Page 22 of His Vow

"Nolan — "

"I'll call you."

I walked out. The door swung shut behind me. Through the glass, I could see her sitting at the table with two cups and an empty chair, her hand still on the surface where mine had been. She was watching me leave. Her expression wasn't angry. It was worse than angry. It was patient.

The dark, quiet apartment swallowed me as always, fridge humming softly. I couldn't cook — I kept seeing my sister's grocery bag, the greens spilling over the top, cradled against her hip like a child. Proof of normal life that I tried buying back with monthly transfers she always returned.

I stood in the hallway outside my bedroom. The door at the end of the hall was closed. Behind it, a room I didn't use for sleeping. I entered the code into the keypad and pushed the door open.

The room was dark except for the glow of three monitors. I sat down, and the screens came alive. Lattimore Holdings. The architecture I'd been building for fifteen years — every subsidiary mapped, every board member profiled, every shell company traced and documented. Hugh Lattimore's name at the center, connected to everything by lines I'd drawn myself, one thread at a time.

I stared at it. The system I'd built because a twenty-two-year-old kid held his sister in a hospital room while she bled out a future the Lattimore family decided she didn't deserve. The vow I made that night — standing in the corridor with her blood on my shirt, watching the door close on the only person who'd ever believed he was more than what he could provide.

She walked past me today. She looked at me and chose to keep walking. I, the one she needed, had merged with the weapon I made, and that weapon could never hold her like I could.

The grief hardened. It always hardened. That was what grief did when you fed it purpose instead of letting it breathe. It calcified. It became structured. It became the room I was sitting in.

I picked up my phone. The screen lit up. Soleil's contact — the sun emoji was still there, still bright, and still absurd.

Tomorrow I'd call her. I'd be warm again, present again, and be the version of myself she was falling for. I'd apologize for walking out of the café. She'd forgive me because that was who she was — open, trusting, a woman who gave second chances to people who hadn't earned them.

Tomorrow, the plan continued.

Tomorrow, the Lattimores.

SEVEN

SOLEIL

Daddy was already apologizing when I reached the table.

"I know, I know." He stood, kissed my forehead, and pulled out my chair. "I needed to talk to your brother about Meridian, and this week got away from me. I hope you don't mind sharing."

"Of course not." I kissed his cheek and sat. My sparkling water was there. His coffee was untouched. The Friday ritual, slightly altered — a third place setting, a third menu, my brother's blazer draped over the back of the chair beside mine.

Rhys was at the bar.

I could see him from our booth, leaning on the counter, one hand wrapped around a Bloody Mary that was already half gone. His sleeves were rolled. His hair was pushed back. He looked polished with an expensive shirt and a clean jaw.

He caught my eye and raised his glass. I waved him over. He drained the rest of the Bloody Mary, set the glass on the bar, and crossed the restaurant with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Little one." He kissed my forehead and dropped into his chair. "How's Rafael? Still selling out?"

"He's working on a new series. I'm trying to get him to commit to a spring show."

"Good for him." Rhys picked up his menu. A waiter appeared at his elbow. "Can I get another Bloody Mary? And a glass of the Veuve, actually. Thank you."

I looked at the menu. Daddy looked at Rhys.

"It's barely noon, son."

Rhys smiled over the top of his menu. "It's brunch, Dad. Champagne at brunch isn't drinking. It's culture."

Daddy's jaw worked. He looked back at his menu without pressing further. Rhys turned a page and started discussing the eggs Benedict with the waiter, as if nothing had happened. The champagne arrived. He drank half of it before the appetizers came.

I watched my brother's throat move as he swallowed. The champagne disappeared fast. He set the flute down. His fingers stayed on the stem, turning it back and forth. He caught me looking and winked.

"What? I'm celebrating."