Defiant Vows

Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

VIVIANA

I’ve looked at more penises this afternoon than anyone ever should. Artistic penises, of course.

Usually, I’d be in heaven surrounded by the ancient marble sculptures and cobalt blue porcelain vases, perusing row after row of a coveted exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But now, every chiseled Roman statue reminds me of the man I woke up with this morning, and I can’t wait until four o’clock when I’ll get to see him again.

God, I’ve become my own worst nightmare, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I’m standing in front of a glass case displaying a bronze phallic amulet—a good luck charm and apotropaic in Ancient Rome—when my phone vibrates in my purse. I pull it out and maniacally grin when I see Luc’s contact photo—his atrociously fuck-boy-esque selfie attempt—on the screen.

Luc: I’m requesting a list of rules for our gallery date. Any parameters?

My fingers fly across the keyboard.

Me: Request granted. 1) Every piece of art is fair game, no matter the price. 2) We each pick out one painting that is our favorite, but we don’t tell one another. Then, we have to try to guess each other’s favorite. 3) Whoever guesses correctly wins.

I press send and keep staring at my phone, waiting for the three dots to appear as if I’m not surrounded by priceless artwork. Somewhere behind me, I hear an old man rumble something along the lines of ‘damn girl, get off your phone.’

Luc: What is the prize?

Me: Winner gets to choose dinner tonight?

Luc: You and I both know that you’re choosing dinner tonight regardless.

I press my lips together to keep from smiling like an absolute fool. He’s not wrong. Whereas I’m picky about what touches my plate, he’s proven to be willing to eat anything that’s edible.

Me: You’re probably right. Hmm… Prize remains TBD. Will reconvene at 4 PM sharp.

Just as I click the blue arrow, a firm body bumps into my back, square between my shoulder blades, and knocks the breath from my lungs. I stagger forward, narrowly avoiding a collision with the glass display, but my phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor.

“Sorry, miss,” a middle-aged man grumbles, rubbing at his greasy dark hair with a sheepish smile. He bends to help retrieve my phone.

“It’s okay,” I assure him, though my heart thunders in my chest as I regain my breath. “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.”

The man’s smile grows, but he doesn’t say anything else as he hands my cellphone back to me and walks away. A large shadow looms over my shoulder, and I recognize Lex by the humongous shadow he casts on the floor beside me.

“Are you okay?” A deep line splits his brows in half, and anger bubbles behind his concern.

“Of course.” I readjust my purse on my shoulder and give the bodyguard my best smile. “Trust me, I’m fine.” When he doesn’t stop glowering at the dark-haired man across the room, I swat at his chest. “Don’t look at that poor man like you want to kill him. It was an accident. No harm, no foul.”

Lex huffs like a grumpy bull, but the tension leaks from his shoulders.

Content, I return my focus to the bronze amulet on display in front of me, tucking my phone back into my purse in the process. The backs of my fingers brushes against a strange piece of paper in its depths. That shouldn’t be there. The purse was empty when I picked it out this morning.

With a frown, I take the neatly folded notebook paper from within. The edges are immaculately straight. Ink bleeds through one side of the striped white page. It looks like the type of paper used by kids to pass notes in class. Had someone placed it there? Brows furrowed, I unfold the paper. The blood turns to ice in my veins.

Call this number.

And, beneath the ten-digit phone number, there’s a name, scrawled in an elegant cursive script that I’d recognize anywhere.

Elenora.

The skin on the back of my neck prickles, as if someone is watching me. My eyes snap up. At first glance, no one pays me any attention, but I suddenly feel too exposed. I refold the paper and shove it back in my purse, clutching the bag close to my side.

My heart palpates uncontrollably as I turn away from the display and shoot Lex a tight smile. He frowns.

“Viviana?”

“Bathroom,” I say by way of explanation, inclining my head toward the women’s restroom sign. I don’t wait for him to respond and keep my head down as I weave through the crowds. That little note in my purse feels like a ticking time bomb, set to explode at any given moment.

It can’t be from Elenora.

I know that.

She burned up in a blazing inferno with her gym-bag in the front seat next to her. They found shards of bone amongst the ashes. And yet…

I could recognize Elenora’s handwriting—every feminine curve and precise loop—in my sleep. When we were young, she used to practice her cursive for hours on end while I doodled on the margins of my homework. She even tried to teach me, but cursive was a dying skill I wanted no part of. Even so, I remember it.

Perhaps someone is playing a sick joke on me. Perhaps they found a way to perfectly replicate my dead sister’s handwriting. But there’s no harm in calling the number, just to make sure.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I slip into the ladies room, leaving Lex to linger just outside the doorway and out of earshot. The moment I close myself into one of the vacant stalls, I pull the note out of my purse and stare at it for one long moment. With a deep, wavering breath, I type the number into my phone and press call.

It rings once. Then again. And again.

Seconds before I lose hope, the ringing stops. There’s a soft click and quiet, steady breathing on the other end of the line.

My heart lurches into my throat. “Hello?”

Another beat of thick silence extends over the line, and then—

“Vivi?”

It’s a hushed whisper, barely audible through the speaker, but I’d recognize the voice anywhere. A voice I never thought I’d hear again. Elenora.

“Oh my God, Elenora!” I release a half-whispered cry, knees buckling beneath me. I barely manage to brace my shoulder on the stall beside me to keep from falling to the tile. “I can’t believe it’s you. I— this isn’t possible. Y-you’re d-dead!”

“I know,” Elenora says. “But it is me, Vivi. Believe that.”

“No…” I shake my head, fingers trembling. I need to be reasonable. Elenora is dead. This is likely just someone pretending to be her. Someone with an eerily similar voice. “You—You’re lying. You’re not Elenora.”

“I am. Ask me anything. Something only Elenora would know.”

Something only Elenora would know? We were never close enough for inside jokes or secrets, but one act of defiance unites us. One act that we swore never to tell another soul.

“When we were kids, we each stole a bookmark from that little bookstore by our house. What was on yours?”

A whoosh of air buzzes from the speaker, and I realize she’s chuckling. “Edward Cullen. Yours was a kitten with a ball of yarn.”

I misplaced that bookmark years ago and haven’t thought of it since, but hearing Elenora describe it evokes a wave of emotion that has tears streaming down my cheeks. I struggle to pull air into my lungs.

It’s her.

Somehow, it’s her.

“Viviana?” Elenora prompts.

I’m unable to speak, emitting a garbled mix of a sniffle and cry instead. She continues urgently.

“Viviana, I need to see you. I need to see you alone. I’ll explain everything, but you can’t tell anyone. Do you understand me?” When I don’t respond immediately, she huffs. “Jesus, Vivi, get a hold on yourself. Do you understand?”

I flinch. If I had any doubts about whether this is truly Elenora, they’re gone now. She never had much patience. Clearing my throat, I hug my waist. “I understand.”

“Good.” She releases a deep sigh. “How about we meet at the bookstore by Mom and Dad’s house? Forty-five minutes.”

I still have a few hours before I’m due to meet Luc at the gallery, but she wants me to drop everything and meet her across the city? With Lex breathing down my neck?

“Wait! I can’t just—”

The line goes dead.

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare down at the screen. My head hurts. Blood pulses between my ears, pounding like a hammer against my temples. Fingers still shaking, I click on her number in my history and try to call her back, but a long, monotonous beep greets me. Disconnected or busy.

Cursing under my breath, I take a few minutes to compose myself. Each deep breath fails to calm the racing of my heart, but Lex will start to worry if I’m any longer. Wiping my palms on my jean-clad thighs, I push open the stall door and pretend to wash my hands.

In the mirror, my reflection looks sick. I pinch my cheeks to create the illusion of color amidst the ghastly pale. With precious little time to waste, I exit the bathroom.

Lex steps forward to greet me, but I avoid his gaze. “Are you unwell?”

“No. I mean, yes.” I shake my head, readjusting the purse strap on my shoulder, and emit a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry. I started my period.” Technically, it’s a lie, though I am due to start any day now.

“Ah.” Lex clears his throat and averts his gaze. “Did you have everything you, um, needed?”

One corner of my lips threatens to curl, but even Lex’s embarrassment can’t fully distract me from the knots tightening in my gut. “Yeah. But I think I’m ready to head out. I’ve seen everything I wanted to see.”

Lex dips his chin, placing his big hand on my back to guide me toward the exit. “Back to the penthouse?”

I take a deep breath and fight to hide the shake in my voice. “Actually, I was hoping we could stop by a bookstore on the way back? It’s by my parent’s house, and I haven’t been in years.”

“Sure,” Lex clips, completely unaware. “Just give me the address when we get in the car.”

I almost feel bad for lying to him.

The bookstore is exactly as I remember. An old brick building with multiple apartments above the shop on the main floor. A rusting metal sign swings above the door. Epiphany Books - Est. 1987.

One of the last times I walked through those doors, I had a stolen kitten bookmark in my pocket, and Elenora tugged me behind her like we were escaping from a jewelry heist. Now, with Lex as my constant shadow, I’m returning to meet her ghost.

A bell dings when I step inside, and the young man behind the counter barely looks up from his phone to welcome me into the store. A handful of people peruse the shelves—an old man, a mother and daughter. No one that resembles Elenora.

She told me to come alone, but surely she understands better than anyone that I can’t get rid of my security detail. Lex never lets me out of his sight, except to use the bathroom. We’ll just have to be creative.

“Looking for anything in particular?” My bodyguard drawls, casually investigating a shelf filled with sports memoirs.

“Um,” I clear the rasp from my throat. Every word feels light and uncomfortable, and my heart flutters like I’ve just guzzled three energy drinks in a row. “There’s an indie fantasy series I’ve been wanting to try. Apparently they sell it here.”

“What’s the title? I’ll help you look.”

“It’s called…”

The words clog in my throat as I step around the corner of a shelf. There, standing beneath an ‘Art and Craft’ sign, a tall woman stands with her back to me. Her long, chestnut hair is pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, and an oversized sweatshirt conceals the feminine curves I know flow from her breasts to her hips. Elenora.

It’s a test of restraint to keep my voice from rising as I glance over my shoulder at Lex. “It’s called A Dragon’s Heart. Will you go look for it in the fantasy section? I’ll be right over. I just want to look at the art books really fast.”

“ A Dragon’s Heart, ” Lex echoes. As far as I know, there isn’t a book in the world, let alone in this bookstore, with that name. Hopefully, his search will occupy him for a few minutes. “Got it.”

I wait until he lumbers away before approaching the figure at the corner of the store. She keeps her back to me, head tilted up as if reading the titles on the shelves in front of her.

“Elenora?” I whisper, coming to a stop beside her.

She tilts her head to the side, just an inch, just enough for me to see her green eyes sparkle with warmth. “Hello, baby sister.”

She looks the same, yet different. Not an ounce of makeup graces her cheeks or lashes, making her seem younger than the photos played on a slideshow throughout her funeral and wake.

My heart swells and shatters all at once, and an onslaught of tears threatens to spill over my eyelids once more. I return my gaze to the bookshelf in front of me before I lose control, maintaining the illusion that we’re simply two strangers searching for books about art.

She’s here. She’s alive. She wasn’t killed. I need to tell Luc.

“How is this possible?” My voice trembles.

“It’s a long story.” I can barely hear her over the pounding between my ears, but I don’t miss the sharp edge to her voice as she continues. “I told you to come alone, Viviana.”

I choose to ignore her. “Are you in trouble, El? Do you need help? Let me tell Luc. You’ll be safe with us.”

“ No!” She hisses, her jaw tight. “No, I don’t need help. You’re the one who needs help.”

I stiffen but swallow my unease. “What about Mom and Dad? Do they know you’re alive?”

“No, and they’re not going to.” Elenora slowly turns toward me, and I see her full face for the first time. She appears healthy—well fed with tan, colored cheeks. “I came for you, Vivi.”

“I…” I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t,” she whispers, so unnaturally tender. She reaches into her purse. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“What do you—”

It happens too quickly. Elenora pulls a syringe out of her bag and, before I truly realize what’s happening, uncaps the needle and plunges it into my neck. The sharp pinch rips a cry from my throat, but I’m silenced by whatever drug she just pumped into my body, and I lose feeling in my legs. Slowly, I crumble to the floor.

Across the store, Lex calls out for me. There’s a deafening CRACK of gunfire, followed by the sound of a large body hitting the floor.

Lex! I try to scream his name, but my lips don’t move.

I’m paralyzed. A prisoner inside my own body. Only my eyes work, though darkness edges my vision. Am I dying?

Elenora leans over me, pity etched on her beautiful features. My sister.

“I’m sorry, Vivi,” she murmurs, but her words are a distant echo in my mind. The darkness closes in. “I love him.”