Page 9 of Savage Vows
A girl.
Brown hair pulled back loosely. Hands on the wheel like she’s been driving for hours. Her eyes skim past me, calm, focused, like she’s trying not to be noticed. But something flickers across my chest when I catch that look. I swear I saw her inside the club.
Then the van turns the corner and disappears.
I’m still watching the taillights when Liam nudges my arm with the back of his hand. “I’m assuming these are wedding day jitters,” he says.
I blink, shake it off. “What?”
“Your mood. The edge. The brooding silence. Classic signs of a man about to commit.”
I turn my head slowly. “I’m not getting married.”
Liam just smirks. “Not yet. But remember, the wedding is less than four days away now. You’re practically a married man.”
I give him a look that usually ends conversations. He doesn’t take the hint.
“Maybe you just need a vacation,” he says. “Somewhere warm. With people who don’t wear winter as a personality.”
I don’t reply. He sighs like he expected that too.
We stand a little longer, both watching the quiet edge of the city breathe.
“You good?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure. The storm cloud over your head says otherwise.”
I don’t answer.
He nudges me with his elbow. “You know, for a guy who’s about to marry the most beautiful girl in the world, you don’t look thrilled.”
I glance at him. “You’re talking like she’s marrying me because she wants to.”
That shuts him up.
The grin slips from his face, replaced by something more careful. He clears his throat, looks out at the street instead of at me.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says after a moment.
“No,” I say. “You didn’t.”
A bus rattles past. Headlights wash over our shoes and vanish down the block. Somewhere across the street, a drunk couple is laughing too loudly, staggering toward a rideshare with the confidence of people who think the night still belongs to them.
Liam shifts beside me, but he doesn’t say anything. Smart. I know he wants to. He never did like silence. That’s my little brother.
He lets the silence stretch, his breath curling in the cold, then glances over, trying for casual. “You bought a ring yet?”
“No,” I say, too quickly.
He lets it slide. Maybe he doesn’t care, or maybe he’s tired of fighting me over things I won’t say.
The truth is, there won’t be a ring. Not a real one. Not the way people imagine. This marriage isn’t about love or hope or any of the things that keep people warm at night. It’s an arrangement. A deal struck in back rooms. Something signed to bind two families, to seal wounds that never healed the right way. Some debts don’t get paid with money.
It’s a price, not a promise.
Liam shrugs, stuffing his hands deeper in his pockets. “She’ll expect one, you know. Even if she doesn’t want it.”
