The Broken Vows: Zane and Celeste’s Story (The Windsors)

I’m filled with apprehension as the large gates of the Windsor mansion loom ahead. Part of me is convinced that this is all an elaborate ruse that Zane came up with to humiliate me — it wouldn’t be the first time. The closer my car gets, the more certain I become that I’ll be denied entry.

I can just imagine the way he’d laugh and mock me. God, I can already see the headline The Herald will come up with: Celeste Harrison unsuccessfully attempts to break into the Windsor Estate.

What was I thinking, agreeing to have dinner with him at his house as repayment for hiring Lily? The moment he brought it up, I should’ve known something was off. Just as my nerves get the best of me and I’ve convinced myself to turn around, the gates swing open, and someone walks out toward me.

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when Zane opens the passenger door and invites himself into my car. “Celeste,” he says as he buckles himself in, his tone lacking that spiteful lilt it used to have. Instead, he sounds oddly pleasant.

“I… what are you doing?”

He leans back in his seat and tilts his head, a relaxed smile on his face. My heart begins to beat a little faster, and I involuntarily run my eyes over his body. He’s in jeans and a black t-shirt tonight, and somehow, he’s even more handsome than he is in his expensive suits. The way his arms look with that cotton stretched over it has me averting my gaze, my cheeks heating.

“The Windsor Estate is large,” he tells me. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find my house.”

I bite my lip, nerves dancing across my skin. “If it’s dinner you wanted, we could’ve done that anywhere. Why did you ask me to come here, of all places?”

I can’t shake the feeling I’m being misled. Despite our past, Zane has never made me feel unsafe around him, but a more rational part of me still tends toward caution. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, because I didn’t know how I’d explain it. Was that a mistake?

“Turn right at the end of the road,” Zane says instead of answering my question, his voice soft, different now. I glance at him to find his expression tinged with frustration. He catches me looking and averts his face, glancing out the window instead.

My eyes widen when a familiar glass structure comes into view. The greenhouse, if it can even be called that. It’s more of a glass palace, except all its rooms are entwined with elaborate indoor botanical gardens. In front of it stands a white mansion that wasn’t there years ago, yet it doesn’t look out of place.

“Park there,” Zane says, pointing to a row of supercars in front of his house. “I saved you a spot right by the front door so you wouldn’t have to walk far.”

I do as he asks, my hands trembling as I turn off the ignition. By the time I’ve grabbed my handbag, Zane has already walked around the car and opened my door for me, his expression unreadable.

I gasp as my heels sink into the gravel a little, and he wraps his hand around my shoulder, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. I look up at him, relieved to find him relaxed again. Though I’m uncertain why he looked so lost in the car, I can’t help but feel like I was to blame. I hadn’t considered that he now has more leverage than ever before — if I upset him, there’s every chance he’ll take it out on Lily.

“You’re still so clumsy, Celeste,” he murmurs, snapping me out of my daze.

“It’s not my fault your driveway sucks. I can’t be the first woman complaining about this.”.

I expected him to let go of me, but instead, his grip merely tightens as he leads me to his front door, his arm wrapped around me. “You are,” he says.

It takes me a moment to realize what he’s referring to, and my mood sinks. “I bet that’s just because every other woman is too polite to voice her thoughts. That gravel must’ve ruined so many expensive pairs of shoes.” I shake my head, mentally lamenting the loss women I don’t even know have incurred all because of Zane.

He barks out a laugh and bends down, lifting me into his arms effortlessly. “Celestial, if you want me to carry you, just say so.”

My lips part in shock as he bridges the remaining distance to his front door with me in his arms. “I… I… that’s not what I meant!”

With each step, my body rocks against his, the thin fabric of his t-shirt doing nothing to hide the strength of his abs and arms. He carries me like I weigh nothing, and I can’t help but be reminded of the way he picked me up all those years ago. He carried me then too, through his elaborate gardens.

His arm shifts underneath me as he unlocks his front door with a swipe of his thumb, but he doesn’t put me down once we’re inside. No, he carries me all the way to the kitchen and places me on top of a counter. Then he kneels in front of me and gently grabs my ankle, turning it as he inspects my shoe. “There’s some slight damage,” he says, before looking up at me. “I’ll buy you new shoes, okay? I’m sorry about the gravel.”

I blink in surprise as he straightens and turns to wash his hands. “I was joking,” I reassure him, and he looks over his shoulder, throwing me another one of those smiles that just confuses me.

“I’m not. I’ll buy you new shoes.”

I raise a brow and narrow my eyes. “I’d rather you didn’t. You’d send me something weird just to spite me.”

Zane dries his hands and walks back to me, pausing so we’re at eye level. “I’m no longer the spiteful teenager you left behind, Celeste.” He places his palms flat on either side of me and leans in, his abs pressing against my knees. “I know I framed my request to have dinner with you tonight as a reward for keeping my promise, but truthfully, I just wanted an opportunity to apologize to you — properly and sincerely.”

He’s so close that I can’t help but notice his long lashes, and those lips that felt so soft against mine. Zane grips the kitchen counter tightly, drawing my gaze to the way his arms flex, and I suck in a breath. “Apologize?”

“Yes,” he replies, his tone solemn. My heart skips a beat when he reaches for me and places his index finger underneath my chin. “I’m sorry, Celeste. I’m sorry for every single mean thing I’ve ever said to you, every time I taunted and teased you, every prank I pulled, and every single time I made you feel like you were anything less than the amazing, intelligent, beautiful, strong woman you are. I apologize for hurting you when we were kids, for taking our rivalry too far.”

He lets go of me and pulls a hand through his hair, the movement familiar and oddly soothing. It’s what he always used to do when he was frustrated, and somehow, I’m glad that hasn’t changed. For reasons I can’t quite decipher, I’m glad I can still read him just a little bit.

After all, the man standing in front of me is one I’m not sure I know anymore — I thought I did, but increasingly, I’m wondering if I’m mistaken. Just like I’ve grown and changed throughout the years, he seems to have as well.

“Thank you,” I murmur. “For the apology. I can’t say I forgive you, Zane, because you truly have hurt me more than you might realize. But we’re not kids anymore, and whether we like it or not, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the industry. It’d be best if we put the past behind us and learn to be civil with each other. So far, we seem to be managing that just fine, but I appreciate your apology nonetheless.”

He raises a brow, a soft huff escaping his lips. “Civil. Right,” he repeats softly, once again mussing up his hair. It’s just a little longer now, enough to grab and hold on to. I bite down on my lip, blindsided by the memory of my fingers threading through his hair as he kissed my neck, the smell of freshly cut grass invading my senses.

Zane turns to the pan on his stove, and I take a moment to study him. He always had a powerful edge, partially due to his last name, but back then it didn’t drip off him the way it does today. If he wanted to, he could’ve made life and work exceedingly difficult for me, the way he used to. It’s what I expected, and I’m not quite sure what to make of him now.

“Do you still hate anchovies?” he asks, startling me out of my thoughts.

He looks over his shoulder, his gaze filled with something I can’t quite define. “How do you know that I hate anchovies?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs as he begins to boil some pasta. “I won’t use Caesar dressing on tonight’s salad, then. I have some homemade honey and lemon dressing that I think you’ll like.”

How could he possibly know such a small detail about me? I’m pretty sure not even Archer realizes I hate anchovies, and he’s my brother. “Can I help with anything?” I ask, aware that I’ve just been staring at him the entire time.

He glances at me and grins. “You could light the candles on the table if you’d like?”

I nod and lift myself off his kitchen counter before heading in the direction he pointed me to, only to find a beautifully decked dining table waiting for me, complete with dozens of flowers I can’t even identify. He set the table so we’re seated perpendicular to each other, each of us on either side of the table’s corner. We’d still be able to face each other, but there’s less distance between us that way than if we were seated opposite each other. Why would he want us sitting so close?