Page 139 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"Last week. He went to Sophie's."
My heart skipped.
"What was he doing at Sophie's?"
"Asking about you," Ella's tone was flat, like she'd already processed this for a while. "He asked about your life in France, asked if you'd been okay these five years."
"Did Sophie tell him?"
"Sophie didn't say anything." Ella looked at me. "But he said something."
I didn't ask what. My throat tightened, afraid my voice would crack if I spoke.
"He said, 'I know I don't have the right to ask, but I still want to know.'"
My eyes burned.
"He also said," Ella continued, "he wouldn't let anyone take you away from him again."
"That's not what he meant," my voice came out rough. "That's just his possessiveness kicking in. He's always been like that."
"Olivia." Ella cut me off.
Her tone was serious, serious enough that I had to look at her.
"You still care about him." She said it like a fact.
My lips moved, but no sound came out.
"You still love him." She said it again.
"I don't—"
"You do." Her voice was quiet but firm. "You didn't come back from France for Sophie's wedding. You didn't stay to teach ballet for the money. You don't go see Juliet every Saturday just because she's your daughter. You tried on three dresses before going to see him. You think I didn't notice?"
My tears fell.
"He hurt me," I choked out. "He locked me out. He took Juliet."
"I know."
"He never stood by me!"
"I know."
"I can't... I can't just forgive him!"
"Olivia," Ella grabbed my hand, squeezed hard. "I know what he did. I know what you went through. But the tears you're crying now—they're not because you hate him."
I didn't speak. Because she was right.
I hated him. I hated his silence back then, hated that he let Bianca move in, hated that he locked me out of the nursery. But every time he stood watching me from a distance at the amusement park, every time he said "I just wanted you to know" at the restaurant, every time hecrouched down to tie Juliet's shoelaces and looked up and his eyes met mine—my heart would skip a beat.
"I don't know what to do," I said, my voice small. "Ella, I really don't know."
She reached out and pulled me into her arms. Her shoulders were bony, pressing against my cheek, but she held me tight.
"You don't have to know right now," she said. "But you need to figure out one thing—are you afraid he'll hurt you again, or are you afraid you'll forgive him?"
