Brent wasn’t worth a moment of April’s time or a single one of her tears. But JoAnn . . .

JoAnn wanted to protect her daughter. JoAnn had the best of intentions. JoAnn loved her daughter, loved her sincerely, but hurt her anyway. Again and again.

The thought of April growing up like that gutted him.

Fuck, he wanted to hold her. Needed to hold her. Instead, as he tried to find the right words, he fisted the steering wheel so hard he was surprised he didn’t pry the leather free.

But when his mouth opened, she held up a hand. “Let me get this out, please.”

More copper spilled over his tongue, but he nodded.

“I wanted you by my side today, holding my hand. To show them I don’t need to change how I look to have a good relationship, and to support me as I had a hard conversation with my mom.” She rubbed her bloodshot eyes and sighed. “I really needed my boyfriend, not the public version of you. But I didn’t tell you any of that, so you don’t have to apologize. It’s fine.”

Amid the upheaval of the afternoon, her near-instant forgiveness was graciousness he hadn’t expected and wasn’t certain he even deserved. Maybe she hadn’t told him enough before the visit, but he should have asked what she needed from him, not assumed.

His failure roiled his stomach, but this wasn’t about him. Not at its heart. He had to remember that.

He didn’t speak until she met his eyes again.

His hand was an inch from hers, but he didn’t close the distance. “May I?”

When she nodded, he let out a slow breath and interwove their fingers, placing their joined hands on his thigh. With his free hand, he reached over and swept away a stray tear from her jaw, keeping the pad of his thumb gentle and light on her salt-stained skin.

She didn’t flinch or edge away. Thank fuck.

His incipient nausea eased as the dread—his fear that this afternoon would end their relationship, that she’d never forgive him—drained away with each arc of his thumb.

“April . . .” Bowing his head, he lifted their tangle of fingers to his cheek and rubbed. Kissed her knuckles. “You’d said you and your father were estranged, and you seemed anxious about the visit. So my goal today was to keep him as far away from you as possible. Since you said he was all about appearances, I figured the best way to do that was to be—”

“Not yourself.” Shit, she looked tired. He hoped she’d let him drive them the rest of the way to Berkeley. “I get it. Well, now I do, anyway.”

He’d make it up to her. When she saw her mother again—if she saw her mother again—he’d do whatever she needed. Be whatever she needed.

And in the meantime, he’d give her all the love he could.

He’d give her love because she deserved it, and because he couldn’t help it. He was so fucking smitten with her, his adoration spilled from him like water from a fountain or blood from a wound. He exhaled love with every breath. It floated behind him with each step, bright as fireflies in the dark of night.

Most of all: he’d give her love because he wanted to earn her love in return.

And to do that, he needed to make absolutely certain she understood why he’d disappointed her, and just how sorry he was for doing so.

“Within two sentences, I could tell your dad was a dick. Which I’d already guessed, since you’re estranged, but it wasn’t hard to see why.” He sighed. “Your mom seemed genuinely affectionate with you, though, so I thought it was safe to leave you two alone, while I kept him away. I’m so sorry.”

Her hands were icy, and he chafed them, trying to lend his warmth.

She watched, her exhaustion visible in her boneless slump and painted in dark circles beneath her eyes. “She is genuinely affectionate. That’s not the problem.”

“I know that now. I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice raw. “If I’d had any idea she was badgering you like that, I never would have abandoned you.”

“No need to apologize.” Her jaw cracked with her yawn. “You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you.”

As she sagged against her seat, she began shivering, even though it wasn’t actually cold in the car. Emissions be damned, he promptly turned on the engine and set the thermostat as high as possible, flicking her seat warmer onto its hottest setting too.

She didn’t protest.

He cradled her face in his hands. “April, I swear I’m nothing like your father. In general, because he’s an asshole, but also . . .”

When he trailed off, shifting in discomfort, she filled in the rest.

“You don’t care that I’m fat.” Nuzzling her cheek against his palm, she closed her eyes again. “Which I should have known from the beginning, given the way we met.”

On the Lavineas server? What did that have to do with her size?

“Given the—?” He paused. “On Twitter. Yes, given the way we met.”

Shit, he’d almost forgotten. Almost revealed exactly how long they had known one another. Jesus. As if the afternoon somehow required even more drama and conflict.

He brushed his lips over her forehead, then her nose, before giving her a brief, gentle kiss on the mouth. “I love your body exactly the way it is, April.”

“I believe you.” Her faint smile lightened his heavy heart. “Even an actor of your talent couldn’t fake how you look at me. Especially when we make love.”

Lustful and lovestruck and speechless. That was how he felt when they made love, and how he probably looked too.

April’s body was perfect exactly as it was. Brent Whittier could go fuck himself.

“I had no idea that was the crux of your estrangement with your father.” After one last tender stroke of her hair back from her forehead, he shifted fully back into his own seat and put the car in drive. “I knew it was an issue with some of your dates, but not with him. I really am sorry.”

At first, she didn’t respond. Tipping back her head, she closed her eyes. His guess: worn out by all the upheaval, she’d be asleep within thirty seconds.

Then, when they were almost out of the parking lot, she seemed to register his words.

Her eyes blinked open, and she put a hand on his arm, stopping him from pulling out onto the road. He braked, then turned to her again.

“What’s wrong?”

Was she still too cold? Did she want to get out of the car and sit on one of the park’s sunlit benches together?

“Marcus . . .” Her brow was pinched. “How did you know I’d been fat-shamed by dates before?”

His hard swallow seemed to echo in his ears.

Fuck. Fuck.

Some of her exes had been assholes to her because of her body, but she’d never told him that. At least, she’d never told Marcus that.

In fact, she’d only ever broached the topic of dickish dates once in his presence. Namely, when she’d posted about fat-shaming on the Lavineas server, and he’d read the post and responded. As BAWN.

He opened his mouth. Pinched it shut again.

The choice lay before him. He could lie. He could say he’d deduced the existence of horrible exes, based entirely on that whole gym-and-buffet misunderstanding from months ago.

Or he could come clean. At long last, he could stop hiding the truth from her.

He knew which choice a good man, a good partner for her, would make. But he also knew something else with a certainty that sickened him.

If he’d told her the truth entirely of his own volition, he might have had a chance to salvage things. Only admitting his lie of omission now, after he’d been caught—that was the part she wouldn’t be able to forgive.

April, who cared only about the truth beneath all the pretty lies, was never going to trust him again, and he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t.

But he still needed to explain, to try, because he loved her, and she deserved the truth. No matter whether she still loved him after he told her. No matter whether she’d ever loved him to begin with.

“Marcus?” She didn’t sound sleepy anymore. Not in the slightest.

Dropping his chin to his chest, he tried to ignore the acid climbing his throat and breathed shallowly through his mouth. If his sudden nausea got any worse, though, he’d have to open the car door to spare her upholstery.

Without a word, he backed up, up, up, until they’d reached the far, empty corner of the lot once more.

With every inch he reversed, April straightened in her seat. Grew more alert, her gaze sharp as a blade against his throat.

Then they were parked, and he was almost out of time.

One last look, while she still trusted him. One last stroke of her cheek. One last moment hoping that maybe—maybe, despite everything he knew about her—she would accept his heartfelt apologies and they could still have a relationship.

Her skin was icy. And now, so was his.

“I’m Book!AeneasWouldNever,” he said.

Lavineas Server DMs, Six Months Ago

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I feel bad. Well, kind of. Kind of not.

Book!AeneasWouldNever: ???

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: I was a bit snippy with AeneasFan83 just now, in her thread about the “historical inaccuracy” of non-white people in the show. But honestly, BAWN, does she think POC were a Victorian invention?

Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’ll look at the thread in a minute, but I have faith that if you were snippy, she deserved it. Especially since her take is total bullshit.

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: THANK YOU

Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m here to defend your snippy honor whenever needed.

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: To be fair, I was already upset before the whole POC-wouldn’t-have-been-in-Europe-even-though-there-is-a-shitload-of-contemporaneous-proof-they-totally-fucking-were conversation, and I probably took that out on her.

Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: And just to be clear, even if there weren’t people of color back then in Europe (AND THERE WERE), our show featured a fucking PEGASUS, so sit down with your hot, racist take on historical accuracy, lady.

Book!AeneasWouldNever: Another excellent point.