Page 285 of By His Vow

And now that I’m here, in the village I love so much, looking at the cottage I adore, it’s even stronger than ever.

The bitter wind whips around me again and I shiver violently, my thin jacket doing little to protect me from the elements.

Unable to sit here any longer, I push to my feet and turn back on myself, walking away from the cottage with my heart in my throat.

I return to my rental with grocery bags hanging from my fingers. I should have called a car to take me to a bigger store to get everything I need, but I don’t have the energy for that. It’ll also have to involve talking to someone and the less I do that, the better.

I’ve got what I need for now, and I figure I’ll order more for delivery. That way, I can stay locked up inside in the hope of figuring my shit out.

A bitter laugh spills from my lips.

Is it even possible to sort my shit out at this point?

Everything seems impossible.

I know running wasn’t the most mature way to deal with all this, but I knew that I’d never be able to think in Chicago.

Sure, I could have stayed in the country and locked myself away somewhere a little more local.

But I don’t want to be local. I want to put as many miles between me and all my mistakes as possible.

I hang my head as I dump the bags on the kitchen counter.

Was it all a mistake?

My head spins and my body aches with exhaustion.

I’m six hours behind London time, and I feel it all the way to the tips of my toes.

I consider my options from my recent purchases, all very unhealthy and refined carbs that would give Kingston a coronary, but it’s what I need right now.

Unable to wait for the oven to heat up for the pasta carbonara, I instead place it in the fridge and grab the massive bag of chips I bought.

With the huge bag and a bottle of water tucked under my arm, I abandon everything else in search of the bathtub I saw on the rental listing for this place.

There wasn’t a lot of choice at the last minute, but the second I saw this property, I knew it was waiting for me.

It might not be Aunt Lena’s cottage, but it’s close. It’s cute, quaint, and so very English.

The ancient staircase creaks as I climb toward the second floor, and I can’t help the small smile that appears on my lips. Everything about this place is a world away from my life in Chicago. I think that’s why I love it so much. Here, nothing matters. No one cares what my surname is, who my parents are, who I work for, or…a shudder rips down my spine as I lower my goodies to the small vanity in the bathroom...who my husband is.

My stomach twists painfully as I think of the man who’s become my everything these past few weeks.

Every single thing about him was unexpected, but almost all of it in a good way.

My breathing becomes ragged as I think about his reaction to discovering me gone.

I want to say that he’s bothered, angry even. But there is a part of me, a really fucking terrified part that doesn’t think he’ll care.

That the feelings I’ve been growing over the past few weeks have been totally one-sided.

That I’m the naive little woman who caught feelings for the man she was never meant to have.

It was a business arrangement, and I have more than enough experience with how men like Kingston Callahan operate. They will not relent until they close the deal.

Ripping my eyes from the sad and broken reflection of myself staring back at me in the mirror, I turn the bath on and pour some of the bubbles from the side into the running water.

The sweet scent of lavender and chamomile floats into the air, and immediately it makes my stomach roll.