He inched closer. “Violante, does the idea bother you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” He dipped his head to meet her gaze. “Very much.”
Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m not sure how I feel. Too many things have happened in a few days, and I didn’t expect this.” She waved a hand towards the hall.
“Despite everything that happened, I firmly believe your father’s idea was a noble and effective one. Paul started a couple of youth centres in New York City as well.”
She wiped a tear quickly. “What you’re doing here is important. You should continue, no matter what I think.”
That wasn’t the whole truth. “But?”
She inhaled. “There’s no but. You’re doing the right thing.”
“I understand you hate me?—”
“I don’t hate you!” she said so loud her voice ricocheted off the high ceiling.
A few chaps stopped boxing to turn towards her.
“Can we leave?” She moved towards the doors, her eyes rimmed with red.
“Of course.” If that wasn’t a complete disaster, he didn’t know what it was.
Violante almost rippedher worn cloak when she removed it once in Keith’s house. The drive back to his house had been one atrocious moment of silence. She was mostly to blame for that. But the swell of emotion in her throat had prevented her from saying anything.
She paced in the bedroom. Her nervous energy fuelled her hunger. She wasn’t sure why she was so upset. What Keith had built was good and noble. She’d seen firsthand what poverty and desperation did to children. Creating a space where poor children could learn a trade and be safe was the best solution to keep them off the streets.
Her father had believed in the same venture. It didn’t matter where a good idea came from. Keith had taken her father’s project, expanded it, and perfected it.
But in her heart, seeing the gymnasium and those happy faces brought her back years and reminded her of what she’d lost, of the good deeds her father had done, and of what her life could have been. It hurt.
If her papa had been a terrible parent, beaten her, and behaved beastly to his employees, having lost him wouldn’t be so devastating. But knowing he’d possessed a very good side, that he’d been loved and admired even by the very man who had denounced him, pained her so deeply she couldn’t breathe. Why had Papa chosen violence? How could someone with such a good heart also be a murderer?
Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile the two aspects of his life. Had she known him at all? She couldn’t tell. She’d grown up with a stranger. The five years she’d spent thinking about that had led to no solution, no explanation, and no closure.
“Violante.” Keith touching her shoulder caused her to gasp.
She hadn’t heard him coming. “What are you doing here?” It came out harsher than she meant.
“I heard you sobbing from the other room.” He raked a hand through his midnight hair. “I’m sorry today’s visit upset you. It wasn’t my intent.” He offered her a handkerchief.
Bother. She should start carrying one around if she kept crying. She hadn’t realised she’d been sobbing loud enough for him to hear it.
She plonked down onto the bed. “Thank you.” She wiped her face, taking her time to postpone the moment she would have to talk to him.
“You can tell me what you really think,” he said. “Or if you want to leave.”
She licked her lips, tasting her salty tears. “I admire what you’re doing. I really do.”
“Why are you so upset?” He sat next to her on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight.
“Seeing the gymnasium brought back all the good memories I had of Sharpe Manor. I forgot about them. Only the bad memories kept me company for a long time.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. “After all this time, I can’t reconcile the good man I loved with the cruel anarchist who killed people for his principles. How could he be so sweet and good to me and his employees and so cruel to those he considered enemies? It’s this contrast that rips me apart. I want to remember only the good things about him, but I can’t. Every memory is tainted, and I feel like I’m choking with his lies. The more I think about that, the less I understand him.”
He hugged her, gently wrapping his arms around her. Maybe she was too weak, but she couldn’t fight the need to be comforted and feel protected. She rested her head on his chest and exhaled, inhaling his scent in his handkerchief.
“How could I have been so wrong about him? How couldn’t I see who he was?” She shut her eyes tightly. “The last time we talked…”
