Page 40 of The Oath We Give

So if that means lying? I will.

There is nothing I won’t do for the people I love.

“Quick engagement, I’m assuming? Great timing for you though, Hawthorne. Right before the board decided not to declare you CEO because of your marital status.”

The idea of shooting this guy in the face has reached an all-time high. But he’s the least of my worries.

I have a woman on my arm playing the part of fake fiancée she didn’t sign up for, digging her nails into my arm, ready to bolt to the nearest exit. Panic makes her fingers shake, and I know she’s starting to feel the walls of this room close around her.

Carefully, not wanting to scare her more, I slip my arm from hers and curl it around her waist instead so that I can tuck her safely into my side. It’s easy, like I’ve done it a million times before.

My large hand splays across her entire hip, the warmth of her body spreading along my side. She gasps a little, a quiet noise in the back of her throat. I take my time, maybe because this might be the only time I’m allowed to get this close without being bit.

She turns her head to look up at me, deep brown eyes shimmering from the lights. There is a softness that exists in her when her guard is down, and it’s just as breathtaking as her rough edges.

Gently, I tuck a piece of hair just behind her ear before stroking a knuckle down her cheek. Hands that have done vicious things should not be allowed to touch things so delicate.

“When you know, you know,” I say calmly, the lie slipping from my tongue like water.

She’s hyperfocused on my face, and I refuse to break eye contact, even when Daniel makes another dull comment.

“No ring yet?”

I shake my head, picking up a strand of her white hair, rubbing it between my fingers, still looking at her as I reply.

“We’re waiting to pick one out together.”

My eyes tell her to keep looking at me, not to look away. Just keep looking at me. Daniel doesn’t exist, and she’s okay.

There is this need in me to tell her that she’s safe with me. That for some reason, I know I’ll let nothing bad touch her. Not when I’m around. It’s probably because of her trauma, that connection between us.

“Well.” Daniel clears his throat. “Caroline, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you at the company fundraiser?”

“Coraline.” I snap my head, glaring, saying her name as more of a growl. “We’ll be there.”

As my wrecking ball of a colleague leaves, I feel her pulling away from me, slipping through my grasp, and just as I expected, she moves toward the exit. Fleeing just like she did at Vervain.

Running from me, unaware that the chase is one of my favorite parts.

I follow behind her, walking slower so by the time I’m outside of her studio, she’s got a cigarette between her red-stained lips, digging around for what I assume is a lighter.

Reaching inside my jacket pocket, I pull out a pack of matches. I hold them between my fingers, offering them as a way of trying to make peace before the war truly begins.

She takes them from me, striking one up and lighting her smoke. Her back rests against the brick wall outside, head tilted toward the sky as she inhales a lungful of smoke before releasing it into the night.

“Did you do that on purpose?” she asks, taking another hit. “Set me up so you could cash in for one of your fucking favors?”

The harshness from earlier has returned tenfold.

I feel my jaw tighten, angry for no reason, angry that she thought I’d use her. But she doesn’t know me. What else is she supposed to expect?

“What makes you think I don’t already have a fiancée?”

Coraline rolls her head to look at me, holding the cigarette between two fingers. The air seems to tighten, charged with undeniable tension. The weight of her anger bears down on me, the elegant slopes and curves her face illuminated by streetlamps, the skin of her leg exposed to the night air.

“If my soon-to-be husband held me the way you did at Vervain, I’d kill him. This place tells stories. Stories of the evil you’ve done and the wicked traits you carry, Silas Hawthorne.” Her words catch the night wind, drifting like the tendrils of smoke. “Disloyal isn’t one of them.”

There is an urge to be transparent with her, to let her know I’m not what they say I am. An urge to speak and be honest, because I think…

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