Page 77 of Bitter Truths

The waiting area is mostly empty this early in the morning. He chooses a corner where we’ll have some privacy and settles into one of the chairs. I sit across from him, hands underneath my legs to hide the trembling, my knees angled away like I might need to run.

“How are you?” he asks. “After everything last night.”

A bitter laugh rises but dies on my tongue. How am I? I’m a disaster. I’m questioning everything I thought I knew about my life, my body, my future. I’m torn between two worlds and don’t know which one is real anymore.

“I’m fine.”

Weller’s eyes sharpen, cutting through my lie without effort. “Are you?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re sitting on your hands,” he says softly, every word precise and relentless. “Your breathing’s measured, careful, as if you’re counting each inhale just to stay in control. And your pulse—” his eyes drop to my throat, lingering there, “is racing so hard I can practically taste your anxiety. Please don’t lie to me, Bianca.”

I swallow hard, unintentionally proving his point. Of course, he sees straight through me. He always has. Tears sting behind my eyes, hot and unwelcome, and I quickly look away from him. “I’m just—trying to wrap my head around it,” I say softly, my eyes fixed on the wall. “It’s... a lot.”

He slowly leans forward, cautious, as if approaching an animal that’s sure to bolt. I catch just the faintest hint of his scent, warm and dangerously familiar. It curls through me, making me ache to lean closer, to breathe him in fully and forget everything else. “Bianca,” he says roughly, “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” My voice trembles, already aware his answer will tear me apart.

“For everything.” His eyes burn into mine, so intense I have to fight the urge to look away. His hands flex against his thighs, tension radiating from every muscle. “For failing to protect you. For not finding a way back to you sooner. For letting you believe that we didn’t want you.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” he protests. “We were supposed to keep you safe, Bianca. We failed you.”

“Stop,” I whisper sharply, panic flaring. My own guilt rises, choking me. “What could you have done?”

His eyes are warm but sad.

“I need you to know that I’ve missed you every single second,” he says, his voice gravelly, stripping away any defense I have left. “The emptiness of losing you, knowing you believed we abandoned you… it was more unbearable than anything she’s done to us.”

My breath catches, and despite all my effort, tears slip free and trail down my cheeks.

“Look at me,” he whispers. He leans forward until his knees nearly brush mine, his warmth sinking into my bones.

Slowly, I lift my gaze, and what I see there steals my breath.

“I’ve changed, Weller,” shame heats my cheeks. “You don’t want me.”

“What I don’t want is a life without you in it.” He runs a hand over his face.

Then his palm cups my cheek. My eyes close, and for a moment, nothing else exists except his warmth on my skin.

“This is dangerous,” I keep my voice low.

“I agree with you.” He rises to his feet, gathering me into his arms as if I’m valuable… rare. His embrace is steady and strong, his heartbeat pounding beneath my cheek, filling the hollow spaces I’ve carried inside for years. “But you’re worth any consequence.”

His scent is very light, but it surrounds me, teakwood and bergamot seeping into my senses, pulling forth memories I’ve tried to bury. Tears blur my eyes, and I clutch at his shirt, grief and relief tangled tightly together. The faint rose note makes me ache with sadness at the wrongness of it.

“Come to dinner tonight,” he says into my hair, a gentle plea woven through his words.

I should say no, cling to the remnants of my resolve, but the warmth of his body against mine has already unraveled every thread.

“One dinner… and lose the blockers. The lack of smell was weird.” My shoulders sink, resistance slipping from my grasp.

He exhales deeply, body easing, tension leaving him like he’s been holding his breath for years. “No blockers. Seven o’clock. I’ll send a car for you.”

“I can drive myself.”