Page 95 of Betrayal and Vows

The words crack something open inside my chest. A sob escapes me as he buries himself deep inside me. We’re forever bonded.

"I love you, Lena. I should have said it before."

Tears spill down my cheeks. "I love you, too. So much it feels like dying."

We move together unhurried despite the danger surrounding us. This isn't the desperate passion of before. This is worship. This is goodbye disguised as hello. This is two souls recognizing they were made for each other in a world determined to keep them apart.

He kisses away my tears as we climb higher together. When I fall apart beneath him, it's with his name on my lips and his love filling all the broken places inside me. He follows me over the edge with a broken sound that might be my undoing.

I wrap my arms around him and hold him so tightly I know I’m cutting off his air.

I can’t let go. The weight of his body threatens to suffocate me. And yet, I still can’t let go.

We lie there in the quiet chapel, our bodies covered with a sheen of perspiration. Our hearts beating against one another. I’m certain mine matches his rhythm.

Eventually, he pulls away. He reaches for his jeans. I watch as he fishes around in his pocket. He holds out a small gold ring. “It was my mother’s. The only thing I have left of her.”

I stare at it, heart thudding against my ribs. I sit up and fumble with the bracelet on my wrist. I take it off and then remove the cross. It’s one of several charms. I place it in his palm.

“My grandmother gave me the bracelet,” I whisper.

We trade. His mother’s ring for my grandmother’s cross.

“If we survive?—”

“We’ll return them,” I finish. “But if we don’t…”

“At least we’ll have pieces of each other,” he says.

I nod. My eyes sting but I won’t cry. Not here. Not when we just stitched ourselves together for the last time.

We get dressed slowly, like undoing the moment too fast will make it vanish. I want to drag out every second of this final goodbye. My heart can’t handle this.

I truly believe I might just die of a broken heart.

Anton’s phone buzzes.

He frowns, pulls it out, checks the screen and then looks confused.

“What?” I ask.

The pictures. I forgot to tell him.

No. That’s not true. I didn’t tell him because I knew he would panic.

I suddenly feel like I’ve been lying.

“My mom got pictures of us!”

He looks at me. “What?”

“Earlier. Pictures. Someone sent her pictures of us. Sex.”

“Fuck,” he groans.

Then he looks down at his phone, swipes the screen and then shows it to me.

The color drains from my face.