"I have never had any doubt," she said softly, "as to how much you love me, Massimo. But I was never meant for you," she said. "Never."
Massimo gave a derisive snort, low and bitter and aching all at once. "Never?" He refused to accept even now, after all the years and all the damage and all the proof life had handed them. He caught hold of her and pulled her close.
The kiss was hard at first. It carried grief and anger and love worn down. When Massimo felt no resistance, the force of it changed. Softened.
When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to look at her, his hand still holding her close.
"Never?" he asked again.
