Page 27 of Savage Vows

I turn to her. “We’re leaving.”

She looks up. Whatever lives in her gaze is locked away, but she nods once.

We’re almost clear of the aisle when my mother steps in front of us. She has the kind of calm that softens a room.

“Adriana,” she says, and her voice is warm in a way I did not expect. “Welcome.”

Adriana searches her face like she’s testing whether the word is safe. “Thank you,” she replies.

My mother reaches for her hand. Not a shake, just her palm to Adriana’s palm, a small press of skin that saysI see you. “You must be tired,” she says. “I’m going to go and get everything ready for you two.”

Across the nave, my father calls her name.

She gives Adriana’s hand one more light touch and tips her head to me. “I will be at the house.” She turns to go.

Adriana watches her leave, and some of the glass in her eyes eases.

Liam slides in on my other side. “That was the nicest welcome this family has managed in years,” he says. “I almost believed we were normal.”

Adriana’s mouth lifts at the corner.

He grins at her, then lowers his voice. “If you need anything before we get you out of here, ask me. Food. Water. A shovel.”

“Liam,” I say.

“What?” He looks at me, then back at her.

“He’s joking,” Adriana says, and there’s a faint dryness in her tone that tells me she understands him.

“Only half,” he says, but he raises his hands. “By the way, I’m the more handsome Volkov brother. Just so we’re clear.”

Adriana’s brow lifts, the smallest reaction, but it’s there. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says.

“Don’t,” I tell her.

Liam just grins wider.

He heads for the side exit, still wearing that grin, and the air shifts without his voice filling it. My mother is already gone. The church is thinning to silence.

I look at Adriana. “We leave now.”

She nods, barely.

I don’t wait for her to follow. The door shuts behind me, and I head for the car.

The driver pulls the door open, and she slips in without a word. I get in after her, the city noise fading the moment the door closes.

She turns her face to the window, veil brushing her shoulder, eyes fixed on the blur of buildings and people sliding past. No small talk. No questions. Just silence.

I should be looking anywhere else. Instead, I can’t stop watching her.

The way her lashes lower when the light hits her eyes. The stillness in her hands, folded in her lap like she’s keeping them from betraying her. The faint rise and fall of her breathing, steady but not calm.

She doesn’t glance my way once. But every second she doesn’t look at me makes me want to see her eyes again.

“How far is it?” she asks, still looking out the window.

“Forty minutes,” I say.