She holds me like she understands that if she squeezes too hard, I might splinter.
She hesitates, then says, “I never knew Genevieve, but I don’t think she wouldn’t have wanted you to die with her.”
I close my eyes. “No,” I agree. “She was always kind. Understanding.” I stare down at where our hands are joined. “That doesn’t change what I owe her,” I say. “She stood by me, loved me. Despite my name. Despite my family.”
I feel Aisling tense, her spine straightening, and she starts to draw back, tension flickering through her fingers. I know why as my words echo back to me.
Despite my family.
They hit too close to home—because I refused to be with her when I found out who her family was. And before she can put space between us, I tighten my grip on her fingers, anchoring her hand to mine.
Her gaze snaps up, her azure eyes meeting mine, and I can see the pain flickering behind them, fresh and bitter.
“Aisling,” I say, turning fully toward her. “I’m sorry. What I did five years ago was wrong.”
Her eyes widen.
“I ended things badly,” I continue. “Abruptly. Cruelly. I know that.”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t look away.
“When I found out who you were, I panicked,” I explain. Then I huff out a breath, my lips curving into a sour smile. “Your family and mine already had enough friction. I thought, if the Murrays found out I was sleeping with their daughter—who was supposed to be untouched—it would end in conflict. I didn’t want to be the spark that turned things violent.” I give her hand a firm squeeze, willing her to understand, to believe that it wasn’t my intention to hurt her, to use her, like she thinks I did. “But that doesn’t excuse how I handled it. I should have trusted you, explained myself.”
“I get it,” she says finally, her voice quiet when she speaks. “And I… I didn’t hide who I was to intentionally deceive you. I had no idea what…” She sighs, her eyes dropping. “I waited to tell you who I was because I wanted one thing in my life that wasn’t already decided for me.”
The honesty in it hits me harder than any accusation, and her words resonate deep inside me, forming a sense of commiseration in the fact that our paths in life were not our own to choose.
She came to Portentia’s looking for an adventure she could claim as her own—much like I chose to be with Genevieve to prove I could take something for myself.
“I know,” I murmur. “I didn’t get it then. But I do now. And I’m sorry.”
The word sits between us, fragile and overdue.
She studies my face like she’s searching for something. Whatever she finds, it makes her nod. “Thank you.”
It’s not forgiveness, but it feels like a door cracking open after years of being sealed shut.
We sit in silence for a long time, hands still joined, the air between us thick with truths we haven’t dared to voice before.
Several times, Aisling’s lips part, as if she wants to say something more, but she doesn’t.
And finally, with a gentle squeeze, she releases my hand to retreat to her side of the bed.
“Good night, Raf,” she murmurs, settling beneath the covers.
Rolling onto my side, I click off the bedside light, my chest feeling heavy, and yet, my heart feels lighter than it has in a very long time. “Good night.”
19
AISLING
Sleep refuses to come.
I lie awake long after the room goes quiet, long after Raf’s breathing evens out beside me, staring at the faint spill of moonlight across the ceiling and replaying every word he said.
The way his voice changed when he spoke Genevieve’s name still echoes in my chest.
He sounded… ruined, like a man walking through the wreckage of a house that used to be his, and it makes me hurt for so many different reasons.
