Page 36 of Vows of Betrayal

“Pfft, it's fine. Nobody will even see me back there. The only person who ever comes out is Bernie.” I turned the door handle.

And Stefan had another fit. “Open that fucking door, and we're going to have a problem, Francesca!”

I turned around and glared back at him. “Are you seriously trying to tell me what to do?”

He groaned and shut his eyes. When he opened them, he tilted his head and said, “I'm not kidding around. If you—”

I instantly cut him off, “Whatever, Stefan. What are you going to do? Run after me and give me a spanking?” As soon as that tumbled out of my mouth, I desperately wanted to stuff it back in. I didn't wait for him to respond. I pulled on the door and ran out.

11

Stefan

“Christ!” I yelled at no one. I was alone.

Again.

Francesca was hardly ever here. And when she was, it was all business. Eat, watch TV, shower, and go to sleep.

The sleep part I wasn't complaining about. Being next to an almost naked Francesca was not a chore. But what was a chore was not being able to touch her. And kiss her.

Ever since I'd yelled at her the first night I arrived, she'd been cold toward me.

Yeah, she still fed me. Crappy food. But it was still something. I hoped she ate more at the hospital than she did here. The last three nights, all she'd eaten was half a bowl of cereal every night before bed.

There wasn't much cereal left in the box.

I'd checked out her cabinets the first morning I was here. After she took off for work. Someone had called her at four o'clock in the fucking morning. One of the workers went home sick, and they wanted to know if Francesca could come in early.

She'd bounded out of bed, slipped on her scrubs and escaped with a, “Good luck today.”

Yeah.

Good fuckin' luck.

It had taken me ten minutes to walk to the bathroom. And another ten minutes to walk back. At least that was what it felt like.

She didn't have many cabinets in her small as fuck kitchen. But what she did have was bare. Other than for a few packets of sugar and a rapidly diminishing supply of cereal.

Her fridge wasn't any better. All she had in there was a pitcher of water and half a jug of milk that was ready to expire any second.

It broke my fucking heart. And then it made me goddamn mad. Just like years ago, when I'd walked into Giselle's small house, taken one peek at her empty fridge, and then went out to buy her some fuckin' groceries.

And what could I do right now for Francesca?

Absolutely nothing.

I didn't even have my wallet with me. That was probably in Giselle and Carlo's barn. If someone in the emergency department hadn't ripped it off.

Fuck.

There was nothing I could do. Except eat cereal three times a day.

I sat down on the couch and turned the TV to Francesca's stupid show. She wasn't home yet. She was late.

I couldn't call her. I couldn't text. Christ.

Anything could be wrong.

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