Page 27 of Broken Vows

Theo turns back at that—just slightly. Not enough for Annabelle to notice. His smile never falters.

But his eyes do.

And that’s when the panic hits.

13 Theo

The new espresso machine I own isn’t as good as the last one, and I make a note to tell Michael to upgrade. I may have kicked away every inherited toxic trait from my father, but we agree on a few things. Good coffee, good Scotch, and medium-rare steaks. Everything else, he can go fuck himself.

I glance down at a voicemail notification from my mother, and debate for a split-second on playing it. My pulse ticks against my neck until I toss the phone on the desk. This is message number five this last month, and if I don’t respond soon, she’ll pull some shit like barging into my workplace with a steely smile and loud voice, demanding to see me. But right now, I can’t. Especially after seeing Olivia last week.

Every time I encounter a female student my father victimized, rage simmers inside until it nearly explodes. I’ve met with Olivia at least a dozen times now, and even though she battled through my father’s terror, and is braving to go public, she’s still shaken to her core.

When she asked to meet me recently at a hotel where my father used to take her, I didn’t hesitate. Her therapist thought revisiting the space with someone she trusted might help her reclaim a sense of control. She wanted absolute secrecy, and I honored that. I didn’t even tell Anna I’d taken the afternoon off.

But in the hotel elevator, the severity of the situation ransacked her. She clung to me like she was drowning. And I get it—she wanted to feel safe when my father made her feel unsafe. But when she tried to kiss me… fuck. She’s a fragile, confused woman, broken and shattered by my father, and I had to calmly explain, again, that I’m engaged.

I know I’m doing the right thing. But I’m making these women relive some of the most traumatic parts of their lives. Does the end truly justify the means? Is this really about seeking justice on their behalf, or is it about me, and my need to destroy my father?

My mind shifts to Lexie. I run my hands down my face. Not even five weeks in, and she’s making me paranoid as fuck. At the hotel, she kept asking if I’d been there before. So much so that I’d convinced myself that maybe she’d seen me there. But that’s impossible. I would’ve felt her presence a mile off.

Still, Lexie does this—she slips past my logic and invades my otherwise rational thoughts.

I need her out of my head.

My phone knocks against the table as it buzzes. Anna.

Christ. I should be focused on Anna, my future wife for God’s sake, and not some venomous, torturous minx.

“You hate me forever, don’t you?” Anna says when I answer.

“Why, because you’re ditching me for dinner with your girlfriends, and I’ll be stuck in New York meeting with hotel managers and learning how to do the foxtrot?”

Anna’s sweet giggle comes over the phone. “It’s not the foxtrot, Theo.” And then her giggling stops. “Right? I mean, isn’t it the wedding waltz or something?”

“Hell, if I know,” I say, stepping to the window to look out on the city below. “You’re a woman. Aren’t you supposed to know this stuff?”

“You did not just play that card,” she says. Oh, I love getting a rise out of Anna. It’s one of the best parts of my day. “Say something like that again, and I’ll force you to do our first dance to Beyoncé.”

“Beyoncé?” I say, lifting the mug to my lips. “Did you and Lady Gaga break up?”

“I mean, both are incredible. We have to keep our options open if we choose something besides the waltz,” Anna says. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you dance, so maybe—”

“And I’m telling you right the hell now, you never will.”

The sound of the phone shuffling comes through the speaker. Anna whispers to someone—probably a house staff—then says, “we’ll have to divide and conquer to get this wedding done on time. I’m really sorry that this dinner—with donors—came up last minute, but I’ll take the next venue tour while you’re at work.”

I like to give Anna crap that being an art philanthropist basically means that she just sits around with other rich people talking about Van Gogh or some shit while eating delicious meals. But she’s genuinely dedicated to the non-profit she co-runs and it often takes up more time than my practice.

I might be pretending otherwise, but I’m not upset she has to miss today’s meeting. In fact, when she told me, I thought the timing was perfect. It’s been a week since we saw Lexie at the hotel, and I need to see her—alone. Anna has always been the angelic light in my life, grounding me and keeping my inner demons at bay. But Lexie—she knows exactly how to push my buttons, and the way she’s been playing me in our interactions has me burning with an urge to strike back.

“You know you won’t be learning to dance tonight, right?” Anna says. “We won’t start taking lessons until closer to the wedding date.”

Fucking dance lessons. The things I do to make others happy. “I’m going to hire a dance double.”

“You are insufferable. It’s probably why I love you so much,” she says. “What time do you have to leave for work today? Since you ditched me for dinner last night, I was going to swing by your apartment and bring you your favorite breakfast sandwich from Jennifer’s House.”

Dammit. Jennifer’s House does have the best sandwiches. “Ditched you for dinner? You mean the one with you and your mom where I dodge every invasive, painful question about the most diminutive details about my day?” Anna’s snort is loud because she knows it’s true.