Page 58 of Vows in Sin
21
Reign
I can’t leave fast enough.
“I’ve got to get Tabs to the tents.” I steer Tabby away, heat raging in my eardrums. It takes every ounce of focus to introduce Tabitha around to the other medics she’ll be working with. She stitches me up. I catch Seraphina watching us from the edge of the tent.
I look away.
I tell Tabitha I’ll be back after a shower.
I won’t.
I wander over to the pool house, holding the clean pile of clothes I’ve been handed under my good arm, pressed against my side.
I’ll shower in here.
It’s quiet in here. A slice of solitude after the firestorm.
Clean and dressed, I don’t know where to go next. I end up wandering the grounds until Tess comes to find me.
“Dinner,” she says. “You’re going to be late.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes. We’re celebrating. And we need you there. You were our rock.” She links her arm in mine so I have no other choice but to go with her.
The dinner table is long. Too long. White linens, silver candelabras, and an uncomfortable number of Bachmans, all seated like we’re pretending the world didn’t explode.
That we weren’t covered in ashes not so long ago.
This is how the women like it, though. They keep spirits up with events. Cocktails. Silk dresses cut to curves to make us men sweat.
And by some cruel twist of fate, she’s seated beside me.
Looking like a fever dream in soft yellow silk, her curls pinned up with flowers. She smells like her. I’m seated close enough to be enveloped in it.
She’s not looking at me. Not exactly. Other than the quick side glances she thinks I don’t sense. But I do. My body is rigid with tension, on higher alert than when I called for the evacuation. No movement or exhale of breath gets by without my notice.
Her foot taps nervously under the table. Right next to mine. The vibrations she makes on the floor travel from the soles of my shoes and reverberate right to my core.
Tabitha’s down the table from us. Thank fuck.
“Pass the wine,” Seraphina whispers, eyes still on her plate.
I reach for the bottle. My sling makes it awkward. I knock down the half-filled wineglass beside me. Clatter. Red wine spills across the white cloth like a line of blood in snow.
Everyone looks.
Seraphina immediately grabs a napkin, dabbing it up.
“Don’t.” I take the napkin from her and clean it up myself.
She sits back in her chair. “Fine. Just trying to help.”
It’s the first words we’ve exchanged since the last night I saw her at the club.
“Still,” she says, “Nice work at the Village.”
