Page 68 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

“What?”

He put his palm up on the table, and opened his fingers with a wave at her hand. She placed her left hand upside down in his, leaving her wrist turned up and her tattoo exposed. Cross’s thumb stroked the tattoo once, then twice. Careful and soft. Slow and gentle.

“What about the other one?”

Catherine cleared her throat, and said, “I, uh, was drunk when I did it, and dehydrated from not eating or drinking anything in days. I didn’t realize how deep I had cut, I guess, and I didn’t really feel anything. I was kind of dazed by all the blood in the bathwater. I was starting to pass out by the time I even thought about the other one. So …”

“I’m sorry,” Cross murmured thickly.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault, or anyone else’s. It was mine. I chose to do it. No one else.”

Cross’s fingers tightened around her wrist, holding her in place. “Still, Catty. Maybe not for this, but other things. I am sorry. That day when I made you leave … after, too, I guess, when you thought I left.”

“You did leave, though,” she pointed out gently. “Technically.”

“I figured …”

“What?”

Cross’s eyes met hers again. “I figured you would find me if you needed to. If you wanted to, you would find me. We always came back together before, didn’t we? I thought going to Chicago wouldn’t make a difference to that at all.”

“Chicago. That’s where you went?”

“Three years,” he said quietly. “Three long years.”

“Why did you finally come back?”

“My parents needed me home, and I hoped enough time had passed that me coming back wasn’t going to cause problems with the Marcello family.”

“It didn’t, clearly,” Catherine said.

He laughed darkly. “Not until last week when I assaulted your father. How is he, by the way?”

“Pissed off.”

Cross didn’t even seem surprised. “I figured.”

“If he knew I was here with you, he would probably lock me in the basement until I was an old woman.”

His smirk grew sinful. “Come on.”

“No, I’m pretty serious. He’s forbid me from seeing you, but he forgets I’m not a child.”

“Then why did you call me, Catty?”

Catherine expected him to let her go when he was done looking at her wrist, but he didn’t. Instead, she did what felt good and right for her by turning her hand over to lay her palm inside his. Their fingers intertwined together tightly.

“Because I’m trying to figure things out,” Catherine whispered.

“What things?”

She looked at him, and smiled. “Everything, Cross.”

“Can I help?”

“Maybe.”

For some of it.