Page 96 of Ruined Vows
And if this getaway is a game?
I’m still playing to win.
26
VUKAN
THIRTY THOUSAND FEET AND FALLING
She doesn’t like being waited on. That much is obvious.
The stewardess leans in, bowing slightly, asking in a soft voice if she would like another refill of champagne. Bianca gives her a salty look. Instinctively, I know she’d rather walk to the mini fridge and get it herself. Bianca doesn’t want to be beholden to anyone for even the slightest nicety.
When the woman hands her another Prosecco, her fingers tighten around the glass stem. She seems to find the niceness hurtful, as if it’s a burden to have someone do something nice for her. She mutters“thank you”like it costs her something.
The stewardess nods and retreats with barely a whisper across the plush carpet.
Bianca sips and stares out the window, her jaw set, a pensive look on her face. I wonder what she’s thinking.
She looks like she belongs here—draped in that silk blouse, gold at her wrists, and her lashes are thick enough to shame God. But she sits in that seat like she’s waiting for someone to tell her she doesn’t belong.
My heart breaks for her.
She should be accustomed to being treated well—pampered. Empathy wells in my chest. Damn her father. I hate that he hurt her and left lasting wounds.
Because this woman-this firestorm in heels—is the same one who walked into a warehouse full of armed men without flinching—the same woman battling me at every turn with poise and venom. And yet, she can’t let herselfacceptkindness without turning rigid.
Her father should’ve been shot. No, now that I contemplate it, that’s too easy a death for the bastard. I’d make him suffer.
I thank the fucking stars he’s already rotting, or I’d make it my mission to handle him myself.No onegets to lay a hand on her. No one gets to strip her down with words or shame and walk away breathing.
She deserves to be revered.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She blinks and looks over like I woke her from a thought she didn’t want to be caught having.
“I’m fine.”
It’s a lie.
She shifts in her seat and lifts her chin.
“You don’t like being served,” I say.
“I’m used to doing things myself.”
“I have staff for everything.You shouldn’t feel beholden to someone doing their job. ”
She shrugs. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”
I watch her for a second, then say, “You didn’t have an easy childhood.”
It’s not a question. She deflects like she always does and looks out the window again.
“No,” she says after a pause. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
I nod. “I know a lot of things I wish I didn’t.”
