Page 37 of Vows of Betrayal

With her.

Or with that fuckin' car of hers.

She'd been right when she said it was a piece of shit. That goddamn car was not roadworthy in the least. I couldn't believe some cop hadn't pulled her over and ordered a tow truck on the spot.

Fuck.

Maybe that's where she was. Stuck on the side of a road somewhere. And maybe some asshole stopped to help her. And maybe that asshole started to get aggressive.

Fuck.

If she wasn't home soon, I was going to lose it.

Her show started and I turned it up. Yesterday's cliffhanger had been kind of crazy. One of the housewives had opened the door to her bedroom and you could tell her husband was in bed. But there was also another head in there. With long red hair. And her best friend had long red hair.

Personally, I didn't see why she couldn't have just stripped and joined them in bed. But most people were too narrow-minded to even try something like that.

The theme song came on and I put my feet up on the coffee table. Well, it wasn't so much a coffee table as it was four milk crates zip tied together with a piece of painted wood on it. Half an hour later, it was revealed that her husband had absolutely fucked her best friend. “Idiots,” I said as my stomach started to growl. I looked at the time and tried not to think about Francesca being in danger. Or hungry.

I'd put a bowl out on the counter with a spoon in it and splashed a spoonful or two of milk in it. Just so she'd think I already ate.

I checked her wallet every night when she was in the shower. Not to steal anything but to see if she'd taken money out of an ATM.

There was no evidence of any kind of cash in her wallet. She might be using a card to pay for her lunch. But I severely doubted that. Not once the entire time I was in the hospital did she ever go down to the cafeteria for lunch. Or for anything at all.

Francesca always brought her food from home.

I watched her leave. And I watched her come home.

And not once did she pack a meal or bring any empty containers back from the hospital.

My hungry gut told me that woman wasn't eating. And the reason she wasn't eating was because I was here. She was fucking sacrificing her food—for me.

My stomach growled again. I grabbed my water bottle from the couch and took a long drink.

Fuck.

Where was she?

A noise at the door got my attention.

“Sorry, I'm late,” she said, carrying in a few paper bags with her on top of the bag she took to work every day.

“I stopped to grab us some food on the way home.” She gave me a quick smile and walked to the kitchen. “Give me a minute to change and I'll make supper right away.” She stuffed some food into the fridge and left the rest out on the counter.

She turned around and clasped her hands together. “Oh, hang on. I almost forgot.” She opened her own bag and pulled out a sandwich. “Here, I got two from the hospital. They're a few days old, but you'll be okay. You're not immune suppressed or anything.” Then she tossed me a plastic wrapped sandwich and headed to her drawers. She pulled clothes out and hurried to the bathroom. She always did that. Changed in the bathroom. The only time she hadn't was that first morning when she got called in early. She'd pulled off her pajamas and dressed in the dark. If I had to guess, I'd say she probably forgot I was there.

Just because she'd jerked me off, and I came all over her—and then shoved my come inside of her—apparently that didn't mean a thing.

I opened the sandwich, and my stomach growled again. I sniffed the bread and the roast beef inside. Admittedly, it smelled a little—off. Considering I hadn't had a decent meal in days, I decided to take a bite. Not great. But it was food. I chewed and watched the show. One of the husbands had surprised his wife with a trip to Italy for their anniversary. The wife was so happy she kissed the fuck out of him.

I wondered if Francesca would do the same thing to me when I took her to Italy for the first time. I'd asked her in the hospital if she'd ever been. And she said no.

Fuck.

I was going to take her to Italy so many times it would make her fucking head spin. My house looked like a goddamn castle compared to this shithole she was living in.

Okay, so it was an actual castle. But she didn't need to know that. Not yet.

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