Page 8 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen, and the type of love I’d want. I thought I had that once. I imagined Dante and I growing old together, through thick and thin, just like Frank and Julie.

I had been wrong about love. I had been wrong about so many things.

“Let’s go with yellow this week,” he grins, his wrinkled eyes misting over. “It’s Julie’s favorite color. Oh, but tie them up with that Christmas ribbon over there. I want her to be reminded of the holidays.”

I busy myself picking twelve perfect long-stem yellow roses from the fridge, swiping away a rogue tear.

Ugh, it’s just so damn romantic. Like The Notebook or something.

“How’s that boyfriend of yours? Treating my girl well?”

“Frank, he’s not my boyfriend,” I say, already exasperated with him. “You know that Vitto is just a friend.”

“Oh yeah, a friend that regularly hangs around a flower shop pining over a beautiful raven-haired girl,” he chuckles. “Somefriendhe is.”

I peek over the arrangement of roses, clocking Vitto at the coffee shop across the street.

He’s sitting on the patio, pretending to read a newspaper nonchalantly. To any passing person, he’s a regular guy enjoying the last bit of sunshine on an unseasonably warm day.

To me, he’s my ball and chain.

The idea of having a boyfriend is so foreign that I almost laugh. It’s been six years, and I still can’t move on.

I finish off the bouquet with a white silk ribbon and admire my handiwork. When I ran away from New York, I never imagined I’d end up working in a flower shop. But I had to admit, I was pretty damn good at it.

Frank slides a twenty over the counter and gently cradles the bouquet.

“Tell Julie I say hello, will you?”

“Tell that grandson of mine I’m expecting him Friday night,” Frank shakes his head. “And he better be ready for at least ten rounds of chess this time.”

I chuckle as he shuffles out of the shop, leaning heavily on his cane. Frank and Julie were the first ones to adopt us when we moved to Silver Springs all those years ago.

Matteo was just a newborn and I was struggling with his contraption of a stroller on the icy sidewalk. Julie popped out of the flower shop to help me get it into my car. We started chatting and suddenly, I had a job and a set of adoptive parents.

As we got closer over the years, celebrating holidays and birthdays together, we all watched Matteo grow up. They’ve spent the last few years thinking they were helping a struggling young mother get back on her feet.

It kills me that I can’t tell them the truth.

Not about the millions of dollars in my bank account.

Not about my family back in New York.

Not even my real name.

To them, I’ll always be Natalie Davidson.

In the end, it’s all worth it, though.

I lock up the shop and climb into my car, cranking the heat up. It’s gotten cold again now that the sun has gone down. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see Vitto strolling to his bike.

I know he’ll follow behind. He always does.

When my family insisted on protection, I refused at first. But inside information that the Manzo family had found out about Matteo made me think twice. Vitto’s been one step behind us for five years now and his presence is a huge comfort.

We both roll through the tiny town covered in Christmas cheer and decorations to the local daycare. The owner, Sophie, steps onto the porch as soon as I pull up. She has little Christmas tree earrings on and a green sweater. She shoots me a big beaming smile and I grin back.

She shoos Matteo out to the car like a doting grandmother. My insides instantly warm when I see his happy face running toward me. His hands are full of papers. No doubt more artwork for the fridge.

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