“I know.”
“She told me a little bit more of what she went through. She told me about Drago. That he was one of the men that… that hurt her.”
He doesn’t give me any reaction at all. Even his expression is unreadable, impassive at best. “She’s not lying.”
“I know she’s not,” I say quickly. “I believe her.”
“Good.”
I can tell he’s wondering where I’m going with this. But he doesn’t want to ask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“No, you told me that he was investing in the rings again, trying to carry on our father’s legacy. You didn’t tell me that Drago raped Aisling.”
“It was implied.”
“Kian…”
He sighs. “I didn’t see the point in telling you that. Other than to hurt you,” he clarifies. “It didn’t seem like a good enough reason.”
His answer is unexpectedly sincere. I feel my chest constrict suddenly. As though the reaction is so separate from me that I can’t rein it in the way I need to. But maybe the only way to play Kian is to admit the truth about how I feel about him. Maybe the only way to make Kian believe me is by telling him something worth believing in.
Something honest.
Something real.
“Aisling told me that you’ve made sure there’s distance between Drago and her.”
His response is immediate. “After what she’s been through with him, I owe her that much.”
Again, my chest kind of pulses uncomfortably. I hate that my attraction to him is becoming more and more acute the longer he talks. Because honestly, he does care about Aisling. He does care about women like her. Women like me.
Which means he has never done nor would he ever do what my brother did. What my father did. What men like Rokiades did all the time.
“Kian,” I say softly, shocked to realize that the words that are about to come out of my mouth are in fact, true, “I’m sorry.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I misjudged you.”
He stares at me for a long time. “What is this, Renata?” he asks. “You trying to con me?”
“Look me in the eye and figure it out for yourself,” I tell him. “I’m telling you what I feel. You may not be a hero. But you’re not a villain, either. You’re not a monster. And you’re definitely not like Darragh Kinahan. I should never have said that.”
He still looks suspicious, but his expression is calm. “What brought about the change of heart?”
I shrug. “Talking to Aisling,” I reply, which is not wholly untrue. “Plus sitting here for the past few hours thinking about—well, everything.”
“And you expect me to believe you?”
“I can see why it might be hard for you to believe me. Especially after I hit you in the back of the head,” I say sheepishly. “Sorry about that, too, by the way. But I was angry and frustrated and bitter. I knew next to nothing about my mother before now. And then you decide to drop a bomb on me, and you expected me not to have a reaction?”
He considers that for a moment, but stays quiet.
“I just… I was angry. I still am, if I’m being honest. But not at you. Not anymore.”
“So what are you saying exactly, Renata?”