Page 60 of Broken Vows

Relief warms me. I clap once, a little too cheerful. “Great, now that we’re friends again, I need to know everything I’ve missed out on. Not just wedding stuff, but you. What’s been going on in your life?”

Her eyes narrow at the sudden overfriendliness, but she humors me. “Well, if you insist on knowing, I went on a date.”

Yeah, I know. My jaw clenches. Don’t be a dick. Don’t be a dick. Lexie needs to know that I’m not always an asshole. “How did it go? Did you find ‘the one’?”

“Definitely not the one,” she says with a chuckle and my body releases. “Actually, it kind of sucked.”

The tone perks my ears. “Well, now you have to tell me what happened.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. You don’t want to hear this.”

About a bad date? Yes, the fuck I do. “I’m pretty sure in our contract, subsection B, it states that if Lexie has a bad date, she’s required to provide me with full details.”

She giggles and my chest swells with pride. “Subsection B, huh? Funny I don’t remember that.” She chews her lips into her mouth. “God, it’s embarrassing.”

“Oh good. My specialty.”

She looks at me like she doesn’t quite believe me, but then the server arrives, setting down our plates. Lexie’s eyes go wide at the mountain of whipped cream. Before she can dig in, I stealthily swipe her plate and hold it hostage, “You don’t get to eat,” I say, grinning, “until you tell me.”

“Seriously?” If looks could kill, I’d be dead. “Fine.” She exhales. “So, I’ve gone out with this guy before. A few years ago. Nice enough, but, you know, I didn’t text back for a reason. But I didn’t remember the reason. Until I did.” She pauses and I can already tell I’m not going to like what comes next. “He gets to my place and… you know never mind. You’re a client. I really need to stop talking about this.”

If she calls me a client one more time, I might throw this crepe into the wall. “I’m not just a client.”

“Yeah, you are,” she says, her smile gone. “And you made that abundantly clear in the dress shop.”

My face heats. Fuck, I hate myself sometimes. I take a bite and wash it back with coffee. “God, I can be a dick.” I pause and carefully choose my words. “There was something about seeing you in that dress that made all of… this… feel real. I’ve been letting myself think that the wedding isn’t fazing me and I’ve got everything under control, but the truth is, I don’t. I really fucking don’t. And I unfairly took it out on you. I’m really sorry.”

This might be the most honest and open I’ve been in long time. And it feels fucking terrible. She studies my face, her brows crease, until a soft smile breaks through. “Thank you for being honest with me. And for the apology.”

I nod. “Okay, tell me about the date. The food is getting cold.” She hesitates, clearly weighing her options, so I add, more gently. “You can tell me anything.”

That seems to do it. Her shoulders relax. “So basically, he comes over and wants… you know… right away. There’s a time and place for hook-ups, but he’d asked me for dinner, so I thought that’s what it was.” She shrugs. “We start doing some stuff, but then I stop and say, “I thought we were going to dinner?”

They didn’t fuck? I shouldn’t ask. I don’t deserve to ask. But I have to know. “So you didn’t…”

Well shit. I asked.

“No, we didn’t.”

Don’t smile. Don’t fucking smile.

Too late.

“And then he actually laughed when I said we should go for dinner. Told me he thought I knew what he meant—that he never had any intention of taking me out. But he guessed, after, we could order take out or something.” The blush creeps back in her cheeks and I feel it—there’s more. And I will sit here all day until she’s comfortable enough to tell me.

Finally, she takes a breath. “I was so insulted, you know? So I kicked him out. And then he just got kind of mean.”

I immediately scan her face for any sign of trauma, and I swear to fuck if this guy even thought of laying a hand on her…

“He said that the few times we went out back in the day that he knew immediately someone like me wasn’t ‘wife material’. And it just sort of crushed me, you know? Not that I need to be a wife. Just like, the way he said it made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to be someone’s wife. Then he said I’ll never be more than eye candy and the quicker I accept it, the better off I’ll be.”

I’m going to kill this guy. I’m going to stitch his dirty fucking mouth shut first, hang him by the feet, and crack each one of his ribs with my fists until he dies from internal bleeding.

While I’m mentally plotting this fucker’s death, she seizes the moment to steal her plate back. She stabs her fork into the crepe, takes a bite and lets out a dangerously satisfied sound, then flashes me a smug, victorious smile. “Anyway, I should be grateful I dodged a bullet with that guy.”

“Lexie.” I reach for her hand, my thumb brushing over her skin. Before I can stop myself—before I even realize what I’m saying—the words slip out. “Any man, any, would be lucky to have you as their wife.”

The moment hangs between us until Lexie breaks it with a soft scoff. “Please, you’re just saying that to be nice.”