Page 257 of Remy

“No. It was ridiculous for you to believe he wouldn’t keep his word with something so important. I would’ve trusted him, too. Even after he’d lied to me over and over again.”

His thumb strokes my jaw. “He lied because he loved you.”

I meet his eyes. “And you gave him that pento for the same reason. I should’ve realized you’d never do anything to hurt him… or me.”

His lips kick in a bittersweet smile as he continues dragging that thumb over my skin with attentive reassurance.

He’s so good to me.

So patient.

So understanding.

“Do you forgive him?” I ask, hoping not to trigger his own grief.

I’d found his letter screwed up in the parking lot, the two written words packing a savage punch. I’d regretted the way I spoke to Remy before then, had endured multiple hours of guilt while at my father’s bedside to know I’d reacted horribly. But forgive me was my undoing.

“I don’t know, Pyro,” he admits. “I’m still angry. I’ve done a lot of bad shit over the years, but this hits different.”

I wince, leaning into his touch, wishing I could place a kiss to his palm, but we’re not where we once were.

“I think the worst part is what was left unsaid.” His brow furrows. “Carlo ended up meaning a lot to me. It was more than a working relationship, and I’m not sure he knew that.”

“He knew.” I choke on my words, trying to rein in my sympathy.

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“No, not maybe.” I slide a hand into the pocket of my blazer and retrieve my father’s letter. “I want you to read this.”

He eyes the envelope with trepidation. “That’s between you and your dad. I don’t?—”

“Please.” I reach it toward him. “I want you to read what he had to say.”

44

REMY

She holds out the envelope that matches the one I carelessly discarded at the funeral home.

I don’t want to read it.

What I want is to remain composed for her, and I’m not sure I can do that with Carlo’s voice in my head.

“Maybe another time.” I gently guide her hand back to her lap.

“Remy, please.”

My chest tightens. It’s so fucking hard to deny her. “Ollie?—”

“It’s important.” She pulls the folded piece of paper from the envelope and places it in my hand. “Trust me.”

I drag in a calming breath and take the paper and ink grenade.

I itch to stand up, to pace, to get a fucking drink as I unfold the cardstock and stare at the familiar writing.

Dear fragolina,

I know you’re reading this with sorrow in your heart but please believe that this path led to the least painful outcome.

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