A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter thirty three

The garden was alive with color, sunlight streaming through the leaves and flowers swaying in the soft breeze. It should have been beautiful. But all I could see was grey.

Clara stood beside me, hands on her hips, watching as Franco and Oscar chased each other through the bushes like children.

Lando was trying to tell some sort of joke or something as he too stood on the other side of me.

"You're not even listening, are you?" Lando said, his tone teasing but edged with concern.

"I'm sorry," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."

He frowned. "You've been 'just tired' for weeks now. Annalise, you can talk to us, you know."

"There's nothing to talk about," I said quickly, looking away.

Lando touched my arm gently. "We only want to help."

I shook my head, blinking back tears. "You can't."

The truth was, no one could help. Not unless they could change the past, undo all the choices and circumstances that had led to this moment.

Clara sighed, turning to me. "You could at least try to enjoy yourself, Annalise."

"I am trying," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No, you're not," she said, frowning. "You're sitting there like a ghost. This isn't like you."

I shrugged, staring down at the trowel in my lap. "Maybe this is who I am now."

Franco appeared out of nowhere, plopping down onto the grass in front of me. "We're not giving up on you, you know," he said, tossing a pebble into the pond nearby. "So you can sit there and mope, but we're going to keep dragging you outside until you remember how to smile."

I tried to muster a laugh, but it came out hollow. Clara knelt beside me, taking my hand.

"Ann," she said softly, "I'm really sorry."

I shook my head, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak.

The garden was empty now, the others having given up and gone inside. I sat alone on the bench, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

The sky above was streaked with orange and pink, the day slipping away into night. I thought about him.

About how he used to look at me, like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

About how I'd felt in his arms, like I'd finally found the place I belonged.

And about how I'd lost it all.

I closed my eyes, letting the tears I'd been holding back slide down my cheeks. "In another life," I whispered to myself, "we would've had none of this between us. Just you and me."

The wind rustled the leaves around me, but it didn't answer

-

The seamstress stood behind me, adjusting the fabric of my wedding gown as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

"You look beautiful, my lady," she said, her voice soft and reverent.

I didn't feel beautiful. I felt trapped.

The dress was everything it should have been—elegant, pristine, the perfect image of a future duchess. But as I looked at myself, all I could think was how wrong it was.

"Do you like it?" Clara asked from the corner, her smile forced. She was trying to be supportive, but I could see the worry in her eyes.

"It's fine," I said flatly, turning away from the mirror.