Page 62 of Vows in Sin

She nods. Arrows tear through my chest. “We shared a moment. In Rome. Turns out we shared a similar experience from our past.

Jealousy. Burns. I want her moments. Every single one. I will be the only shoulder she cries on after tonight.

Or I’ll kill someone trying.

My entire body clenches, preparing to listen to her talk about sharing something so intimate with another man.

She spills the story. “When I first got here, I was worried things were going to be awkward between me and him. But we talked. Over drinks—” Her words trail off, her brow knitting as a deep territorial growl emanates.

Was that me?

I clear my throat. “Continue. Please.”

She leans closer, squeezing my hand with a laugh. “When I say drinks, I mean with me and Cleopatra. Of course, I asked her to come.” She gives me a long look, as if that should mean something to me. “Anyway.” She shrugs. “Now Dame and I are friends.”

“Friends?” I grunt. “Kids these days, that could mean anything. Isn’t this the generation of the ‘mates with benefits’ thing?” My voice rises. “No commitment. No loyalty?—”

“Slow down, old man.” Her hand squeezes mine again, quieting me with a laugh. “It was one of those situations where I was into him, but he wasn’t into me.”

“He wasn’t your type,” I say, offering her a smile. “But you are exactly mine.”

“That’s sweet.” She smiles.

I pull her close. My words go rough. Low. I ask the only question that matters right now. “And are youstillinto him?”

The beat of time where I wait for her to answer is a lifetime.

“No,” she says, as sweet as a kiss. She snakes her arms around my neck, staring at me with the night stars in her eyes. “Actually, I’m kinda into someone else.”

Trapped in her baby doe stare, my good arm goes around her waist. One hard tug and she’s right up against me. “Is that so?”

“It is,” she says.

I lean closer. “Then here we are.”

“And here we are.” She closes the space between us.

“And now you’re mine.” I knot my fist in her hair and pull her to me. “And I’m never letting go.”

I lose myself in the kiss, pushing away the knot forming in the pit of my stomach.

The thought of telling Tabitha terrifies me.

22

Seraphina

Dame ghosting me was painful. Not in the way a cut hurts, sharp and clean. No, it was the kind of hurt that festers. I felt the same type of pain when I stood in front of that room of successful people and put my utter humiliation on display, one photo board at a time.

When you fool yourself into thinking that you are beginning to forget, it’s the ache that fills your mouth with bitterness when you least expect it. It keeps you awake at night, scrolling through old texts and emails, trying to pinpoint when things went so wrong.

The wound my sister left will never scar. It bleeds beneath the surface. Always will.

Reign was the confusion that followed. The pull I hated myself for feeling. Every time I ran to him, I told myself it was for comfort, for closure, for anything but what it was: an addiction I craved.

He was the end of the line of my bad decisions.

Every time I left his arms, I swore it was the last.