Page 76 of Exiled

“Enough, Is. He’s not worth this.” You speak the last sentence around a mouthful of smoke.

“I’m doubting everything, Logan.”

You tuck the cigarette into the corner of Your mouth, pull me to You. Cheek to chest, heartbeat under my ear. “Hear that?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Your heart.”

“Exactly. My heart.”

“And what is it doing?”

“Logan, I don’t—”

“What is my heart doing, Is?”

“Beating.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion, twist my head to look up at You. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why is my heart beating, Isabel?”

“Um, so you—”

“For you.” An inhalation, cheeks hollowing, spewing a gray stream. “My heart beats for you.”

“And mine for you, but—”

“What’s your name? Your full name.”

“Isabel Maria de la Vega Navarro.” I let out a shaky breath. “But he lied about so much, Logan. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Believe that I love you. Believe that I love this”—You put your hand under my shirt, to the little bump—“this life, growing inside you. I love you for everything that you are. I fell in love with Madame X. I fell even more in love with Isabel Maria de la Vega Navarro. I fall in love with you every single day. That week in Spain, do you remember it?”

“Of course! I’ll never forget it as long as I live. It was the best week of my life.”

“Did it matter what lies Caleb told you, while we were in Spain? Did it matter what the truth was or wasn’t?”

“No.” I whisper this, a tiny, heavy nugget of truth.

“No, it didn’t.” You toss Your cigarette out into the street. “And when you wake up next to me, do you think of him?”

“No.”

“What do you think about?”

I blush. “You. Us. Making love to you.”

“Does it matter, then, what the truth is or isn’t?”

“No.”

“No. It doesn’t. You are Isabel. That’s the truth. Youchoseto be Isabel, tobecomeIsabel. You chose to love me. You chose to let me love you. Now you have to choose to let go of the past. The past doesn’t define you. Our pasts shape us, Isabel. They influence us. Our pasts are part of us. Our pasts can inform our future. But our pasts arenotwho we are. You aren’t Madame X anymore. Maybe Caleb lied about how you met, how old you were, how long you were in the coma, who he was, all of that. Maybe what he told you was the truth, maybe it wasn’t. There’s no way to know. He’s dead, Isabel, and he was the only one who knew the truth. And you know something else? Even if he were still alive, I don’t think we’d ever know the whole truth about you, and him, and whatever else.”