“But you smell of Casteel.” I jolted at the sound of his name. His real name. “I am wearing his shirt.” “That’s not the kind of smell I’m talking about.”
Naomyцитираминалата година
Because Hawke wasn’t his name. And we hadn’t made love. He’d fucked me.
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“Was any of it true?”
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“Poppy. Stop—” “I hate you!”
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my head doesn’t…go quiet. It replays things over and over,”
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The pain and anger were still there. But Hawke was so warm, and his embrace was…gods, it felt like hope, like a promise that I wouldn’t always feel this way
Naomyцитираминалата година
Sometimes remembering those who died means facing your own mortality,