Page 73 of Stolen Vows
That’s my first thought.
The second is that I’m a coward. If I’d just told Stella everything about why I was sending her away back then or why I showed up now of all times, maybe…maybe I could’ve avoided this.
We could’ve left the auction and run away from the people after us. Instead, I wanted immediate gratification, and now, I’ve cost both of us our lives.
Coglione.My father’s voice peeks up from where I’ve shoved it deep in the recesses of my mind, and I think he was right.
I’m not fit to be a figurehead, and I’m certainly not fit to be a husband. Not Stella’s anyway.
Fuck that.My heart wars with my brain, telling it to shut the fuck up.
If I’m not worthy of Stella, then who the hell is?
Who else would have sent her away to make sure she got to live her life? I only came here in the hopes of joining her in some way—not to make her serve at my side as some puppet.
What were you hoping to get from all of it?
Her.That’s all I ever wanted. Why the hell didn’t I tell her that?
When I was a boy, listening to her in church and watching her every time after that.
When money was what sent me to Saint Paul’s, and I had no intention at first of leaving without it, and then without her.
When I showed up after seven years of watching her accomplish her dreams from afar without me, falling head over heels with each secret smile of satisfaction.
All I’ve ever wanted was her.
And as I raise the gun, the sound of footsteps echoing around me very distantly, that desire is what I latch on to. Even if it’s futile in the end, I’ll go out loving her.
27
STELLA
Eyes wide, I stare at the fistful of long, dark brown hair my fingers are wrapped around. Cool air brushes across my neck, now exposed from the sudden change in length. The blunt, uneven ends are picked up by a light breeze drifting down from the vent in the ceiling, some spilling past my shoulders, some not quite reaching my collarbone.
I think I might be dead.
My left arm is extended behind my head, cushioning it. Each finger throbs, and I wonder if any bones are broken from the impact. The length of my spine screams in horrific agony as I lift a leg, trying to assess the damage to my body.
Frankie’s form is now entirely slumped onto his side, his head bleeding from where it collided with the elevator floor.
His lips are still blue.
I don’t know if he’s alive.
Blinking, I attempt to orient myself, replaying the events that led up to my supine position on the ground. One second, Leo was telling me to cut my hair out of the closed doors and that he’d meet me at the bottom, and the next, we were free-falling and crash-landing.
I moved to my back instantly, using the rail on the wall to push myself into the position. Everything after is kind of a blur.
Most elevators have several safety features that kick in if one mechanism fails, but this one malfunctioning seems pretty on track with the decrepit state of the tower in general. I just didn’t imagineevery featurewould stall and lump me in with the statistic I gave Leo last night.
Longing stirs in my stomach.Leo.Slowly, I turn my head toward the elevator doors, which split wide open upon crashing. He isn’t standing outside of them or shoving his way in, however, so that tells me something very, very bad has happened.
Either I am dead or…
I glance at Frankie again, forcing a swallow despite the dryness in my mouth. A metallic tang works its way down my throat, and it takes me a moment to realize I must have bitten my tongue during the fall.
If Frankie was poisoned, does that mean someone’s after him? After Leo?
