Page 144 of Dance of Thorns

“Does he know?” I croak. “I mean, about?—”

Bane glances at me. “That he had twin daughters? I'm not sure,” he says quietly. “I knew it from you years ago that Dove’s mom had died during childbirth. But then, that video…” His eyes tighten with sadness and sympathy as he shakes his head again.“I don’t know if Cesare knows you’re his daughter, or if he was an absent enough father that he didn’t even notice that youweren’tDove?—”

“You didn’t either,” I blurt, bitterness creeping into my voice. I look away, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

“I was in pain,” he chokes. “I wasdyinginside, because I thought I’d lost you. And when I saw who I was told wasDove, alive and well, atyourfuneral…”

I turn to watch his face crumple as he sucks furiously at the cigarette, eyes stabbing into the opposite wall as he shakes his head.

“I wasso fucking angry,” he hisses. “That Dove would live through that, andyouwouldn’t. I was so bitter that the one thing I had that made me happy and stopped the screaming in my head and the nightmares had been ripped away from me, and the very fucking person who’d talked her into going out that night was the one person who’d come home.”

He passes the fresh cigarette to me and looks up, exhaling a thin smoke curl.

“I was blinded,” he growls. “By pain, and rage, and myneedfor vengeance, and I pushed you away.”

We’re both quiet for another minute, just passing the cigarette back and forth, until it burns out too. Bane drops it into the mug, and I reach for a third.

Not because I want the nicotine. I need the burn of the smoke in my lungs and the sting of it in my eyes. I need the cigarette occupying my hands, because if not, I’m going to pick my cuticles to fucking ribbons.

“How long have you known.”

The question drops like deadweight from my mouth. When he remains silent as he takes the cigarette from my fingers, I turn to him.

“How long,” I choke, staring at him as he drags on the smoke. “How long have you known I’m?—”

“Since the roof.”

Bane nods, still looking at the wall in front of us. “Since that night on the roof, on the eighty-third floor. When you called for a truce, and shook my hand…”

His head swivels, eyes dropping to my hands twisting in my lap. He points with the cigarette to the burn on the back of my right hand. Then I tremble when he takes that hand with his free one, running his thumb over the scar.

“I felt this when I took your hand…” He swallows heavily. “And I knew.”

The sound that I hear inside me is my heart breaking in half. It’s the truth hitting me like a punch to the gut, doubling me over as all my air, my strength, and my very soul are all knocked out of me.

Bane’s dark, piercing gaze drags up to mine. “I knew you were the girl I loved ever since the night we didn’t jump, baby.”

Tears instantly well up in my eyes, running in hot rivulets down my face as I swallow back a sob.

“Don’t call me that,” I choke. “Please don’t ever call me that.”

He frowns.

“Baby?” I spit, feeling sick, unable to stop the tears and the snot from choking my voice. “I don’t deservebabys.” My face falls as I look up at him, my heart in my hands. “Bane, I washorribleto you,” I whisper brokenly.

His brow knits. “No, you were?—”

“Yes, I was,” I insist. “I’vereadthe diary,” I say bitterly. “Iliedto you. Manipulated you. Said awful, shitty things…” My face twists. “I was a monster to you,” I breathe, my voice cracking as I reach for the cigarette and bring it to my lips. I take a heavy drag, my body trembling as the full weight of what I did sinks into me. “I was a cruel, vengeful,bitchto?—“

“You wrote down your worst thoughts in that dairy,” he growls. “Just like people posting thebestversions of themselves on social media, you took all your horrible parts and put them in that book to get them out of your head.”

“Stop it,” I choke. “Don’t you dare try to rewrite history. Don’t youdaretry to say that you never hated me for the bullshit I pulled and the way I treated you, Bane.”

He whips his head around to stare at me. “You think I never hated you?” he spits venomously. “Is that what you want to hear?! Fine!” he roars. “Yeah, Lark, I fucking hated your bullshit sometimes! I hated the way you acted, and the mind games, and the way you’d try to make me jealous by flirting with that motherfucker Scott Hathaway right in front of me!!” His lips snarl, teeth glinting as he glares at me. “I hated all that,” he spits. “But most of all?!”

His cold dark eyes pierce right into my soul.

“I hated that I couldn’t fucking hateyou. I hated you for making me love you, and neveroncereleasing me from your spell, no matter what you did or said.”