Page 141 of Vow to Claim You

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s what makes it charming.”

Naomi groans into her upside-down book. “Can we please talk about something else? Anything else.”

“The gala,” Eero offers helpfully. “Big event. Lots of important people. Ayanna’s debut as Mrs. Vold. Very stressful.”

“Thank you for that summary.”

“Happy to help.”

I lean back, studying him. Beneath the easy charm, there’s a steadiness in his eyes that wasn’t there eight weeks ago. Or maybe it was, and I just wasn’t looking for it.

“You’re coming, I assume.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You’ll behave?”

“Define behave.”

“No starting fights. No seducing anyone’s wife. No⁠—”

“I don’t seduce anyone’s wife.” His voice sharpens, just slightly. “I’m not Bobby Thorne.”

My brow arches.

“Heard you struggling with the seat logistics.” He shrugs one shoulder.

“Hm, someone’s been eavesdropping,” I tease.

“I wasn’t⁠—”

We burst into laughter, and I think Eero might’ve just blushed.

“I just want the night to go smoothly,” I state.

“It will.” He stands, all grace and confidence, and I catch the way his gaze flicks to Naomi before it comes back to me. “You’ve worked hard for this. It’s going to be perfect.”

“You almost sound sincere.”

“I am sincere.” He pauses at the door. “Despite what everyone seems to think, I’m capable of it occasionally.”

He leaves, and Naomi watches him go with an expression that tells me everything I need to know.

Definitely too late.

The days blur together after that. Final fittings for my gown—a custom piece. Last-minute RSVPs that require seating chart adjustments. A minor crisis involving the ice sculpture. A major crisis involving the flowers.

Through it all, Aric is always there to support me.

He doesn’t interfere—that was our agreement, my vision, my execution—but he’s there. In the background. A steady presence I’ve come to rely on without quite realizing it.

He reviews the security arrangements with Tassilo, adding a few details: twice as many men on the perimeter, a second detail assigned to Naomi alone, every entrance mapped, and the ballroom to be swept twice before a single guest sets foot in it. One time, I hear Aric’s voice gone flat and hard over the staffing list, because an event this size means strangers in the house. Caterers. Florists. Musicians. Forty-some temporary hires Ingrid vetted and Tassilo vetted again, and Aric still doesn’t like it. The other time I walk in on Tassilo turning a floor plan toward Aric with the exits marked in red, and I’m reminded—with a small, cold drop in my stomach—that the beautiful room I’ve spent eight weeks building is about to fill with two hundred people who kill for a living.

Aric signs off on the guest list. Vetoes one name I didn’t recognize (a rival family, apparently, recent bad blood, best to avoid) but approves everyone else without comment (except for Bobby Thorne, who Aric knew should be invited but tried every excuse to cross him out of the guest list and got so happy when he heard Thorne had declined).

Until I find the name I struck off it sitting back on the final draft.