Promise

Chapter 2: Dessert

Robyn

There was blood in my mouth.

I munched on my lip, gripping my steering wheel tightly. It had been three years since our family weekly dinners were regular occurrences and yet, each instance was washed over in nerves. It wasn't that I didn't love my family. Of course I did. Every opportunity I got to see them was the serotonin boost I needed to get through my days.

But, it did mean I needed to prep the smile they were all always used to seeing on my face. I needed to practice the happy, chirpy responses that they all expected from me.

I needed to be Robyn Hale. The happy one.

The sound of knuckles rapping against glass made my head snap to the side.

And then my eyes met the source of my full-blown demise.

Christian James Ryder was the most majestic man I had ever laid eyes on. An enchantingly cold and outrageously cunning businessman who the world bowed down to. New York's most eligible bachelor had every tabloid in the East Coast obsessed with him and every woman in the world more than willing to lose her underwear. He was the man who made the unattainable and impossible his hobby.

Christian was New York royalty, the king of the skies.

He had the kind of personality you couldn't ignore. When he walked into a room, everyone knew he was there, though he never had to introduce himself to anyone. There was something magnetic about his presence, a deep and drunk attraction. People couldn't take their eyes off of him. He was the ice sculpture at weddings you wanted to lick, but you knew you'd get stuck to if you did.

He was enormous, ripped to shreds in all his ex-quarterback glory. Every part of him looked like it had been chiseled to perfection. He wasn't ragged or hunky like my brother. He wasn't terrifyingly enigmatic like Francis. He was a pretty boy with such an unapproachably attractive face that it sent shivers down your spine to just be in the same room as him.

Christian's presence was intoxicating. He made rooms fall silent and planets stop spinning.

We weren't always balancing the line of pain and agony. He used to be one of my best friends. We did everything together. He made me feel seen, special, made me feel everything.

I only knew what love was because of him.

But then, the course of our story took a sharp turn, barring any hope of return.

Christian stopped being that sweet boy who drove an hour out of the city with me after football games just to get me cinnamon rolls. The boy who snuck onto my rooftop and listened to music with me for hours almost every night for years. He became the alluring CEO who made money just by blinking and could charm anyone with a pulse with just a look.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes as I stepped out of my car. Clutching the tray of peach cobbler in my hands, I sued my heel to slam the door harder than I needed to.

Trying to control the tremor in my voice, I greeted, "Hi."

"Hi."

I blew a lock of hair out of my face. As if it were instinct, he caught it, rubbed the silky strands between his fingers, and then tucked it behind my ear. "And what have you brought for us to indulge in today?"

"Peach cobbler," I replied.

A languid half-smile spread across his face. I made it every single week without fail. "No one makes it like you do," he half-smiled. On the rare occasions he really smiled, it sucked the air out of the room. His smile bewitched everyone around him. "My favorite dessert."