I fold the memo carefully and stand up.
Brush the sand off my dress.
Time to do something terrifying.
The walk back to the villa feels longer than usual. My heart is hammering. My palms are sweating. I’m pretty sure I’m about to either make the best decision of my life or the worst one.
Fifty-fifty odds.
Could be worse.
I find him in his study. He’s at the desk, laptop open, and when I appear in the doorway he looks up with that expression that used to frustrate me, because it used to be unreadable.
But now I can read it just fine.
Hope.
Uncertainty.
Fear.
All the things I’m feeling reflected back at me.
“Amara.” His voice is careful. “What do you need?”
I take a breath.
Then I reach down and slip off one sandal. Just one. I set it deliberately outside the door frame. On the threshold.
He stares at it. Then at me. Confusion flickers across his features.
“I left something,” I tell him.
He frowns. “Yourshoe?”
“The part of me that runs.” I smile, feeling the tears pooling in my eyes.
Understanding dawns on his face, and his eyes go bright. His throat works.
“I’m not saying I forgive everything,” I continue. Because I need him to understand this isn’t unconditional surrender. “I’m saying I’m choosing to stay and figure it out. With you. Even though it scares me. Even though you’re not perfect. Even though I’ve spent five years convincing myself you were the villain because it was easier than admitting I played a part in us falling apart.”
He’s out of his chair before I finish speaking.
His hands cup my face reverently. “Amara.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” I whisper.
He kisses me.
His lips are soft and sweet. Nothing like the desperate heat of our earlier encounter. This is something else. Something new.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Thank you,” he breathes. “For not running.”
I close my eyes.
Let myself feel it.
