Page 100 of Vow to Claim You

“It doesn’t matter.” She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “It’s fine, Aric. My heart was already broken. There’s not much left in there to damage.” She glances at me, and her voice softens. “But now I’ll have to watch it. The two of you. For the rest of however long this life lasts.”

There’s nothing I can say that isn’t either a lie or a cruelty, so I give her the only true thing I have.

“I’m sorry.” I mean it more than she’ll ever believe me. “I never wanted it to come to this. I wanted you somewhere far from all of it. Safe, free, with a man you’d actually chosen. Someone you could fall in love with.”

Once, I thought I wanted to be that man.

Standing here now, with my wife’s taste still on my tongue, I understand that I’d never wanted Chiara the way I want Ayanna. I never even came close.

“I did choose, Aric.” Chiara’s voice is fragile. “I chose you. A long time ago, and I never took it back.”

She looks at me for a moment as if expecting me to say something she’d like to hear. But there’s nothing.

“And you didn’t choose me,” she finishes.

It’s true, and we both know it’s true. The only kindness left in me is not insulting her by pretending otherwise. I chose a contract over her. I chose the alliance, the seat, the war I was born into. And then somewhere along the way, I chose a sharp-tongued princess who hated me, without ever meaning to.

Now I know something else. For Ayanna, I’d walk away from all of it. I’d thrown it all away if she asked. I’d burn every last piece of it to the ground if choosing her demanded it.

But I don’t say any of it aloud, because no version of that doesn’t cut.

So I say nothing.

Chiara looks at me a moment longer, reading the silence for everything it admits. Then she nods, slowly, as if I’ve confirmed something she came out here already knowing, and walks past me toward the villa.

I lean against the stone balustrade and stare out at the sea, its wind cutting through my shirt. And I can’t stop thinking of Ayanna asleep upstairs. Of the way she kissed me back. Of her hand in mine. Of her saying good night like there would be a tomorrow after this.

My father spent my entire life teaching me that love was weakness. A liability. A knife handed to your enemies. And the cruelest part isn’t that he might have been right. It’s that if loving her destroys me, I don’t think I’d choose differently.

I push away from the balustrade and head back inside, because my wife is upstairs. And I’m done pretending that isn’t exactly where I belong.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Ayanna

Iclose my eyes, trying to fall asleep and fail miserably. Aric lies on his back beside me, perfectly still. His breathing is controlled—too controlled—like he’s pretending to sleep.

Which means I’m not the only liar in this bed.

I keep my eyes closed, because what exactly am I supposed to do? Roll over and ask whether the taste of me still lingers on his mouth the way the taste of him lingers on mine? Ask whether his body aches for my touch the way mine does for his?

No. Absolutely not.

Princesses have dignity.

Even if said dignity currently consists of lying rigid beneath the hotel sheets while replaying the moment my husband kissed me like he’d finally run out of reasons not to. The fraction of a second where his control slipped, and I felt the raw, unfiltered want beneath the ice.

One kiss.

One bloody kiss, and my entire nervous system has staged a mutiny.

Minutes pass. Then more. The silence stretches long enough that the sea outside begins to sound louder than my thoughts.

Eventually, Aric pushes himself upright. I still don’t open my eyes, but I feel his gaze linger on me before I hear the quiet rustle of fabric. His weight leaves the bed slowly, as though he’s trying not to wake me. Then I hear the footsteps, and a soft click of the suite door.

The moment he’s gone, my whole body lets go, like I’d been holding a note too long. Air. Finally. Space that isn’t full of him.

I wait a moment longer, making sure he’s left before I slip out of bed, walk to the balcony doors, and step into the cool Sicilian night. The sea air does more for me than the last hour of fake sleep.