Page 2 of Scarlet Vows

“Remember when Trev and I broke up because he turned out to be a serial cheater and a men’s rights activist in the making?”

“Your ex makes Demyan look woke and like a feminist.”

Her eyes goggle at that.

I wave a hand in the air and take a sip of my drink. “He’s my brother, so being honest about him’s practically my job.” I drop my voice. “But he is the best brother a girl could want, and he has two of my three favorite children.”

Isla puts her hand to her heart. “You mean my Maize?”

“Of course I mean your daughter. Plus, my brother’s kids. Sasha, Maize, and Nadya, aka Poppy. The best. And best-looking children, obviously.” I smile. “And Erin’s helped Demyan grow, too.”

Isla looks at the bartender, who approaches, and she orders two more drinks.

“Sure thing,” he says with a wink.

“You’re in there,” I say. “Go for it.”

“Really? In the middle of this story?” But she blushes when he returns.

He’s written his number on an extra napkin. I grab it and put it in her bag. She shoots daggers at me.

But I don’t mind. This is a nice moment, and even though the sadness encroaches, the moment is nice enough to keep it in the background.

“Go on.”

“The man must have hired a PR team to write his profile and then had his pictures doctored. He was balding, fatter than those photos, and he dressed like a slob, had an ego the size of Rushmore, and he talked about himself nonstop.”

He sounds horrific, and it makes me feel better about not being ready to date again.

“Maybe he had a lot of interesting things to say.”

“No. No, he did not. He was awful, overbearing, and thought he was god’s gift. On top of that, he told me point blank that I’d be a fool not to ride his massive cock—his words—and blow him. And when I said, very nicely, that I was into taking things slow, he suggested I needed a good balls-deep bang to rev my frozen motors. I told him I thought we weren’t a good match, and he told me I was a frigid lesbian. He then got up, hit on the waitress, and left me with the bill.”

I take her hand. “You should have married him.”

“I know.” She laughs. “But I’m way too much of a frigid lesbian.”

“Of course you are. Turn down a catch like that…”

“So true.” She reaches into her bag to get her phone, probably to check the time. “Shit, I need to call the babysitter, Jenny, back. I told her I might need her a little longer and…”

“She called? Are you past our curfew?”

“You know it. Give me five…”

I nod as she hurries off. Jenny is a sweet girl, but she stresses if Isla is a minute late calling when she wants moretime. She’s been Isla’s go-to sitter for a few years, and she’s always been this way. So it’ll take more than five.

The vulnerability that creeps up and wraps around me when I’m alone, now that Max is gone, does just that. And it brings with it the worn sadness.

This isn’t the sudden crushing kind that comes during those times I’m enjoying myself and forget—not Max, never Max; I always, always remember him, and he lives inside me, as much as I can call that living. The worn sadness is something of a constant, and it always laps at my heart.

I shiver and sip my drink, toying with calling my ride so it’s at the ready.

I’d never abandon Isla, but I don’t want a moment here where I’m truly alone. It just doesn’t feel right.

Not that I’d tell Demyan or Ilya that. They’re both overbearing enough as it is. My brother’s away though, and Ilya can’t stop me from doing what I want.

I pull out my phone and pretend I’m scrolling through messages. Anything to look engrossed in something other than the world around me.