The honesty in his voice made my throat tighten.
“I know it won’t be clean. Or quick.”
His hand moved to rest over my heart.
“The scars you carry — they’re deep.”
His thumb brushed gently against my skin.
“Some of them... I put there myself.”
That admission weighed heavy between us.
His eyes darkened with guilt.
“If you never want to carry another child...”
My breath caught.
“If the thought of pregnancy terrifies you now...”
He swallowed.
“I will understand.”
His fingers tightened slightly — not controlling, but grounding.
“I will respect it.”
He pressed his forehead gently to mine again.
“I would rather spend the rest of my life earning your trust than ever risk causing you more pain.”
Silence filled the space between us.
His words were accountability.
They were devotion mixed with remorse.
They were the confession of a man who understood exactly how much damage the world — and sometimes himself — had caused.
I swallowed hard.
My chest felt tight.
Words formed on my tongue —
But none of them came out.
He forgave my sister’s sins because of me.
That act alone was the closest thing to redemption he could offer.
My thoughts already leaped ahead to Italy — to the place we would go next to rescue my sister from the man she was forced to marry.
Italy.
Shadowed villas.
