VOWS WRITTEN IN CHAMPAGNE

CHAPTER2

CHAMPAGNE AND BAD DECISIONS

The night air hit my skin the moment we stepped outside and I shivered. Victor shrugged off his jacket and placed it over my shoulders without a word. It smelled like him, warm and expensive, and I pulled it tighter around myself.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he led me toward a black car parked right at the entrance. Not in the parking lot like normal people. Right at the door, like it had been waiting for him.

"Somewhere good," he said, and a driver appeared from the front seat to open the back door. Victor placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me in.

The inside was all cream leather and soft lighting. A small bar sat between the seats with crystal glasses and a bottle of champagne already chilling. I ran my fingers along the leather and whistled low.

"You live like this every day?" I asked as he slid in beside me.

He smiled and poured two glasses. "Does it bother you?"

"No. It confuses me. I live in a flat with a fridge that hums so loud my neighbor complained, and you have champagne just sitting in your car like it is water."

Victor laughed and handed me a glass. Our fingers touched and the contact sent a small jolt through me. "You are refreshing, you know that?"

"Because I am poor?"

"Because you are honest." He clinked his glass against mine. "To your new job."

I took a sip and the bubbles danced on my tongue. It was the best champagne I had ever tasted, not that my experience was vast. "What do you do?" I asked, turning to face him in the seat, tucking my legs beneath me.

"Property," he said simply. "Development, mostly."

I sat up straighter. "Serious? I just got hired at a property development company. Crown Properties."

Something flickered across his face. Fast, like a shadow passing. Then he smiled. "Small world."

The car moved through the Johannesburg streets and I did not ask where we were headed. The champagne was good and Victor was better. We talked about everything and nothing. He asked me what kind of food I loved and I told him pap and chakalaka made by my grandmother, and he laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. I asked him what he did for fun and he said, "This. Right now," and the way he looked at me when he said it made my chest squeeze.

At some point the car stopped and the driver opened the door. I stepped out and looked around. We were at a small airfield. A white jet sat on the tarmac, sleek and impossible, its lights blinking against the dark sky.

"No," I said, turning to him. "Absolutely not."

"Cape Town," he said, like it was a suggestion and not insanity. "I know a place on the waterfront. Best food you have ever tasted."

"I have work on Monday!"

"It is Friday night. We will be back by Sunday." He stepped closer and tipped my chin up gently with one finger. His eyes were warm and full of something I could not name. Mischief, maybe. Or want. "When was the last time you did something just because it felt good?"

I should have said no. I should have turned around and called Clara to come get me. But the champagne was buzzing in my blood and his finger was still on my chin and I was so tired of being responsible, so tired of carrying everything, so tired of saying no to every good thing that came my way.

"Fine," I breathed. "But if the food is bad, I am stealing this plane."

He grinned wide, dimples and all, and took my hand.

The flight was two hours. We drank more champagne. We played a stupid game where we took turns guessing things about each other. I guessed he was a firstborn. He was. He guessed I was stubborn. I threw a pillow at his head. He caught it and pulled me toward him and kissed me.

The kiss was slow at first. Soft. Then his hand slid into my braids and he deepened it and everything inside me caught fire. I grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him back with every bit of want I had been swallowing down for months, years maybe, and he groaned against my mouth.

"Shaznay," he murmured between kisses, and I shivered.

We landed in Cape Town and the rest became a blur. A rooftop restaurant, city lights stretching to the ocean, more drinks, his hand on my thigh under the table, my head on his shoulder in another car, laughing at something I could not remember.

And then... nothing.

Blank. Dark. Gone.

I opened my eyes to blinding white light. My head screamed. My mouth tasted like something died in it and my body felt like I had been dragged behind a bus. I groaned and buried my face in the pillow.

Soft. Too soft. This was not my pillow.

I forced my eyes open again and blinked at the ceiling. White marble. A chandelier. A mirror that showed me my own reflection staring back, mascara smeared, braids wild, lips swollen.

I sat up fast and regretted it instantly as pain split through my skull. I grabbed my head with both hands, pressing hard, and that was when I felt it. Something cold and hard against my temple. I pulled my hand away slowly and looked at it.

A ring. A diamond ring. Massive. Glittering. Sitting on my left ring finger like it belonged there.

"No," I whispered.

I looked around the room. Clothes on the floor. My dress crumpled by the door. A man's shirt near the bed. Shoes scattered. A bottle of champagne on its side, empty, dripping onto the marble.

And on the nightstand beside me, a piece of paper. I picked it up with shaking hands and read the words at the top.

Marriage Certificate.

My eyes flew down the page. My name was there, scrawled in my own handwriting, messy and crooked but unmistakably mine. And beside it, another name. Benjamin Victor.

The bathroom door opened. Steam rolled out. And he stepped through it, bare-chested, a white towel around his hips, water still dripping from his jaw. He saw me sitting up and froze.

"Good morning," he said slowly.

I held up the paper. My hand was trembling. "What is this?"

He looked at the paper and back at me. Then he sighed, ran one hand over his face, and leaned against the doorframe.

"I was hoping we could talk about that over coffee."