Page 50 of Prince of Her Heart
Under any other circumstances, Tabitha might have laughed.It was none of the woman’s business what went on behind closed doors.
Except…it kind of was.Tabitha’s family was a cornerstone of the church.And whileshehadn’t been inside the sanctuary in five years—not since she and Martin met with the pastor to plan a wedding that never happened—Ms.Weatherby wasn’t likely to care about technicalities.
“Gotta run, Ms.Weatherby!”Tabitha chirped, blowing past her before the sermon could begin.
She had better things to do with her time than explain her presence to the woman.
Like somehow get over the man she’d fallen madly in love with.
Blinking hard, Tabitha hurried down the steps, praying she could make it to her bedroom before her mother caught sight of the tears brimming in her eyes.She barely made it through the front door before Tilda’s voice floated from the kitchen, sharp and judgmental—probably ready to launch into a rant about howgood girlsdidn’t sleep over at inns with foreign men.
Tabitha didn’t want to hear it.
Last night had been… special.
It hadn’t been reckless.Or shameful.Or wrong.Everything they’d done—every kiss, every whispered plea, every tangled, breathless moment—had been a reflection of what she felt for Ramzi.
And maybe that was the reason her chest ached so violently now.
In the sanctuary of her bedroom, she closed the door behind her, bracing her back against it.Her eyes dropped to the glittering diamond ring still on her finger.
Beautiful.Meaningless.
Because that ring didn’t symbolize something shehad.It symbolized something she could never trulykeep.
Not with Ramzi.
Today was Stacy’s wedding.Tomorrow, the post-wedding brunch.And then?
She and Ramzi would return to Philadelphia.
Back to the quiet, professional rhythm of their lives.Monday morning, he might perch on the edge of her desk, asking casually about her weekend like nothing had happened.Maybe he’d smile.Maybe he’d tease her about some project or toss out a philosophical question that would keep her talking too long over takeout.
But he would never hold her again.
He’d never kiss her like he was starving.Never touch her like he couldn’t breathe without her.
He would never make love to her again like she mattered more than air.
Her fingers dug into her scalp as she pressed her hands over her face.
“What have I done?”she whispered.
Then she sank—slowly, painfully—to the floor, curling into herself as the tears spilled freely.Silent, shaking sobs that wouldn’t stop.
It took her twenty minutes to pull herself together.
When she finally stood, her cheeks were blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed and raw.But she was determined.She could do this.She could paste on a smile and fake her way through the next twelve hours.
A warm curling iron, a lot of makeup, and sheer willpower turned her into something thatresembledcomposed.
She slipped into the silk dress she’d picked for the wedding—soft rose-colored fabric that hugged her figure without screaming for attention.Then she opened her clutch and glanced at her phone.
Three messages from Stacy.
Where are you?Don’t be late!I’m gonna cry without you.
Tabitha managed a wobbly smile.
