Page 1 of Vows in Sin
1
Seraphina
Is stalking a crime when the heart’s involved?
Technically, I’m only trying to control my destiny. I’m simply pre-arranging an impromptu meet-up. Which Cleopatra would tell me is an oxymoron.
If things don’t go to plan I’m a complete moron.
I’m standing across the street, staring down Bachman Avenue, dressed in a hideous disguise and avoiding standing too close to The Cantina so I don’t smell of tacos when I finally reach my soulmate?—
Soulmate? Yikes. Slow down heart. Imeantto say, when I reach my target.
My oversized sunglasses hide my eyes, a wide-brimmed hat is pulled tightly over my head, and I wear a shapeless patchwork abomination of a dress I’ve borrowed from Cleo. I look an absolute fright, and now a drizzle blanks the Manhattan dusk,threatening to fog my already dark glasses and frizz the exposed ends of my hair.
The crosswalk beeps. Green. Go. I cross with the foot traffic. I swear the woman next to me is glaring at my dress. I cringe, wanting to tell her this look is so not me.
If you think looks don’t matter, you’ve never strolled down Bachman Avenue before. I never leave my apartment without looking like a million bucks, but…here we are.
I’m also not the kind of person who goes undercover to track down a man. I’m not one to long for someone who isn’t that into me. I’m emotionally intelligent enough to read the writing on the wall.
I prefer men begging for my attention.
Not the other way around.
Yet again, here we are.
Made it safely across. Shuffling away from the glaring woman, I turn onto Bachman Avenue with ‘I wear my sunglasses at night,’ playing in my mind as I pass the sparkly shop windows, coming to the one with a red awning. Gold letters spell out Bachman Jewelers. The name on the lush fabric is enough to make that familiar pang tear through my chest.
Remnants of the pain left behind by Dame Bachman, the man I thought could be husband material.
He’s a member of the elusive Bachman Brotherhood, which has a hidden, Fort Knox-level security compound in Manhattan called the Village. The road I’m on is home to many high-end businesses. Clothing shops filled with couture, a gym to keeptheir beautiful bodies toned, a few cafés, and a soon-to-be-open vintage bookstore.
I don’t want him to recognize me before I’m in the club. I fear he’ll run the other way if he sees me on the street. I can’t take the pain of more rejection. I need to corner him on his turf, looking spectacular, and come across chill-like.
I practice my surprised face, whispering to myself, “Dame! What are you doing in town? I had noooooo idea you’d be here.”
When he asks me how I got into the club, that’s a whole ‘nother acting job I’ll have to take on.
It sounds desperate, and well, I am.
They say you find love when you aren’t looking for it, and a man was the last thing on my mind when Cleo asked me to accompany her on an impromptu trip to a luxurious Italian estate.
Dame was my bodyguard, assigned to be by my side, with my safety as his primary responsibility.Is there anything sexier than having a muscled man protecting you? Dame and I spent every minute together when I wasn’t with Cleo. He took me on an overnight shopping trip in Rome. He showered me with compliments and attention.
Didn’t let me carry so much as the tiny Dior bag that once held these sunglasses I now wear to hide my face.
He stayed up late with me on the hardest night of my life; the one that comes every year and never seems to get any easier.
The anniversary of my little sister’s death.
He held me, let me cry, and even shared his own tragic story with me. Was it the magic of the air breezing in off the Tyrrhenian Sea, the ridiculously romantic atmosphere of Rome, or the heartfelt conversation that made me feel so tied to him?
I didn’t expect to leave my heart in Italy with Dame, or to find out half the women in New York are on his roster when he visits for work.
Even worse, he ghosted me.
I tried to forget Dame, that magical night, and the string of unreturned texts.
