“No, I’m sorry. It’s just so much better to forget about that.”I reach across the table, touching her hand. She moves her thumb over my knuckles like trying to comfort herself, distract herself.“I’d make an exception for you,” I go on, “if you wanted to keep acting?—”“There’s noifabout it.”“I’d make sure you could,” I tell her. “If my father had a problem with the break in tradition, he could go to hell. If anybody else had something to say, they’d have to say it to my face. I can seehow much you love acting. When you were speaking about that school play, you lit up. I couldn’t take that away from you.”“It’s a dangerous game, giving me hope,” she murmurs.“Hope for what? Hope that you can forgive me?”“I don’t have to forgive you,” she says, her hand getting tighter on mine.“The farmhouse?—”“Yeah, but I don’t have toforgiveyou for that,” she says. “You didn’t kidnap me. You saved me.”“You saw a part of me I never wanted you to see. I lost it. I never lose it. Hell, Elena, befo
Last Updated : 2025-02-12 Read more