Page 67 of Ruined Vows
“Good,” I say, standing up and stretching. “It’s about time he knows what it feels like.” But inside, I doubt anyone has ever broken Vukan.
What was I thinking when I gave him ten dates?
As if the man knows I’m speaking of him, my phonepings.
How are you feeling, Princess?
Great. Thank you.
Good to hear.
To which I text.
Date three is coming. I hope you enjoy screaming children and suspiciously sticky floors.
He doesn’t reply right away. But when he does, I laugh because he amuses me.
Only if I get to hear you scream next.
Joanne reads over my shoulder and nearly spits out her drink.
“Okay, you’re so screwed.”
“Not yet,” I mutter, still hoping I can score a win.
I broughthim here to make him uncomfortable.
It was a calculated strike—the children’s shelter, the toddler wing. Forty pounds of chaos per child. Glitter glue. Crushed animal crackers. Crying. Hugging. Juice boxes. Emotions. Cutie faces. Sticky fingers and more glitter glue. All of it.
If anything can rattle Vukan Petrovic, it would be this, because the shelter is filled with children rolling around like indecisive marbles. He’ll crack when he notices their eyes are too old for their faces.
At least, that was the plan.
Until he walks in and proves me wrong.
The moment we step into the room, he slows. Not in hesitation—just… awareness. Observing. He’s scanning like he’s still on a battlefield, but this time it’s full of squeals, rubber dinosaurs, mismatched trucks, noisy sirens on trucks, and books with torn pages and worn edges.
“Where exactly have you brought me, Princess?” he murmurs as I slip my bag from my shoulder.
“A war zone,” I deadpan. “But smaller. And stickier. Definitely stickier,” I smirk.
A little boy bolts past, waving a wooden sword and yelling, “NINJA TIME!” as he nearly crashes into his legs.
But Vukan doesn’t flinch. Instead, he crouches low. He approaches the child on his level. I admit I’m impressed. But that’s who he is, a man who rises to every occasion.
“Is that a sword?” he asks, voice low but warm.
The boy nods ferociously. “It’s magic!”
“Good,” he says. “Use it wisely. Some things deserve to be fought for.”
He watches everything but says little. But something in him speaks to me. It’s as if this reminds him of things he thought he had forgotten. There’s a look in his eye that I can’t place.
The kid sprints off without a second thought. Vukan frowns, like he’s sad the child left.
I blink at him. “You’re… weirdly good at this.”
“I know what it’s like to grow up in chaos,” he says simply.
