Page 292 of Bad Prince
“What happened?”
“Truck driver,” I say quietly. “Ice. Bad accident.”
A beat.
“He was a good man,” I add. “Kind. Took care of us.”
My throat tightens slightly.
“It’s just been me, my mom, and my little brother and sister since.”
He listens.
Really listens.
“She doesn’t want heartache again,” I say.
That part’s softer.
More for me than him.
I pull out my phone.
Scroll.
Find it.
A recent photo.
The four of us.
I slide it across the table.
He picks it up.
And for the first time—he actually reacts.
Not controlled.
Not filtered.
He draws in a breath.
Sharp.
“She is still beautiful,” he murmurs.
In Spanish this time.
“Todavía es hermosa.”
(She is still beautiful.)
I watch his face.
The way his thumb lingers just slightly too long on the screen.
The way something old flickers there.
