Page 129 of A Forgotten Promise

She scoffs. “Anything else?”

“Our future kids aside, you’re too young to have so many health issues.”

Her glare intensifies while she taps her fingers on the table. “I don’t have many health issues—”

“You can’t sleep, you have iron deficiency, and you don’t have your periods.”

The waitress chooses that moment to appear with our coffees, her eyes darting between us.

Saar groans and hides her face in her palms. When the coast is clear, she peeks at me. “How do you know I can’t sleep?”

I raise my eyebrow. Really? She should know by now that very little escapes me.

She sighs. “Of course, you know everything. I’m not discussing my period with you.”

“You don’t have to, but you will discuss it with a doctor.”

“Or what?” She lifts her chin.

One other thing I came to understand about this infuriating, beautiful woman is that she fights me more on principle than on merit.

I take a sip of my coffee, not biting this time.

She huffs, folding her arms across her chest. “Whatever. I have an appointment for next week already, anyway.”

“Good girl,” I tease her, and she rolls her eyes again.

“And stop talking about our future kids. You haven’t even taken me on a first date.”

I open my mouth to remind her about our dinner, but she raises her hand.

“A real one, you asshole.”

“Where would you like to go?” I weave my fingers and place my joined hands under my chin.

“To the courthouse to get my marriage certificate.”

“Why, baby, you’re such a romantic.”

The waitress approaches carefully with our plates, and a smile tugs the corners of Saar’s mouth.

My phone dings several times with incoming messages. Fuck, not now. Barely a minute passes and it rings.

“It might be important,” Saar says, and stuffs a forkful of hash browns into her mouth.

I pull my phone out to see Mathison’s number. “Eat,” I mouth at Saar, who rolls her eyes yet again but takes a bite of her toast.

“What is it?” I answer the phone.

“Manners,” Art growls, like he has ever followed any social conduct rules.

“Good morning, Art. How are you?” I mock.

He grunts. “Check your emails. Your wife may not like what I found.” He hangs up.Manners.

I open the first message he sent and click on the attached video.

“Is everything okay?” Saar’s concern rolls through the rage the footage sparks.

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