Page 130 of Dance of Thorns

But loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean you know how to fix them.

Make them whole.

Take away their pain.

…Or explain that you’ve known this secret the whole time.

She doesn’t even know the full story yet.

But for now, I give her everything I can. I wrap my arms around her. I tell her how much I love her. That I’m here for her.

And wordlessly, I try to tell her how sorry I am for not telling her the truth.

35

DOVE

It’shard to name the emotions that flicker like fireflies under my skin as I stand at my sister’s grave with the man she loved.

Who’s now my husband.

WhoI’mmadly in love with.

It’s impossible to know what to think or say, which is probably why Bane and I are utterly silent right now.

It’s mostly a ceremonial resting place. After Lorenzo’s meth-house went up like a bomb, right after Antonio and the others dragged me out, there wasn’t much left in the way of remains to be buried.

But I’ve still come to this place many times over the years.

To say hi and tell her the random shit going on in my life.

To cry.

To mourn my friend.

…Mytwin.

There’s so much to wonder about that I don’t know where to begin. Why I was told that Lark was Agatha’s granddaughter, and that my mother died during childbirth, when I now have video evidence that was untrue.

Worse, why Agatha never said a thing. Fury brews inside me when I think ofall those fucking yearsshe looked me in the eye with that sweet smile and lied to my face about everything.

Did my dad know?

DidLark?

Where is that cabin on the beach, and why were Mom and Agatha there with Lark and me as newborns? Where was my father? And who was the man they were waiting for a call from, something to do with passports?

I haven’t told anyone any of this, not even Chiara, which I feel shitty about.

Because if this is true, that makes Larkherhalf-sister, too.

But I can’t talk to her about it yet. Not until I have answers to at least some of the million questions in my head.

I take a slow, shaky breath. I reach my arm out and curl my fingers into Bane’s. When I sense a flicker of hesitation, I tense. The lump in my throat grows as I turn to look up at him.

“Is this…weird?” I say quietly, wincing and pulling my hand away.

I’m suddenly acutely aware that as strange and maybe a little uncomfortable as it is for me to be standing here with him at the grave of the girl who was going to marry him first, it’s possiblyevenmoreuncomfortable for him. I personally feel like a home-wrecking cunt. Buthemust feel…