Page 30 of Vows in Sin

R eign

She stirs, just barely, and then her hand curls into my shirt like a child clinging to safety.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, even though I know she can’t hear me. Not yet.

Then, she does.

Her lashes flutter. Her body tenses. “My sister,” she whispers, voice cracked and raw. “Alessi. I called her Sissy. She was only a toddler.”

I listen as I hold her.

“My mom took her to the pool. The two of them. I don’t know why I wasn’t there.

Maybe I had a cold. Maybe she needed a break from both of us.

” Her voice is trembling. Breaking. “It was a holiday. Lifeguards were off. Crowded pool. But she still went. She brought gin in a water bottle and passed out in a chair.”

Jesus.

“Mrs. Walters used to babysit. But Mom leaned on her too hard. Asked too much. After Sissy died, she stopped. I became the one in charge. I was the one who watched her. Always.”

I push a curl back from her eyes.

“I don’t remember Mom coming home. I don’t remember going to a hospital or anything like that. I only remember Mrs. Walters coming to get me that night, taking me to her musty apartment, telling me I’ll be sleeping on her couch that night.”

“The next day, when mom told me, she only told me…Sissy…was gone. She wouldn’t tell me how it happened. Later at the funeral, I heard the story from Mrs. Walters.” Her voice hardens with pain. “‘Your drunkard mother killed that little girl,’ was the last thing she said to me.”

I grit my teeth, fury curling in my chest.

Her voice drops to a whisper. “She drowned.” Her gaze travels to the stretch of beautiful blue water and the sparkly pool behind us. “Right there. In the deep end. She always wanted to take her water wings off. To play like the big kids. Like me. And I wasn’t there to stop her.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She breaks. The sob is ugly, sharp, a jagged wound splitting open. “I didn’t see it.”

“And somehow that’s worse,” I say. “The not being there. The not seeing it.”

“Right.” Her eyes squeeze shut as she nods several times, then sobs deeply, the sound tearing through her. Finally, she finishes with, “Every night, I imagine it. A hundred different ways. Her arms reaching. Her mouth opens underwater. Her eyes searching for me.”

My dream. Seraphina coming out of the water. The water wasn’t a lake.

It was a pool she was stepping out of.

I bury her in my arms.

“I should’ve been there,” she cries. “I was her big sister. I was supposed to protect her.”

My voice is hoarse. “You were a kid. You never should’ve carried that weight. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I’d been there…”

“You didn’t fail her, Seraphina. Your mom failed you both. And the alcohol failed her.”

She cries harder.

“You didn’t leave her. You didn’t do this.”

She shakes her head. “I imagine it every night. What it must’ve been like. How scared she was.”

“I know,” I say, throat thick.

She looks at me as if she wants to believe me, but doesn’t know how.

I reach for her hand. Place it over my heart. “But that pain? You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

She makes a broken sound and leans into me. I press my forehead to hers.

I don’t tell her it’s okay. It’s not. And it never will be.

I don’t shush away the grief. It can’t be fixed.

She’s the one person in this world I feel seen by and heard by. By some trick of fate, I instinctively know what she needs.

I only hold her. Fiercely.

She breaks in my arms. And something in me breaks too.

I’ve seen death. Held men as they bled out. Dragged mates from a warehouse full of gear burnt down by rivals in Northern England, the smoke billowing up over the council house estates. That may be why I didn’t hesitate to evacuate the Village on a hunch. I’d already buried too many bodies to count.

This feels more painful somehow.

Her sobs echo against my chest like gunfire, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop them.

Can’t rewind time. Can’t bring her sister back. Can’t go back and rip the gin from her mother’s hand or pull that little girl out of the pool before the world turned cruel.

All I can do is hold her tighter and be her anchor to this world.

We stay like that. No more words. Only the breeze, the scent of honeysuckle from the vines growing on the pool’s fence. My injuries throb. My aching arm. But I don’t care.

Because she’s here with me.

And I’m not letting go.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

I was fooling myself to think I could ever give her up, even for a moment. I’ll make it work with Tabitha.

I have to.

“Are you still with us, sweetheart?” She’s quiet, eyes closed, breathing steadily.

“Oh my God. Seraphina!” Tabby’s suddenly at my side, kneeling to study her friend’s face. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Dad. Is she okay?”

“I think she’s passed out. We should get her checked.”

“I can help. And I’ll grab Hunter.” She glances over her shoulder looking for him. “He was a medic in the Navy before he went Bachman.”

Seraphina’s eyes flutter open. “I’m so sorry, Tabitha.”

“She is awake.” Tabby exhales with relief.

“I’m so sorry, Tabitha,” she repeats, eyes watering. God, please don’t let her start crying again. I don’t think my heart can take it.

Tabby leans over, bending at the waist till her nose is almost touching Seraphina’s. Gently, she cups Seraphina’s face in her hands, talking silly. “Don’t you dare cry, girl. You’re not the one who had to see your dad naked. If anyone gets to cry about last night, it’s me!”

Seraphina breaks down into a fit of tears and giggles. She sits up, wriggling from my lap. The two girls grab one another in a tight but awkward hug, Tabitha kneeling in the grass, Seraphina sitting half on, half off my lap.

I look at her with surprise. “Tabby, you’re okay with this?”

“It’s freaking weird. Not gonna lie. But I’d never be mad at you for who you date.” She holds my gaze. “I just want the truth next time.”

I shake my head. “There won’t be a next time, baby. I’m never letting Seraphina go.”

“Dad, you tried to protect me once, and that caused us to be apart for most of my childhood, leaving you lonely for over a decade. Don’t do that again.”

She doesn't realize how much her words affect me.

Tabby grins as she gives permission. “You clearly love her. Do this for yourself.”

Satisfied with Seraphina’s recovery for now, Tabitha leaves us. Seraphina asks me, “You know when you said I was in your head? Helping you solve the problem about the Morettis?”

“Yes,” I say. “I know this doesn’t make sense, but it felt like you were there with me, in my head that night at the Village.”

“I kinda understand what you mean. I feel like you’re talking to me sometimes even when you’re not around. It makes me think…” her words trail off.

“What?” I say. “Tell me.”

She gets quiet, then whispers. “It makes me think, you’re my backup.”

Her confession gives me the boost of confidence I need.

“It’s too soon to say this. And you don’t have to say it back.

Run for the hills if you want.” I stare down at her face.

“But life is short. Someone can be taken away from you by the lie of another, by the lick of a flame, so I can’t not say it. ”

Her lids fluttering drowsily as she challenges me. “Then say it.”

“I love you.”

She smiles. “I love you, too.”

Her words bring a sign of elation to me. “And here we are.” I lean down, kissing those perfect lips.

I take her home for a hot shower and warm clothes.

I hear a shriek from the bathroom. I take the stairs two by two, bursting into the room. My heart whollops against my ribcage.

I hang on the frame of the bedroom door, staring in. “What is it? Are you okay?”

She comes out, hair wet, towel wrapped around her. She’s holding her phone in one hand. Thrusting it up in the air, she shouts, “Josie called! She actually called! And guess what?”

I sink onto the bed, hand to my heart. I catch my breath, wondering if all older men dating younger women feel like they’re having heart attacks. “What?” I ask. “And who is Josie?”

She sinks down beside me, turning to face me. Her face is positively glowing as she fills me in. I wrap my arms around her, listening. She senses my anger when she gets to the part about Magda screwing her over.

“It’s okay,” she says, a gentle pat on my arm. “Josie said she loved the honesty of that viral video I posted, the one I made before I left Italy, she wants to hire me.” She stares at the phone, then looks back at me with a massive grin on her pretty face. “I’m shocked. I’m genuinely shocked.”

My stomach plummets. I have to support her. But this is precisely what I was afraid of.

Losing her.

The job is in New York. She can’t go back. Not when we’ve only just come together. But she’s young, she’s at that age where she needs to focus on her career. A good man would support her.

“Congratulations.” My heart sits in my throat. “What did you tell her?”

She cocks her head at me. “What do you think I told her?”

“I genuinely don’t know.”

“Don’t get testy with me, Renan Bachman,” she commands. “You know me well enough to know what I said.”

I wince, guessing, hopefully, “No?”

She narrows her gaze at me. “Not exactly.”

“Tell me!” I huff, my heart racing. “Can’t take these dramatics right now.”

“I told her no in a more me way. I said, Josie, I’m thrilled. But I’ve traded in my photoboards for finger paints. My pink pumps for Nike. My silk robes are now pajamas.”

“I love those sexy robes,” I growl, rushing her and scooping her up in my arms. “Especially when there’s nothing underneath.”

She waves a hand through the air. “It’s the only way I wear them now.”

“Did you tell her you’ve given up marketing for photography?” I kiss her forehead. “That you are an artist.” I kiss her cheek. “And that the Bachman family has hired you to document their journey?”

She has already begun creating a thick portfolio of emotive images of displaced people finding solace in one another.

She waves a modest hand in the air. “Nah.”

I cup her face, holding her so she has to meet my eye. “You are so fucking talented. You know that? You make people cry with the click of your camera. You take moments and make memories.”

She blinks. Hard. Then smiles. “Thanks.” Her voice is soft, but I know she hears me. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

Relief, sweet and calm, cleanses my soul. She’s mine. She’s staying.

I lean down, kissing her all over her face as she giggles.

But I haven’t asked her the most crucial question. The one I need an answer to.

I ask. “And are you happy?” And I wait.

She runs a hand through my hair, ruffling it. “So, so happy.”

My heart is whole.

“Let’s see if we can make you even happier than that.” I carry her off to bed to do all the naughty things that I know put a smile on her face.