Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(42)
“I know,” he choked out, and the memory of that day slid in front of him, in all its hope and heartbreak.
“I hated feeling like I broke your heart, but I had no idea you were going to send me that letter,” she said, and her voice sounded like she was shattering now, too.
“Of course you didn’t know.”
“I opened it with nervous fingers. Part of me hoped it would say all that it did say, but I also hated myself for wanting that. Michael, I loved my husband.” She inhaled deeply, as if she needed the air to fuel her. “I loved Julien with all my heart. And though I had loved you that desperately too, you were the past. The most beautiful, wonderful part of it, but still the past. Then you sent me that note, and I was already with him, and I felt torn to pieces,” she said, pressing a fist to her heart.
“I didn’t want to make you feel that way.” A fresh wave of guilt crashed into him. He should have tried to research her relationship status, but that was hard to do a decade ago. He’d simply sent the letter to the last address he’d had for her.
“You didn’t make me feel that way. My damn heart did. I thought about you every day in college. I missed you every day. Getting over you was near impossible, but I was finally doing it. Living my life. We tried so hard to be together, but the fates were against us. We were too young. We only moved on because we had no other choice. And then you blasted back into my life with this letter that was a thing of beauty, and I was unprepared for how much your words would stir up my feelings of all that we’d had.”
He shook his head, his throat hitching. He hadn’t thought about how his words might have wounded her. “I didn’t mean to mess with your head.”
She reached for his hand and ran her fingers across his palm. Her touch was comforting and maddening. Because it felt right, and like the only touch he’d ever want.
“You didn’t,” she said, stroking his hand. “Not at all. I just want you to know it wasn’t easy to get over you the first time, and it was gut-wrenching to let you walk away in Marseilles. But I had a fiancé and what kind of wife would I be if I even let myself linger or wonder about what could have been with my first love?”
He swallowed thickly, unsure how to answer, or if it was even necessary. His whole life since then had been spent lingering on his first love. He remained silent.
“If I was like that, if I had entertained anything more than a passing notion of you, I would have been the worst wife. When I boarded my flight that day, I had to shut my heart and mind to you and give it thoroughly to Julien.” Her eyes welled with the threat of tears. A waiter walked by, balancing rectangular plates of sushi.
“And you did,” he said, and he understood deeply why she’d had to do that.
“I did,” she said, then took a drink of her water. “And I regret nothing.”
“Regret is a terrible feeling. But I’ve got to know,” he said, clasping her hand tighter now, needing her answer, “why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to know that I was faithful. Always. That I am a faithful person. And I told you that you’re the first man I’ve been with since he died, but you’re also the only man I’ve even thought about. I let go of you years ago because I had to, and then when I was finally able to think about this again,” she said, gesturing from him to her, “you were the only one who even came to mind. The only one I could even imagine sharing anything with.”
The only one.
A rush of heat flooded him at those three words. He wanted to be the only one for her, even if he was only able to have her for a small moment in time. He would take what he could get, and he would savor it. She was here right now, with him and no one else.
“You have no idea how glad I am that I’m the one you thought of, Annalise,” he whispered.
A smile tugged at her lips.
Then, he went for it. Just f*cking let it all out. A hope, a wish, a what if question. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened that day if you weren’t engaged? If you’d never have met him?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t think about it. I don’t have to wonder,” she said, her tone steady and certain as she looked straight at him, the rest of the restaurant fading into a blur. “Because I know what would have happened.”
His hands shook and his heart stuttered as he rasped out, “What would have happened?”
She leaned in closer, placing a hand on his cheek. “I’d have stolen you. Taken you away from the army. Brought you home with me to Paris. Kept you all for myself for all the years and made up for lost time,” she said, and his heart beat furiously, slamming against his chest, loving those words.
“Stop saying those things,” he whispered, shaking his head.
“What things?”
“Things that make this harder for me.”
“Why is it hard for you?”
He drew a breath. “Because you say things like that and it makes me want to steal you away. Maybe this is my only chance.”
“What if it is?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? What if this night, this trip, these hours were all they’d have? He didn’t know if he could risk putting any more of his heart on the line for her. One thing was certain—his original notion that one touch and she’d be out of his system was well and truly gone. “Then we make the most of it.”