Page 35 of Vows in Sin
To make her forget?
I want to know.
I have to see her.
I’m going to do something stupid.
Finally, I make the call to security I’ve been putting off. I get Seraphina’s information. All of it.
Taking the Harley, I ride the streets, too fast, buildings blurring as I pass. Finally, I’m nearing her building. I cut the growl of the engine. Grip my handlebars and stare up at her window.
No curtains. Of course.
A surge of protection washes over me. She shouldn’t be exposed to the entire city. I watch her stand from her sofa. Her curls are pinned up on top of her head. She moves like she talks, full of energy and the promise of trouble.
Protection wells up in me, making way for possession.
I hate the notion that any other man holds this view.
I want to preserve this vision—the essence of her—and trap it gently inside a snow globe, making it so that I am the only one who can see her, holding her beauty close in a fragile, shimmering world.
Mine.
Do I go up? Knock on her door, uninvited? What would I even say?
Why am I even here? I stare down at the toe of my boots, laughing at myself. I’m an old man, parked outside theapartment of a young girl who is merely using me for a stress release.
I’ve seen her. She’s fine. She’s safe.
And I don’t belong here.
I allow myself one last look at her. Then I dig in, my fingernails tearing into the rock, skin ripping, pain and blood and sweat and almost tears as I drag myself back up over the cliff. Revving the engine back to life, I gun it, spraying street dirt as I go.
Leaving her behind.
A fitful night of sleep follows.
Again, I dream.
Seraphina, rising from the lake.
Naked. Bared.
This time, she’s not wearing the shoes.
13
Seraphina
I never did answer the call that came in when I was on the phone with Lucy.
Over the next two subway stops, I debated.
I went home. Checked my phone for an email, call, or text from Josie, even when it was way past work hours. Watched Casablanca with Fifi. Went to bed.
I know I need to call my mom back. Just as I knew I needed to go back and check those handwritten notes that proved Magda was wrong. Some things take time. When I finally did pull out the notes from our meeting, there it was, clear as day.
Target teens.
