Page 48 of Devious Vows

I say it’s all a bullshit fucking farce. I can see what they can’t, the almost invisible signs that only someone who knew Remy like I do would see. I feel his eyes on me when they shouldn’t be, feel the heat of his touch when he walks past me. I refuse to believe he’s fine with this, with Viva.

But my refusal doesn’t mean much, does it? Because I can’t change this any more than the sun can refuse to set. I wish I were somewhere else. I wish none of this would ever have happened and that I never fell for Remy Luciano. But more realistically, I wish I wasn’t hiding in the back of the cathedral while Viva checked that all her checklists were crossed off and everything was in place for her big day tomorrow. Then I wouldn’t be on the verge of a complete breakdown, eating candy instead of paying attention to what’s going on around me.

But I also wouldn’t have known what it was like to be completely consumed by a man who called me his heart. I wouldn’t know what it was like to have my heart jump into my throat with just a look or lose my breath with a simple touch. I wouldn’t know what it was like to be looked at like I was the most important thing to ever exist.

This pain I feel now is worth all of that and more.

I crush my candy wrapper in my palm just to smooth it back out, staring at the trash in my hand instead of paying attention to the others. Viva has been more pleasant since Remy has become fiancé of the year for her. She’s even gone out of her way to invite me to lunches outside of wedding planning, not that I’d ever accept. I don’t want her kindness or her fake pity. She got what she wanted and I’d appreciate being left out of it completely.

Chelsea and Anna come and sit next to me, chattering about floral arrangements, and I sigh, knowing my short-lived break from them is over.

“Beverly, did you get to see your bouquet?”

It’s Anna who asks, and I look over at her with a short nod. “Yeah, I did. It’s really pretty.”

I smile but I don’t feel it. I’m not even lying, the bouquets are pretty. Everything is pretty. The entire wedding, the bride. It’ll be the wedding taken straight from a magazine.One that should have been mine.The topic makes me uncomfortable, lodging a lump in my throat I can’t swallow past. I stand and they both look up at me in confusion. “I’m going to go outside, get some air for a few minutes.”

Chelsea nods, a confused smile on her lips. “Okay, I think we’re all going to be walking over to the reception area soon anyway.”

“Great. I’ll just wait out there.” I shuffle past them on the bench, crushing my candy wrapper in my palm as I make my way outside. It’s bright and sunny out, a cool breeze pebbling my skin when I sit on the bottom step.

I hear his footsteps before I see him. I know they’re his because of the way he walks, the lazy way he lets his heels tap on the ground. I look at my candy wrapper to avoid having to see him, my heart thumping almost painfully against my ribs like it always does when he’s around.

I feel the slight brush of his fingers along the back of my neck and close my eyes, suck my lip between my teeth to try and fight the ache the soft touch created. I open them when I hear him step off the last step, watching his back as he continues walking without a word.

That’s all he ever does now.

It doesn’t matter if we’re at some wedding thing or with the other guys, he doesn’t talk to me. He doesn’t get in my space. If we somehow happen to end up alone together, he leaves. It’s like he’s purposefully avoiding me, treating me like a leper. But he likes to tease my sad heart by leaving me with a whisper of a touch here and there or scorch my skin with his gaze when no one is looking.

As much as I hate it, I live for those small interactions, I love the way they crush my lungs in a silent reminder that he cares despite everything. I don’t understand it but I’ll take what I can get even if it’ll never be any more than that.

I don’t know when it happened. When everything I loved to hate turned into something I hated to love. Maybe it was the night of my first tattoo. Or maybe it was when he took me to the park to feed the swans. We have a million little moments it could have been and I couldn’t put my finger on it even if I tried.

What I do know is that my story has always been stained with one man in particular. Remy Oliver Luciano. He blotches across my past like spilled ink, staining my fingers whenever I tried to scrub him away.

A snide remark that was split by a winking dimple.

A stolen first kiss that tasted as sweet as burnt sugar.

And a night during a summer storm that changed everything.

Our story is one we don’t get to finish. The ending snatched from us because of greed and a Famiglia loyalty I will never understand.

Viva clicks down the steps, pausing at my side. “I’m going to the garden now if you want to walk with me.”

I look up at her, shaking my head with another fake smile plastered on my face. “I think I’ll head there in a little bit.”

She smooths her hand over her skirt, keeping it down when another small gust of wind blows through. “Okay.”

Her red-soled heels click the rest of the way down the steps, lightly sinking into the gravel as she walks away. I stand as I stare at the back of her head, watching her fluff her hair, the giant diamond on her finger catching the light from the sun. She’s getting what I didn’t even know I wanted until it was taken from me, and now I can’t help but see those stains from my past for the beauty they’ve always been.

“Do you love him?” My voice sounds stronger than I feel, shouted at her back loud enough she stops. When she turns to look at me, I repeat myself, “Do you love him?”

She sighs, eyes looking around us instead of at me. “It doesn’t matter, Beverly. Just let it go.”

I swallow, the lump in my throat trying to squeeze tears from my eyes, and I do my best to fight them. “It doesn’t matter?” I take a deep breath, a humorless laugh sneaking from my chest. “Do you even know anything about him? Do you even care to?”

She opens her mouth but I cut her off, my pain turning into anger.

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