Page 67 of Vows in Sin

“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.