Page 25 of Vows in Sin

R eign

Seraphina stands in my room in a champagne silk dressing gown, hands steady.

I’m sitting in a chair, arm still in a sling, jaw clenched tight as she trims my beard.

What’s left of it, anyway. The fire singed the ends.

It hangs unevenly, off-kilter, like things have been since she walked into my life.

She insisted on being the one to prepare me for the wedding tonight.

Her fingers are gentle. Nimble. She moves with confidence. I love that she trusts herself, like she knows she’ll love her creation before she puts paint on the paper. She brushes the hair off my cheek onto the towel that covers my shoulders and smiles like it doesn’t matter that I’m a mess.

“I could’ve had one of the men help,” I murmur. “You don’t need to take care of me, you know.”

She tilts my chin with two fingers. “I wanted to.”

She wanted to.

God help me.

She helps me dress, long manicured nails brushing over my bare chest as she eases my hurt arm into a sleeve. “Easy does it.”

Her touch is so tender it almost brings tears to my eyes. Her steady, feminine presence has been sorely missing from my life.

And she’s tough. She doesn’t flinch at the raw edge of the bandages or the angry red scar running up from under the collar of my white dress shirt. The sling returns. She adds the cufflinks with practiced fingers. She opts to rest the navy suit jacket over my shoulders.

My one rule. No tie. I never wear a tie.

She eyes my healing burn. “Not tonight.” She agrees with a note of challenge in her voice.

“Not any night.” I go gruff, informing her, “Ties are for men who drink tea from cups and saucers and polish their shoes and take daily vitamins.”

“Hold up,” she says, a hand on my shoulder. “You mean to tell me you don’t take a daily vitamin? At your age?”

I reach over, giving her ass a good smack. “Respect your elders.”

She giggles. “What else do men who wear ties do?”

“They name their kids Humphrey. Todd. And Tilly.”

“I like Tilly. That’s cute.”

“Men who wear ties hold their teacup with their pinkies up and say things like ‘Good day,’ and ‘tickety-boo.’”

“Tickety-boo?” She hides a giggle. “What does that even mean?”

“How do I know? I don’t wear a tie.” I feel…silly. I rub my beard. “Yeah. Fucking, tickety—forget it.”

“Well, I for one would never put a delicate teacup in harm’s way by handing it to you.” She grins. “No tie tonight. But maybe one day.” She tosses me a wink.

Like she knows she’ll get me in a tie one day. Hell, maybe she will. One day.

I’d do almost anything for that woman. After the way she’s cared for me today, she’s practically got me wrapped around her own delicate little pinky finger.

When she’s finished with me, she turns us both to face the mirror, admiring our reflections. Even with no necktie, I look like I belong at the table of Bachmans. Next to her, I feel like a fraud.

She’s a goddess, come down from Mount Olympus to help the one-armed monster on his quest.

“You clean up nice,” she whispers, sliding her hands to my shoulders.

I grunt. “I’m an old man in a young man’s suit.”

“You’re a distinguished-looking man who’s got a head full of wisdom and the heart of a lion,” she says. “You’ve aged to perfection, like fine wine.

I look over at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She reaches up, brushing her fingers over my jawline. “And you look good in a beard.”

A beat passes.

“You know,” I say, my voice low, “my ex only liked clean faces.”

Seraphina stills.

“She left with Tabitha. When Tabby was little.” My voice chokes. “Growing the beard was my revenge.”

She narrows her gaze, eyeing me. “Why would any woman choose to have her daughter grow up without a father like you?”

“Like I told you at coffee. She found someone else. Someone better, in her eyes.”

“I’m not her.” Her voice is quiet but firm. “And like I told you—I don’t do trade-ins. When I marry—if I marry,” she quickly corrects herself. “It’ll be for keeps.”

My throat goes tight. “But you’re young. Beautiful. You deserve someone who can provide you with a nice, quiet life. Not burning buildings and wrinkles.”

She steps in closer. Lifts my good hand. Places it against her waist. Curls me around her so we’re facing the mirror again.

“I don’t want quiet,” she says to my reflection. “I want the man who ran into fire.”

Fuck.

I trust her. I sense her openness, her vulnerability.

Still, there are other concerns.

What happens when Tabitha finds out? When will my daughter see the truth and turn away from me, too? What happens if I lose her and Seraphina in one blow?

But then she leans in. Wraps her arms around me.

And for a moment, I stop worrying.

She looks at me with regret. “I have to go. I’ve got to get ready with the girls.”

“Go on, then.” I pull her tighter against me.

“We have to be careful tonight.”

Careful. The word seems out of place somehow, considering what happened with the Village. Yet, a wrong move could set off a different kind of explosion.

Reading my mind, she says, “The last thing I need to do is upset Tabitha or risk drama at Cleopatra’s wedding.” She reaches up on tiptoe, planting a kiss on my freshly groomed cheek. “See you out there.”

I hate to let her go. I watch her leave, a pang in my chest.

The room feels immensely empty the second she steps out of view.

The wedding is held in the courtyard at the golden hour.

White roses cascade down from trellises. A string quartet plays something classical. Guests are dressed to the nines. Champagne flows. The sun kisses the lake, quiet chat and laughter float through the air with the music.

And she— She’s a vision.

Seraphina appears through the crowd in a soft lavender dress that clings to every perfect curve. Her hair is twisted up in curls and pearls, her lips glossed pink, and she laughs like she belongs here—like she doesn’t even know she’s breaking every man’s heart in the room.

I watch her from across the garden, hand clenched at my side, jaw tight. Everyone watches her. Everyone wants her. And I have to pretend she’s not mine.

Tabitha waves at me from the edge of an aisle, patting the empty seat beside her. I smile, heart twisting.

She can’t know.

Not yet.

Making my way to my daughter, I nod at guests. Shake hands. Make small talk. But I can’t take my eyes off Seraphina.

She floats down the aisle. Holds Cleopatra’s white rose bouquet. Tears up when the vows are exchanged.

Blaze lovingly slips a ring on his bride’s finger. Don’t tell anyone but these ceremonies bring me close to tears. Seraphina’s eyes meet mine.

Bolts of electricity travel through me.

I have to look away.

Afterward, we’re torn apart. It’s time for the Bachman-only ceremony. Tabitha leaves me with a squeeze, then goes to join Seraphina and the other non-family members at the reception’s bar to wait.

The family loads up on motorboats, the dock swaying gently below our feet as we wait our turn. Cleopatra’s alit with nerves. Blaze holds her close. It’s a mystery to those who join.

It’s nothing to fear. Mere beauty and light.

And the promise of undying loyalty and devotion.

As I drive one of the boats to the far shore of the lake, my passengers riding in a reverent silence, the cool air blasts my face, and the splashing of the water against the front end of the boat mists us.

The moon is almost full in the sky, cloudless, illuminating the shore with pure white light. The tall trees and the strong mountains behind them are our only witnesses as we pass the white pillar candles around until everyone holds one.

As the head of this Estate, Liam begins the ceremony, lighting the candle in his wife’s, Emila’s, hand, first as he tells the crowd, "For as long as the stars have lit the sky, men have cared for and loved the woman they have pledged their lives to.

" The flame passes around, one to the next, uniting us.

The shore soon glows with the magic of many twinkling candles.

More beautiful words, and as Liam speaks, it’s like an attack of daggers in my heart as well as Cupid’s arrow. The despair I still feel for my failed marriage is at war with the hope Seraphina has somehow planted in my heart.

The next part of the ceremony is a symbol of our devotion. The promise we make to lay down our lives to protect the women we love.

Blaze steps behind Cleo, guiding the chain around her neck so the tiny sword pendant lies perfectly at her clavicle. Once he’s clasped the gold, he rests his hands on her shoulders. “Cleopatra, I freely give you this symbol and pledge my very life to you. Do you accept?”

Would Seraphina want this from me? The devotion? The dedication? The never-ending commitment that marks our family sets us apart from all the others. Her words rumble around in my empty chest.

She said; When I marry, it’s for keeps.

I let myself forget the ‘if’ part.

I never would have left my wife. Ever. No matter what. Family is forever.

Once you’re a Bachman, the only way out is death.

Loyalty is what I want now, and there’s only one woman I can picture myself being with.

I drive the boat back, playing that the tears in my eyes are mist off the water.

When my group is safely on shore, I stay back, taking a quiet minute by myself by the water.

It takes an hour before I’ve picked up the pieces of my shredded yet patched-together heart, and I join the crowd at the reception. I’m late, as per my usual.

She’s the only thing that draws me to the edge of the dance floor.

She’s beautiful. Holding hands with Cleopatra, spinning in the center of the floor to a silly song, her lavender dress twirling around her ankles as she laughs.

Then I see him.

Dame.

He walks toward her, that cocky grin on his face. Says something that makes her smile.

Then he offers his hand.

My blood goes cold.