Page 26 of Heartless Vows

“Yes, I met him. I’m not sure if I like him, but I guess heishandsome. And how is this not crazier? The giraffes are always at the zoo. I’ll only get married once,” I say, purposefully skipping whether or not Giorgio is nice and hoping Tristan doesn’t notice.

He pauses his rhythmic tossing of the ball and tilts his head in thought.

“Just because something only happens once doesn’t make it crazier, only rarer.”

My heart gives a bittersweet squeeze. He’s growing too fast. I cross my arms and give him a skeptical once-over.

“Who are you and what did you do with my brother?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, when did you get so smart?” I ask.

When our conversation devolves into fake insults and nonsensical teasing, I decide to drop the topic. He’s obviously not ready to talk about how my wedding changes his future. I’ll give him a day or two to digest the news before diving deeper into the specifics.

Hell, I’m not even sure right now. Fear closes my throat.

After a quick pillow fight, I wrap him in a hug and drop my cheek to the top of his head. I fight back tears as he hugs me back without hesitation.

He grumbles at my nagging, but I close his door and make it to the top of the stairs before a wave of emotion crashes over me. I lean against the wall, close my eyes, and regulate my breathing.

The front door opens. I meet my mother’s eyes. Her face hardens. A bodyguard steps through the front door with my father staggering under his arm. Thankfully, the alcohol running through my father’s veins slurs his words. With a disgusted scowl, my mother gestures for the man to take my father to his bed.

I press my back against the wall and offer both men a tight smile as they pass. My father doesn’t even notice my presence. He’s too lost in his own demons.

My heart pounds as my mother stops in front of me. When she motions for me to follow her without a word, dread forms like a rock in my stomach.

She stops in front of my room. I quietly release my breath, but she sticks out her upturned palm, so I slip my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her.

Instead of opening my door, she demands I follow her.

Tingling numbness rises from my toes when she stops in front of the utility closet.

She hasn’t threatened to close me inside in five years, but her bitter expression tells me she won’t change her mind this time. Cotton stuffs my ears and pressure builds in my head when she swings open the door and flicks on the light.

“You refused to fuck Giorgio Vivaldi, didn’t you?”

The cotton muffles her words. I stare at the two unused yoga mats—one pink for my mother and the other blue for my father—rolled in the back corner of the closet.

“No man who sticks his dick in a woman stays as interested as he was during lunch. You’re stringing him along, aren’t you?”

I can’t refute nor agree with her. My vision narrows and memories sneak closer.

“You’re acting out because you’re afraid of getting pregnant, aren’t you? Even after I told you to behave.”

The air thins.

“Get in.”

I can’t move.

“Get in before I drag your brother out to join you.”

I shuffle forward on legs made of rubber. She shuts and locks the door behind me.

I’m okay. She didn’t toss me in. I walked in on my own two feet. There’s no screaming outside. Bright fluorescent light illuminates the space. Linens and cleaning equipment line the shelves instead of canned goods. My brother’s tiny infant body isn’t weighing down my arms. He’s in his room. Comfortable. Safe. I’m okay.

I’m not okay.

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