Page 77 of Shameless Vows

Everything is set. All is well. She’s going to be as safe at her family’s estate as she’s been here. Likely even safer because she won’t have to contend with a brute like me.

The driver opens the door for her, but she doesn’t get inside yet, so I approach her.

I stand in front of her, about an arm’s length of physical separation between us, but at the same time, the emotional separation feels like auniverseof time and space.

We stand in silence for a span of seconds before I offer a compulsory, “You’re all set. If anything comes up during your flight, feel free to call me.”

Isla nods and drops her chin low again. She makes no move to get in yet, and we stand in silence for even longer. After an excruciating stretch of time, there’s the sound of an even more excruciating, albeit very quiet hitch of her breath. And then she lifts her head and looks at me through russet brown eyes that are like shattered windows to her battered soul.

“I never wanted anything to be this way, Malachi.”

I draw in a deep breath to maintain my composure, but I can feel my eye rims burning, and I know she can see my emotional state written all over my face. “I didn’t either.”

Her gaze briefly flits to the palace behind me and then returns to my face. “I’ve forgotten a lot of things, but I’ve always remembered the first time you promised me when we were children that you would bring me here to live with you one day.” She presses her lips firmly together as though fighting the tremble of her chin. “This isn’t what I pictured.”

I shrug listlessly, and I recall that very moment with perfect clarity. My innocent, childlike perception of marriage at ten years old that caused me to make that promise to her. That, and the one that caused me to believe I would always have the ability to protect her, and provide for her, and love her, no matter what. “Me neither.”

Her chin is fully trembling now. “Also, you were wrong.”

I incline my head to one side questioningly, and I’ve been wrong abouta lot, so I need her to clarify. “About which part?”

Isla nods at the palace. “In your office just now.” She shakes her head. “The best thing you’ve ever done for me isn’t ending this marriage and letting me go. It was everything you did and werebefore. Everythingbeforeis still the best part of my life. You’re still the best thing I ever had. You’re still the thing I loved the most. Everything wewerewill always be the best, happiest, most wonderful gift I’ve ever been given, and I still miss it. I always will.”

My vision goes blurry for a second before I blink it back to clarity. “I will, too.” Another tear slides down her cheek, and I indulge myself by reaching to wipe it with my thumb. “Take care of yourself, Isla.”

Her lips part as they silently form the words,You, too.

Reaching for her hand, I lift it to my lips to kiss the back of it, and then I let go. I step backward away from her, and she steps into the car. We hold each other’s gazes until the driver closes the door, and I can no longer see her through the limo-tinted window, so I back up farther until I reach the stone steps.

I can’t see her through the windows, so I don’t know if she’s watching me as the car pulls away, but I watch the blackened window until the car arrives at the iron gates at the far end of the long drive and then disappears around the tall, thick, elaborate bushes.

I am alone.

Foolishly—and truthfully, because nobody’s here to watch my display of utterly pathetic behavior—I wait for several minutes,just in case.

But nothing happens, so I pivot on the ball of my foot and go back inside.

I pace the entryway five or six times, alternating wringing my hands, and raking my hair, and adjusting my collar, before I give up and return to my office.

Isla’s manuscript is still sitting on my desk, and I pick it up, meandering to the sofa in front of the fireplace, where I recline and start reading.

After only one page in, I lift my eyebrows in surprise. Isla’s a really good writer, which shouldn’t surprise me. The education she received was the best anyone could get. But beyond the quality of her words, they pack a serious emotional punch. The story is about a young woman and a young man who become friends after he encountered her while she was moving into an apartment next to his in Brooklyn. The young woman has recently lost her family and needs a friend, and the young man decides he’ll be that for her. It follows them and their blossoming relationship for a number of years.

The story flows so effortlessly that before I even realize it, I’m three-quarters of the way through it, and the pair has both fallen in love and been ripped apart by tragedy and a grave misunderstanding. I’m not ignorant, and all of it practically screams as a metaphor for the relationship Isla and I had before. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been lying here reading, but I don’t have anything better to do, and I’m fully invested in the fictional lives of these characters—characters who are so obviously Isla and me—so I keep reading almost all the way to the end.

It’s at about one quarter from the end when I have to stop. I would venture to guess this is the part that Isla warned me that I might find offensive, but it’s not offensive. It’s utterly heartbreaking, and perfectly sums up how I’m feeling right now. The two main characters shared a reconciliatory night together, and the now-fully-grown man is full of hope, but then the woman leaves him in the middle of the night.

When he woke up to an empty bed and a note, he was okay.

He didn't instantly reach for his phone to call her, even though he thought about it.

He didn't beg their mutual friends for her address, but he almost did.

He didn't weep, rage, or reach for a drink, although he wanted to.

He gave himself five whole minutes to feel the full weight of his sadness and then simply ran his fingertips over her words in acceptance, closed the notebook, and put it back in the drawer.

To thine own self be true.

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