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“No.” The muscles in his jaw clenched, and he took a deep swallow, trying to work up to what he had to say next. “I carried you with me, even when I wanted nothing more than to forget you.”
He gave her a moment to process what he’d said. The fact that he sat across from her now—that he’d gone to the effort of forgiving her insecurities and overreactions thus far—added credibility to his words.
And on that note, since he’d bared a little of his soul and illuminated part of their story, he gave a curt nod, seeking a little payback. “I have a question for you now.”
He leaned in and gave her a direct stare, elbows on the table, ensuring she didn’t sidestep out of this face-off. Given the line of discussion, given what he’d been through and what he knew of her life, he had his hunches and wanted them confirmed. “After my confession, I think I deserve an answer.”
Her posture turned rigid, cheeks taking on a hard set, though at least she wasn’t yet shying away. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
He shook his head and braced for the worst, though some things had to be done, precisely because he meant to avoid “the worst.” “Probably not.”
She bit her lower lip and gave a steady nod, a woman unsure, but open to accepting her fate.
So, he poised to ask his question, almost certain they’d both regret it when he did.
“Why are you in Harlow? And what are you running from?”
