Page 92 of Reckless Vow

“I want everyone to smell who you belong to.”

* * *

I hold her hand.

As if she’s mine. I grip her tight, like that will somehow keep her by my side.

We walk across the street and down the block to a small bistro where Chloe waits.

I need to rein myself in and not crush her bones, her hand is so small in my paw. But fuck, the need to protect her, to own her, to make sure she’s okay is so strong that I’m wild with boiling energy.

I walk down the street, ready to kill any man who looks at her. Christ, I’m even antagonistic toward women.

Closure? Fuck the closure.

I haven’t been this unhinged for years. Yeah, for about a year after that night, but then I got it under control.

Mostly.

Like having that ruby ring made years ago. I know that wasn’t healthy. It digs into my palm now to mock me.

Now I know why she didn’t show up, and I’m torn inside, barely keeping it together.

“Could you slow down a bit?”

Fuck. I’ve been dragging her behind me like a madman.

“Sorry.”

“Are you okay?” She narrows her eyes, studying me as she tries to keep up at the same time.

“Sure.”

Not at all, but that’s not something I’m going to burden her with.

She needed the release last night, and I’d give it to her a thousand times over, even if it meant reliving her retelling the story again and again.

And the masochist in me wants to push her for more details, more gory facts, more hurt. Like I could make her tell me again, and with every word take some of her pain and swallow it to rot inside me.

“We should talk.”

She means I should talk, but what I need is to act. To turn every stone to find the fucking asshole and punish him.

But that’s not happening this morning, so here I am, compartmentalizing again and putting on the Baldo Charming Cassinetti mask.

“We will, sweetheart,” I lie and wink at her, pushing the glass door open.

The aromas of coffee and custard embrace us as we weave around the small tables in the busy place.

Chloe smiles when she sees us. If she’s surprised I’m not alone, she doesn’t show it.

“That was some exit last night.” She applauds theatrically instead of a greeting.

Fuck. My caveman performance. Was it only last night, because it feels like I’ve lived another lifetime since then.

“Brook, this is Chloe Miller, my director of operations. Chloe, this is Brook. My wife.”

Brook’s eyes widen, and she stares at me for a moment before she blinks and extends her hand, and the women shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

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