“Is it?”
“Yes. Is it not odd to you...that we know one another so well, and yet not at all? Not anymore.”
He certainly didn’t know her...not the things she had done to survive. Things he would rightly condemn.
He stared at her for so long, Chrissi nearly squirmed, worried that perhaps he would pluck her sins from her brain.
She reached for abapinstead, the bread still warm from the oven.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he sat back in the chair. “What if I said I wished to know ye as ye be now?”
Chrissi froze, butter knife in hand poised to spread jam on thebap.
He appeared . . . serious.
Her heart kicked off, drumming in time to the ache of her ankle. Moisture evaporated from her throat.
“What of your Miss Rollins?” she countered.
“She is notmyanything.”
Chrissi’s eyes narrowed as she pointed the butter knife at him. “Have you clarified that point with Miss Rollins herself? Because I am quite positive that—”
“Ye be avoiding my question, Chris.”
She set herbapand knife down and matched his pose with arms crossed over her chest. As if that could protect her from the onslaught of memory. Of him. Of everything that had broken between them. Of her own actions that he did not yet know...actions she would have to tell him if he continued to press this issue. She couldn’t live with herself otherwise.
“Why?” The plaintive word tumbled from her lips, a world contained within.
Why me? Why now?
Why do you wish to revisit what we once were?
And, as usual, Alis immediately understood. Their minds, as ever, attuned.
It was why Chrissi knew from the beginning what the heartbreaking outcome of this conversation would be.
“Can we not try, Chris?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Having ye here...seeing ye hurt yesterday and feeling so helpless. Angry, too.”
“Angry?”
“Aye. Angry with myself. That I didn’t pursue ye nine years ago. That I let ye leave without truly attempting to reconcile our differences. That I didn’t write ye,that—”
“Youbetrayedme, Alis.”
He at least had the decency to flinch. “Does it help to know that I have regretted my actions ever since?”
August 23, 1849
Fiesole, Italy
JUST AS HE had months past, Alis strode out of the steam and smoke of the Maria Antonia railway station with godlike swagger.
Only this time, instead of remaining stock-still and awestruck, Chrissi squealed in delight and ran to him, giggling wildly as he caught her in his arms and spun her in a circle.
“You’re home!” she cried. “I missed you so.”
Laughing, he set her down. “It’s only been three days, lass.”
