she notices.
“Why so many bodyguards?” she asks, voice low, sharp.
“The risk to me has gone up with you on my arm,” I say.
She scoffs. “I didn’t think I was that important.”
I lean in just enough. “You are my world, but we live in a dark one, and it’s unforgiving.”
We’re exposed here, but I insisted she have tonight. I told her the evening ambiance was romantic. It’s a half-lie. She doesn't realize—not fully—that romance has never been my only goal. I wear my darkness like a weapon. She wears her sunglasses like armor, and her lace like a loaded gun.
This rooftop is imperfect and vulnerable, just like this moment.
Bianca
I smooth my hands down the blood-red dress, and my palms are slick. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Perhaps it’s the expensive ruby pendant that rests against my chest, warm from my skin. He gifted me a war chest of expensive jewelry. He said he bought a piece every time we had a moment, to commit it to memory, and this way, I can wear them.
I’m trembling, but not from fear. But of hope and want.
He’s waiting for me when I return from the restroom. He’s standing at the rooftop entrance, dressed in a tailored black suit with no tie and an open-collar shirt.
Vukan looks like a man built to destroy kingdoms — and tonight, I think he would, if I asked.
His eyes rake over me, slow and consuming. His jaw tightens, his fists clench, and he doesn’t move for a moment.
He just stares as if he’s looking at something holy.
“Bianca,” he breathes, my name breaking from him like a prayer.
I walk toward him, every step measured, the silk of the gown whispering around my legs. His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to snatch me up and devour me right there. I stop a breath away from him.
“Do I pass inspection?” I tease, voice shaking slightly.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t joke. Instead, he lifts his hand and trails one knuckle down the side of my neck, over the ruby pendant, and even lower.
“You’re the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, voice rough and low. “And the most beautiful.”
My heart stutters in my chest. He offers his arm. I take it. He leads me up to the rooftop — all twinkle lights, candlelit tables, and the soft hum of the city far below.
But I don’t see any of it. I only seehim.
His hand brushes mine across the table, and I swear the contact sends lightning straight through me.
Every time our knees bump under the table, every time he leans in too close, my whole body tightens with wanting.
I can't breathe. I don't want to. Not if breathing means stepping away from this.
Vukan
She sits across from me, a vision in red, sipping her espresso like she doesn't know the color is killing me. I rest my sunglasses in the collar of my black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up. Casual. Calculated. Not smiling, but close enough.
She catches me staring. Of course she does.
“You’re staring,” she says, lifting her cup to her lips.
“You wore red,” I reply, voice steady.
