Page 245 of Vows We Never Made

“Late wedding present. Don’t know if it’s tradition or whatever to do it like this. If it isn’t, it should be,” he tells me.

“Wow, it’s a masterpiece.” I smooth my fingers across the gold embossed leather before I look up sheepishly. “Um, I didn’t get you anything.”

“This is for us both, Pages.” He nudges me, the mattress sinking as he sits beside me. “Open it.”

Slowly, I open it to reveal empty white pages, just waiting to be filled.

A photo album.

A really awesome one.

Not a true book after all, but just as good.

It only takes a second to realize it’s not all blank, I missed something at the front.

There, on the first page, Leonidas Blackthorn grins back.

It’s an old photo in black and white.

Leonidas as a young man with a thick mane of hair.

As I flip through, there are a few more pictures, tracking his life. His wedding. Ethan’s grandmother.

About a third of the way in, the pictures of Leo stop with a final photo of a time I recognize.

I remember when it was taken.

Margot and I are on one side, and Ethan on the other. The old man has his arms around all of us, wearing a sly smile.

Margot and I were about thirteen in the picture, and Ethan a few years older.

He looks just like I remember—devastatingly handsome, cocky, a permanent blue storm in his eyes.

He was giving the camera one of his real smiles that day.

A sweet rarity.

On the next page, there’s a photo from our wedding. Ethan and me along the lakeshore, happy and holding hands.

The water is on fire with the sunset and fiery leaves behind us. He’s looking down at me as I laugh up at him.

“I had the photographer send that one early,” he explains. I’m tearing up. “The first set of photos, that’s the prologue. This is the first chapter of our story.”

I don’t say anything. I’m just shaking.

“Hattie?” he whispers.

“Oh my God, you—you’re a romantic after all.”

He snorts loudly.

“Let’s not get too carried away.” He shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

Ares must hear the commotion. He comes plodding in a second later, butting his head between us for pets.

The rest of the photo album looks blank.

I flip through it just in case, but there’s nothing but white space.

“I haven’t wanted to write for a while. I figure I’m better off selling books than writing them, but now…” I whisper, smiling through the sweetest heartbreak. “Let’s finish what Leonidas started.”

“Family photo album,” he says, spreading his palm suggestively over my lower belly. “Wherever our story goes, I’m here to help the words flow until the end. Together, Pages.”

“Together,” I agree, tracing our photo. “Together and totally in love.”