Page 23 of Vow

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Haven’s house was colder than she wanted it to be when she finally arrived home. Staying the night with Andino hadn’t exactly been the plan, and now it kind of felt like the rising sun in the backdrop of her kitchen window was mocking her.

Well done, you fucked him again.

Maybe cold wasn’t the right word for her place. Maybe empty would fit the bill better. And that was just as big of a problem as the cold thing, frankly.

She missed her friend.

Missed Maria, too.

She really missed Andino.

Was this going to be her life now?

The stupid girl who knew better, but kept going back for more until there was nothing left of her to take? Because that’s how it felt, in a lot of ways. As though every time she and Andino crossed paths, she left a piece of herself with him, and he had yet to give those many pieces back to her.

He just kept them.

So yes, she was cold, empty, and entirely fucking alone.

She swore the faint ache between her thighs, and the hunger still burning brightly through her body was something else that was mocking her. Every step she took inside her home reminded her of the night before. Her skin still hummed from his touch, and how it left her higher than ever.

This wasn’t fair.

Why did it have to be like this?

How could he look at her, say he didn’t love her like he meant it, and just lie even though he knew it was killing her? How could she keep wanting him, and loving him when this was what he did?

How?

Haven was nursing her second cup of coffee, and feeling like the worst kind of shit when a knock echoed on her front door. She had every mind to ignore whoever the fuck it was, and stay right where she sat. The last thing she wanted to do was move.

Wallow some more.

Continue her pity party.

Not move.

When the persistent knocking continued, Haven finally got irritated enough to go answer the door. She practically tossed her cup into the sink, uncaring if the mug broke. She answered the door by flinging it open with a harsh, “What?”

The young man—he couldn’t be more than twenty—on the other side of the door wore a white uniform with a flower logo printed on the breast pocket. He held out a bushel of mixed winter flowers.

“Miss … Haven Murphy?” the man asked quietly. “Sorry, but I was told to keep knocking until you answered.”

Haven blinked. “Oh?”

“Yes. These are for you.” He handed the flowers over, adding, “Have a great day.”

Standing in the cold March air in her opened doorway, Haven stared at the flowers in her hand. Tucked in the very top of the bushel was a card with handwriting that wasn’t familiar, but the name attached certainly was.

It simply read, You’re right. I am a terribly good liar. –Andino

Because he did, she knew.

Loved her.

So, why did he have to hurt her?