Page 4 of Temporary Vows

Something in his blue gaze softens, like he recognizes me, too, but I doubt it. He barely knew I was alive back then, and it’s been years since we last saw each other. At least eight.

“Dorian Vale.” His name leaves my lips before I can stop it.

His gaze sharpens as it drags over my face. “Do I know you?”

The look that follows is cold and dismissive, yet something flickers beneath it before he shutters it away.

“It’s Elodie,” I say. “Elodie Harper. Jack’s sister.”

His expression hardens instantly as the memory slides into place.

His eyes sweep over me once more, taking in the uniform, the mess, the reality. Nothing like the girl he knew back when my family still lived in the Hamptons and I dreamed of going to England.

“Right,” he says after a beat.

Right.

That’s all he can say?

As if he and Jack weren’t friends for over twenty years.

As if he didn’t turn his back on us when we needed him most.

As if he didn’t have the power to save our business—and chose not to because of a grudge.

But God… why am I even thinking about him?

I glance back over my shoulder to where the scar-faced man sat.

He’s gone.

The knot in my stomach loosens, but only slightly. His visit was a message.

Marcus wants his money.

I turn back to Dorian, suddenly aware of the eyes on us now and the mess I’ve made on the floor. And on him.

“I’m so sorry about your shirt.” I grab some tissues from the stand beside me and reach out on instinct to wipe at the stain, but he takes them from my hand before I can touch him.

“That won’t be necessary.”

He dabs at his shirt, face still stern.

“Oh my God!” Beth’s voice slices through the coffeehouse. She storms over, shooting me a look that promises consequences before pasting on a smile for him. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Vale. She should have been watching where she was going. Please let me take care of this.”

Heat floods my face as every head nearby turns. I want to shrink in on myself, to disappear into the floor along with the shattered cups. I don’t even try to defend myself. The damage is done, and somehow, it feels like I’m the mess everyone’s staring at now.

“I don’t need assistance,” Dorian tells her, though his eyes never leave mine. “Next time, be more careful.”

His gaze drops then, skimming down my body before lifting back to my face. Heat prickles under my skin, sudden and disorienting, the same way it did years ago when I was nothing more than Jack’s little sister, watching from the sidelines, quietly falling for him from afar.

He buttons his jacket to cover the stain and walks away before either of us can say anything more.

I watch him walk away, his back already a closed door, and that’s it. Any illusion I had evaporates. I used to think of him asDorian Gray—cold, callous, carved from something harder than the rest of us, exactly as Oscar Wilde intended. Nothing I just witnessed proves me wrong.

He treated me like I was nothing, like I didn’t exist beyond the inconvenience I caused. And maybe I can’t even blame him for that.

Jack was the one who slept with Dorian’s then girlfriend.