Page 89 of Broken Vows

“What does she eat? Souls?” he asks, voice low and amused as he straightens back up to his full height.

I shoot him a stern look, but I can’t help smiling. “Be nice to her.”

He turns me gently and dries my back, his hand kneading the towel along my spine and over the curve of my ass. Then he pulls me into him again, like he can’t stand a moment of distance between us.

I’m starting to like this way too much.

24

CARMEN

Aweek slips by in a quiet blur.

Levi and Theo have lived next door for just over a month now. It’s strange to admit, but this might be the happiest month I’ve had in years.

I’m sitting in class, half-listening to Paul talk about critical thinking, but my mind keeps drifting back to last night. Levi and Theo came over for dinner. I made a simple apple pie for dessert. Nothing fancy.

But the way they reacted made it feel like I’d served them something magical.

Maverick used to pick at my cooking, always counting calories or muttering about “toxic” sugar, as if a single slice of pie would ruin him. Levi and Theo, on the other hand, ate in focused silence, like the pie demanded their full attention. Levi went back for a second massive slice, then a third, all while still claiming he wasn’t big on dessert.

A smile tugs at my lips. I quickly school my expression.

It was just a pie.

But it felt so good to cook for people who actually enjoyed it. To watch something I made disappear because they wanted more—not because I was quietly scraping untouched plates into the bin, pretending it didn’t sting.

Out of habit, I open the camera app to check on Fifi. The living room feed is empty. I switch to the new kitchen camera I installed last week.

Still no sign of her.

I frown and zoom in, scanning the rug by the window, the hallway, the edge of the couch. Nothing.

My stomach tightens.

I gave Levi a spare key in case something happened to her while I was out. I’d hoped we’d never need it, but I can’t just sit here staring at an empty feed.

Carmen: You at home? I can’t see Fifi on the camera

Levi: On it

I keep the app open. A minute later, Levi appears on the living room feed, moving through my house with that confident stride. He checks the hallway first, then the rug by the window, then crouches to peer behind the couch.

There she is.

He scoops her up with surprising gentleness. Fifi immediately pees on his shirt.

Levi doesn’t even flinch. He simply glances down, lets out a sigh I can almost hear, and carries her to her bed as if being urinated on is a perfectly normal part of his day. He sets her down gently, pets her head twice, and murmurs something.

Warmth spreads through my chest.

I know I should close the app. I don’t.

Instead, I switch to the kitchen camera. It’s angled low for Fifi, so I only catch Levi from the waist down, but it’s enough. He stands at the sink and washes his hands slowly—soap over the right first, then awkwardly over the left. His fingers don’t close properly. Even through the lens, I see the stiffness, the way he compensates with his wrist and forearm.

He rinses all the way to his elbows, thorough as a surgeon.

Then he dries himself one-handed with a paper towel, crosses to the fridge, and pulls out the rest of the apple pie.