Page 42 of Broken Vows

“Do you, huh?” She lifts a brow and that little smirk of hers is doing something fierce to my insides. “He sent a mug that said, ‘I love you so much I’d cut a bitch for you.’ I bet twenty bucks Justin picked out the mug and his husband picked the flowers. They’ve been together since high school, like you and Annabelle.”

Everything stills. I love Anna—I do. But every time I’m with Lexie, the rest of the world fades away. It’s like being trapped in a cave: dark, wet, sometimes beautiful, sometimes suffocating. I’m sitting here tasting cake for my own wedding and somehow forgetting my bride entirely again. “Yeah,” I say at last. “Like me and Anna.”

There’s so much more tangled up with Anna than Lexie could ever know, and part of me wants to spill it all and see where I’d stand with her. But I can’t. Because even as we spend more time together and I begrudgingly enjoy her company, I still don’t trust her.

“Are your parents excited about the wedding?” she asks, the subject change throwing me.

My jaw tightens. “I don’t really talk to them.”

Her head snaps up. “You don’t talk to your family?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Even your dad?”

“Especially not my dad.”

Looking at Lexie now, a part of me wonders, again, if she knew back then what she was getting into. I know it’s been seven years, and it’s a long fucking time to hold a grudge, but she destroyed me. When she showed up on my father’s arm that night… my gut tightens.

Now is not the time to relive this. I need to deflect before I do or say something I regret.

Lexie has proven herself a formidable adversary—maybe even the best I’ve ever had. I know that. And yet, nothing about these last few moments felt like a game. The way she tugs that lip between her teeth, the way she tucks her hair back and slowly turns her wine glass—it doesn’t feel like she’s teasing.

The chef comes out, asks if we need anything else, and I think we both hold back a groan. After nearly two hours of cake testing, my glucose levels are probably so high they could take out a small army. We decline, and he says we are welcome to stay as long as we need.

Once he leaves, I set the fork on the plate and reach for the coffee. “Thank you for taking one for the team and trying the wine pairings.” I drum my fingers on the table, enjoying the softened buzzed look spreading on her freckles.

“You’re welcome. Although I’m so full, I’m not sure I can make it up the stairs to my apartment tonight. If you try to contact me later and don’t get a response, please call the paramedics and let them know the damage I’ve done.”

I smile. “You know I’m a doctor, right? You can just call me if you need.”

She chuckles. Fuck me, she has a beautiful smile. The way her full, pillowy lips highlight those teeth with that same cute, slivered gap she had back when I first met her. Usually, she uses that mouth for evil. She tests me, teases me, torments me, but tonight, she’s splintered her façade, and I shouldn’t fucking like what I see.

But I do.

“Can you do some sort of stomach-resuscitating thing? Is there gut defibrillator where you rub the paddles together, yell ‘clear!’ and shock some of this sugar out of my system?”

And now it’s my turn to laugh. “Sadly, no. Just hydrate, and if you can, move your body.”

Why did I say that? I mean, it’s sound medical advice. I give the same mindless advice dozens of times a day, but now all I can think about is her, in her home, moving her body, using her hands, writhing…

For a split-second, my eyes drop to her lips. And no. I can’t do this. We can’t do this.

But fuck I want to.

Buzz. Her goddamn phone shakes against the table, ruining whatever this moment is, and even though it needed to stop, a heat flares through me. “Shut off your pho—”

We both look at the screen at the same time. My clinic name is flashing on her screen.

“Why the hell is my clinic calling you?” I ask, and she clearly has the same question. She ignores me and taps it on.

“Hello?” she says and completely stills. “Yes, this is she. Wait, what? What happened? When?”

I know that voice. I work twice a month in the urgent care attached to my clinic and have heard that voice. “Put it on speaker,” I say but she’s not listening.

“Oh my God, what? Is she okay? Oh God, oh God, where are you located?” She gets up so fast that she bumps into the table and I snatch the wine glass before it smashes into her plate. Her fingers tremble as she grabs her purse and shoves the phone under her chin.

“Lexie, put the phone on speaker,” I say again, firm, trying to get her to focus on me but her eyes are frantic, dashing between me, the table, and the entrance. She yanks her jacket off the back of the chair and the chair thuds into the ground.