Page 116 of Twisted Vows

Gabi’s words still spiral in my brain like barbed wire.

When I walk through the door, garlic, basil, and a hint of sweetness welcome me. Sophia.

The scent shouldn’t shake me, yet it does. That smell doesn’t belong in a world built on bodies and debt. The warmth feels like entering someone else’s pleasant dream.

Even here, my instincts stay sharp as I pull off my shoes and shrug the jacket off to hang it over the chair. I hear her shuffling in the kitchen.

She’s beautiful in my shirt, which hangs loose on her frame, revealing the curve of her neck. I want to cross the room and taste that skin.

She looks at me and smiles.

My heart kicks against my ribs. That smile undoes me every time.

For maybe half a second, all the noise in my skull just…shuts up. Apocalypse outside? Wouldn’t matter. I’d still stick around for this.

“Hey.” She walks up to hug me.

For a moment, life doesn’t feel half as mean as usual. But her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and the hug lasts a minute too long. Desperate. The kind of gesture you get from people right before they let go.

“Missed you,” she whispers.

“You did?”

She nods and slips away to the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Part of me wants to grab her and shake the truth out of her. The other part, the sucker, just wants one more round of make-believe.

I drag a stool over and plant my ass on it as she goes back to preparing dinner. The chopping knife keeps a rhythm on the counter. I pick up every tiny move she makes—tucking her hair, biting her lip after tasting, adjusting the burner.

Every detail burns into my mind like I’m pocketing pieces of her for later.

“Smells awesome.”

“Let’s hope it’s edible.” Her laugh is quick and fragile.

“I seriously doubt you could cook anything bad.”

She shoots me a look, her eyebrows raised. “That’s some real faith.”

“Not blind faith. I’ve seen you burn toast, what, twice now?”

This time, she actually laughs for real. My chest unclenches a little.

She’s set the table like she’s staging a magazine spread—candles, wine—everything just so. Too careful. Too…final, if I’m being honest.

I grin and tease, “So, did you open a restaurant while I was away?”

She shrugs, her voice soft, her eyes flicking out the window. “Needed something to do. Keeps my hands busy.”

The way she says busy carries a weighted secret.

My senses sharpen as plates clink and the rich smell of food permeates the air, the tension thick enough to taste. Almost makes it feel like a last supper.

We eat, or at least we pretend to. Sophia picks at her food as she tries to make conversation, talking about nothing…flowers, new curtains, some story about Arya and the neighbor sneaking kisses in the yard. Her voice is a gentle lullaby meant to distract me.

Her strategy almost works, but her restless hands keep twisting the dish towel. Her eyes dart to mine, then away, too fast.

I wonder if this is fear or guilt.