Page 51 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
I guess no matter what she’s doing, she will always be beautiful to me. And my body will always respond to her.
But I was here to comfort her.I still want to know why she ran away so quickly yesterday and why she’s hardly said two words to me since then.
Now, she scrunches her nose, looking cute as all hell.
She does this when she’s trying to hide her emotions because she has a terrible poker face.
She smiles, but it’s a terrible smile as she fights against the tears threatening to spill. It’s a crooked smile, fake and slipping. She’s miserable, and it’s impossible to hide it from me.
But for some reason, she doesn’t want to tell me what’s going on.
She shoots a quick glance towards me, and tears are streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t hold them back.
It breaks my heart, and I grab her into a hug and hold her tight against my chest, my hand resting on the back of her head as I do my best to comfort her.
I wait for a while, until her shoulders stop shaking and she seems to no longer be crying. Then I try again.
“Anya, I want you to talk to me. It’s better than hiding whatever’s going on. There’s no point in denying that something is bothering you,” I say gently, pulling her away from me so that I can look at her face.
Her cheeks are splotchy and pink.
She pulls her mouth to the side and nods.
Anya steps back and takes a deep breath. I let my arms drop away from her, understanding that she needs to work through whatever she wants to say so that she can say it clearly.
When she speaks, when she tells me her reason for being upset, it stuns me into silence.
“I wish things hadn’t happened the way they did between us,” she says. “I’m so sorry for how it all turned out, and if I could go back and make it different, I would.” Her eyes are tight on my face as she tries to read my emotions.
I say nothing, my face gives nothing away, despite my heart beating a million miles an hour.
Anya swallows hard and blinks rapidly before she starts talking again. “I mean, I understand, no one can change the past. I understand you still—you—how you feel about me now, and that I deserve it. I’m just saying that I’m truly sorry, Em. I never wanted to hurt you. I was really young, and I didn’t know how to handle the situation.” She sighs softly and looks down ather hands, at the crumpled tissue. A small white ball, damp and salted with her tears.
When I find my voice, even though I have a thousand questions in my mind, all I manage to ask is, “You would have chosen a different future for us?” My heart is beating wildly at the idea of her feeling bad for what she did.At her showing remorse.
She nods. “I would have. I’ve thought about it often.”
My eyes are locked onto her face. I wish I weren’t so afraid of believing her.
But the way she speaks, her body language, the deep anguish in her beautiful eyes—her sincerity is raw and real.
She isn’t asking me for anything. She isn’t making demands or wanting something from me. She didn’t evenwantto talk about what was bothering her. But this is what it is. She was feeling bad. Guilty, ashamed, regretful.
She doesn’t want anything from me other than for me to hear her apology.
In the end, she’s just saying sorry.
A very heartfelt, genuine apology for what she did.
The battle between my head and my heart slips over in favor of my heart.
“Thank you,” I mutter quietly, my body processing the strange sense of relief she’s given me.
“You don’t have to thank me, Em. I really mean it. I should have said it years ago,” she sighs.
“Well, I’m grateful to hear it now,” I smile.
She nods and tilts her head to the side. “Do you want to go back to the party?” she asks. “I just need to wash my face.”
