No.
He loved her.
It was truly that simple.
She awakened him and made him see how dreary and Chris-less his life had been.
Once, he had permitted wounded pride to stem his apologies.
Never again.
This time he would fight for her. For them.
Without thinking, he reached for her slim hand resting on the counterpane.
Unlike other ladies, Chris’s hands were not paragons of milky-white ease—soft and unblemished.
No. Hers were the hands of a woman at work—chafed knuckles, dirt beneath nails, the raised white scar on her thumb from a cut, courtesy of her absurdly sharp trowel.
Slipping her fingers through his, he could feel the callouses on her palm, the strength in her grip.
And like him, she gasped at the unexpected touch, her eyes flying to their joined hands.
Electricity hummed at the connection, licking heat up Alistair’s arm.
He ached to kiss her. To lift her chin with a finger and draw her lips to his. To crawl into the bed beside her and urge her head to nap on his chest.
He merely studied her instead.
“Please, Chris,” he whispered. “Can we try again? It’s been nine years. Could ye possibly forgive the hurt of my betrayal and learn to trust me once more?”
She stared at their hands, threaded together.
And then she shifted, her palm moving to rest atop his hand, her thumb tracing the blue vein from his middle knuckle to his wrist bone.
Alistair rather forgot to breathe.
Finally, she lifted her gaze. Something haunted and pained lingered there. Perhaps merely a reflection of his own beating heart.
“I am not sure forgiveness will be possible, Alis. I cannot say . . . given all that—”
“Please, lass. I ken that I am nine years too late with my groveling, but can we not give it another go?”
“Alis—” she began, tone so weary.
“Please.”
Her bottom lip trembled and she bit it, her top teeth sinking deep to stem her tears. Reaching for the napkin atop the breakfast tray, she dabbed at her eyes.
“It w-won’t end well,” she gasped.
“Perhaps not. But I think we owe it to the memory of our past selves, to those happy months in Fiesole, to at least try.”
Chris didn’t agree with him in words.
But she did nod before picking up her bap again and reaching for the jam pot.
It wasn’t a resounding declaration, but Alistair’s heart took flight.
