Page 48 of Vows of Ruin

He doesn’t answer, just turns those devastating eyes to Margot.

Margot, who looks like she’s busy mentally building a whipped cream fantasy, snaps to attention.

“Oh! Right. Yep. Come on, babe, I’ll help.” She grabs my hand and starts dragging me out of the kitchen.

“Wait, what the hell is going on?” I ask, confused.

“Shhh,” Margot says, practically bouncing as she pulls me toward the stairs. “It’s a surprise.”

I glance over my shoulder just before we hit the landing. Liam is still standing in the kitchen, watching me go. He licks his lips and winks. My knees damn near give out.

Margot finishes pinning the last curl in my hair, a look of pure mischief dancing in her eyes as she fluffs the strands into place. I narrow my eyes at her reflection in the mirror. “Okay, what’s going on? You’ve played dress up for long enough, now tell me.”

She grins like she’s been waiting for me to ask, skips across the room with too much energy for someone hiding something, and pulls open my closet. From it, she retrieves a dress I’ve never seen before, devastatingly beautiful.

The bodice is a deep, rich red, like wine in candlelight, overlaid with intricate black lace that crawls up into long, sheer, and delicate sleeves. The neckline dips into a daring V, scandalous in the best way. I blink at it.

“What is this?” I whisper.

“Just try it on, babe.” Margot singsongs, practically shoving it at me.

I step into the dress, let it settle over my skin like a second, darker version of myself. The lace hugs my curves. The hem sweeps the floor. When I turn to the mirror, I don’t even recognize the girl staring back at me.

I hear the door creak open.

“Holy shit.”

I spin at the sound of his voice. Max steps inside. He’s dressed in all black, shirt unbuttoned just enough, sleeves rolled up, that tousled, careless hair that drives me insane. He looks at me like I’ve undone him without even trying.

“You look…” he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. His eyes do it for him.

“Are we going somewhere?” I ask, glancing between him and Margot, who is suddenly very quiet and trying not to giggle as she walks out of the room.

Instead of answering, Max pulls out his phone. A familiar melody begins to play, soft, deep, and aching. Parachute by Camylio. Our song. My breath catches.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Blackwood,” I whisper, stepping toward him, “But this is cheating.”

“I’m not playing,” he says quietly. “I want to dance with my wife.”

He holds out his hand. I place mine in his. He pulls me close, his other hand low on my back, and we sway right there in the middle of the bedroom. The lyrics wash over us like the confession we’ve made a thousand times. It’s just us. Just this moment. I never want it to end.

When the last note fades, he leans in and presses a slow, deep kiss to my lips. “Come on,” he whispers against my mouth. “It’s time for your surprise.”

The library doors creak open, and I blink against the glow of early evening light. The sun is just starting to dip, painting the world in gold and honey. For a moment, I can’t see past the warm haze, but then I smell it. Candles, roses, and night-blooming jasmine.

Margot slips something into my hand. A bouquet of black flowers, every last one, ink-dark and breathtaking. I turn to her, mouth open to ask what the hell is happening, but she’s already walking, stepping barefoot across the grass to take her place beneath the old oak tree.

My oak tree. The one I used to hide beneath as a child when visiting Benjamin. The one where Liam and I find peace.

A soft crackle of speakers. Then music. I know the song before the first lyrics land. The Night We Met by Lord Huron. The breath leaves my lungs. The song I always heard Liam humming when I was around, quietly under his breath like no one was supposed to hear it.

My knees might give out. I don’t know how I’m still standing when I feel Max step behind me, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back.

His eyes are fire when they land on me, devouring every inch. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “Like something out of a dream, I never want to wake from.”

He offers me his arm, and I take it. I melt against him as we step into the garden.

That’s when I see him. Liam standing beneath the tree, framed in candlelight. His suit is all black, sharp, and tailored like a blade. Black shirt, no tie. The top buttons are undone, revealing just a hint of the ink on his chest, and his sleeves are pushed back like always, cuffs casually rolled. His hair is slicked back just enough to look lethal, and those dark eyes, those beautiful, tormented eyes, light up the second they meet mine.