Page 87 of Broken Vows

Those words gut me, because I need her, too. Now, forever. I turn her back over so I can see her heated, hooded eyes, so I can take in the swollen lips, the hard nipples, the pinked flushed face.

I remove the rest of my clothes, climb back onto the bed, and finally, I push into her, sinking into her warm, silken world. And I stay. I don’t move, I don’t thrust, I just hold. I’m taking in the way her plush walls hug my cock, the way my heartbeat races in my chest, the way this moment is more intense but less frantic than all the other times.

She grips my face and brings me to her, but she doesn’t kiss me. She reads me. “I’m right here, Theo, okay?” she says like she knows what I need to hear. “I’m not running.”

Those eyes… they destroy me. I cup her face back and press my forehead into hers. Slowly I start rocking. Long, slow, intentional strokes. My eyes don’t break contact with hers. I’ve never had a moment like this. Weightless yet heavy. Euphoric yet sobering.

Lexie makes me forget everything. She’s my healer and my savior.

And to the deepest part of me, I’m terrified she’ll be my heartbreak.

38 Lexie

I pick up my phone and stare at the empty screen. I flip it over, put it down, pick it up. I—

“Lexie, you’re driving me fucking nuts,” Justin says, holding his hand out. “Give me your phone. For your own good. Seriously.”

“Sorry, sorry. I know.” I force a smile and drop it into my purse. He’s right. For the past five days, Theo and I have barely spoken—just a handful of texts and one rushed phone call. I feel like a starved caged animal, restless and on edge, and I hate it. Annabelle came back last week, and just like I feared, Theo pulled away immediately. He warned me he’d go dark while they worked through the final “break-up” details. He just didn’t warn me he’d go pitch fucking black.

I glance at my computer screen, but I can’t absorb a single thing—my mind is too scattered. How could it not be, when I’m supposed to be fine-tuning the final details of a fake wedding that’s three weeks away and I’m falling in love with the groom.

“Is this about the new guy?” Justin asks as he leans back on his chair. “Need me to pull the best friend card and have a conversation with him about how to treat a lady?”

“No. Not yet.” I take a sip of coffee and it slides to my sour stomach. “Let’s try not to scare him off before you get the chance to know him. First impressions and all.”

Or, in this case, fifth impressions. I say a silent prayer that once everything is out in the open, Justin will understand why I’ve kept the details from him and only mentioned I started seeing someone “special”.

“This one’s pretty serious, huh?”

Serious doesn’t even begin to explain my feelings.

And it terrifies the shit out of me.

“Yeah, I hope so. And I hate that I’m in so deep now that I start freaking out when he pulls back, even though I understand why. It’s just… hard.”

“I really feel that. I don’t think it ever gets any easier—even when you’re married,” Justin says gently. “But if something doesn’t feel right, it’s better to be honest with him about it so you know where you stand.”

I sigh. He’s probably right.

“If what you have is worth fighting for, then maybe it’s time to fight.”

I mouth that I love him—even when he’s being insufferably right about knowing what’s best—and go back to reading phantom emails.

But the days continue to pass, and I hardly hear from Theo. With a knotted stomach, I reread the text message I sent last night, which he still hasn’t responded to.

Lexie: I miss you. When can I see you?

I start writing another message to check if everything’s okay, when, by some miracle, typing bubbles appear. I freeze, holding my breath.

Theo: sorry, missed this text. I’ll figure something out.

Bullshit. I’m not playing this game where Theo thinks he can walk all over me. Been, there done that, got the trophy. But no more. So I don’t reply.

Days crawl by, and my simmering anger starts to boil; out of stubborn principle, I don’t reach out to him. He doesn’t contact me either.

When I check my phone for the millionth time that day at work, and see no new message, I storm down the hall to take a breather, away from my desk and the annoying wedding reminders popping up on my computer. As I pass Sydney’s office, I stop in my tracks when I hear sniffling coming from inside. I hesitate. I’m not sure if it’s my place to check in on her or not. But the knowledge that Sydney never cries, not at work anyway, and that she prides herself on being the consummate professional spur me on to tentatively knock on her office door.

I hear a weak “Come in” and see Sydney trying to quickly wipe away her tears with a tissue. “Oh, hey Lexie. Come in and shut the door.” Not even her chunky glasses could conceal the bloodshot eyes.