Page 3 of Broken Vows

“Welcome to Shades of White.” My voice is unnaturally high. I flinch against the sound and wait for his smile to change when he realizes who I am.

One moment passes, then two. And… nothing. Literally nothing but a politely generic smile.

“Lexie?” Theodore asks, and I brace myself for the flicker of recognition to cross his perfectly groomed, five-o’clock-shadowed face as he places me and the different name I go by. “Is that short for Alexandra?”

Is he actually serious right now? How can he not know who I am? There’s not even a flash of acknowledgement in those deep bourbon-brown eyes. Not a nervous hand through his inky black hair. Not a twitch in the twenty pounds of sheer muscle he’s put on that towering frame since the last time I saw him. Nothing.

As a naïve young student, I spent a year daydreaming that somehow in a sea of other girls, Theodore Astor would notice me. How his gaze would linger, sharpen, settle. How I’d pretend not to feel it at first, resisting his charm while he bided his time. In those fantasies, he was intoxicatingly relentless. He’d corner me in his father’s office—my mentor—lowering his voice as if the walls themselves were listening. He’d murmur all the things he wouldn’t do if I kept ignoring him, his words brushing my ear—both a threat and promise. His breath would warm my skin as he traced the line of my neck, a hand would slide slowly up my leg, always stopping just short of where I wanted it most.

That was before he ruined my life.

And he doesn’t even remember me.

“Nope, short for Lexie.” I shake his hand, hard, fighting the urge to dig my nails into his skin. “Nice to meet you, Mr.…” Two can play this game, asshole.

“This is Doctor Astor,” Sydney chimes in as his grip firms against mine before he drops it.

Doctor? Don’t people have to take an oath to be a doctor? They’re meant to be compassionate and caring—not so cold and calculating that demons themselves run in fear.

“But please, just call me Theo,” he says, holding the type of confidence that comes from wealth, looks, and a mother who never told him no. His grin drips with sex and honey, carrying the power to dissolve the thong from any straight woman within a ten-mile radius. For a while, that smile held my dreams before it haunted my nightmares. And yet, there’s a sensation that this smile is the pocket of sunshine hiding the ominous, shadowy clouds of an approaching storm.

He adds, “Unless you’re needing me to look at some festering wound, or read your chart, then Dr. Astor it is. Otherwise, Theo is perfectly fine.”

He actually thinks he’s funny, does he?

Theo wraps a protective arm around the woman next to him. “And this is my fiancée, Annabelle Barlowe.”

Before my mouth drops to the floor, I suck in my cheeks. Barlowe? As in one of the renowned billionaire families, as close to royalty as you can get in America—that Barlowe? Jesus Christ. No wonder we had to sign an NDA.

“Very nice to meet you all,” Annabelle says with a dazzling, warm smile, and moves to shake my hand first, then Justin’s, then Sydney’s. I wonder if she has any idea of the devil she’s about to marry.

“We’re so honored to have you as a client. Oh, wow, what a beautiful ring,” Sydney interjects as Annabelle finishes shaking her hand.

“Thank you! It took us a while to find the perfect one,” Annabelle says.

I slide only the quickest glance to Theo. “Oh, a proposal without the ring?” The question is innocent enough on the surface, but I know it’s probing and silently beg Sydney and Justin not to read anything into it. I clear my throat. “I love that, actually. Imagine spending the rest of your life with something you hated.”

“Right?” Annabelle tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Theo’s a bit of a control freak.”

“I’m right here,” he interrupts.

“You know what I mean.” She playfully rolls her eyes. “He likes everything to be perfect and didn’t want to ruin the moment with something I wouldn’t like.”

“Well, it’s gorgeous. A local jeweler?”

“No,” Theo says. “We went to Boston for this piece.”

The hair on my neck stands. “The city must hold a special place for you both.”

“Yes, it does,” Theo says, his gaze unwavering. “Have you been to Boston?”

Asshole. As if he doesn’t know. The mention of Boston takes me back to a time when I still had hope for the future, when his father would tell me to keep working hard and used words like potential and gifted, and I believed him.

I wonder if he had any idea his son would strip it all away from me.

“Yes, I have,” I say, trying to remain professional despite my growing anger.

“They have a tremendous independent jewelry scene.” His voice carries a lightness that makes me want to rip my ears off. “Next time you’re visiting, you should check it out. I’ll give you the names of a few places.”