“Ma belle.” His voice is rough.
I sit up slowly, setting the photo on the nightstand with trembling hands. My heart drums so violently I’m certain he hears it from across the room.
“What are you doing here?” I say softly.
“Your mom told me where to find you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry, Connor. Not just for the kiss, but for not telling you. For letting you find out from him instead of from me.”
Connor moves to the edge of the bed. “You know what hurts the most, Meesha? Not the kiss. Not even the lying. It’s that you didn’t trust me enough to handle your doubts.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I was wrong. So wrong.”
He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze returning to the window where the last rays of sunlight are disappearing behind the trees.
“I shouldn’t have canceled the wedding like that,” he finally says. “By email. Without talking to you first.”
My head snaps up.
“I was hurt,” he continues. “And angry. I wanted you to feel as blindsided as I did.”
“Connor, I know I’ve damaged your trust. But I need you to know that in ten years, there’s never been anyone else. Not emotionally, not physically. Just you.”
“I believe you,” he says softly. Connor takes both my hands in his “I’ve been thinking about us, about how we got here.”
I tilt my head, waiting.
“We both hurt each other. You with Dennis, me with the lies and my failure to stand up to Maman. Neither of us is blameless.”
“No,” I agree, squeezing his hands. “We’re not.”
“I want us to promise something to each other. That we’ll both work every day to earn back what we almost lost. Not just you earning my trust, but me earning yours too.”
A sob escapes me. “I’d like that. I’ve missed you so much.”
“J’ai manqué de toi aussi,” he says, his accent thickening with emotion. “I’ve missed you too.”
Just as we’re about to kiss, Dennis materializes in our bedroom doorway, a pistol glinting in his hand. My heart stops beating.
“Touching reunion,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “Sorry not sorry to interrupt.”
Connor turns toward Dennis. “What are you doing here?”
“Claiming what’s mine. Meesha belongs with me, not you.”
The air freezes in my lungs. “Dennis, please,” I say, slowly standing. “Put the gun down. Let’s talk about this.”
His attention shifts to me, eyes brightening. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m here for you, Meesha. We’re meant to be together. The way you looked at me in Vegas... I’ve been following you for weeks. I know you feel it too.”
Dread spreads through my veins. He reaches toward me with his free hand, and I instinctively step back.
“Don’t touch her,” Connor growls.
Dennis’s face contorts with rage. He fires a shot that embeds itself in the wall inches from Connor’s head.
The sound is deafening in the enclosed space, the smell of gunpowder instantly filling the room. My eardrums throb with the percussion.
I scream, dropping to my knees. “Stop! Please don’t hurt him!”
