A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter forty

The warm light of mid-morning filtered through my curtains as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at my hands. My thoughts were a chaotic tangle of memories. Most, if not all of them were about Max. And about every moment I've spent with him.

I hadn't told my father about going back to see him the yet—about how Max and I both know he was lying to us, trying to separate us. Part of me wanted to keep it to myself—to shield him from the truth of what had happened. I guess I'm just going to have to tell him what an amazing person Max is, and how I don't care what my Father thinks.

The quiet knock at my door startled me, and I jumped slightly.

"Annalise," my father's voice called from the other side.

"Come in," I said, standing quickly and smoothing my dress.

He entered, his face unusually pale. He'd clearly been worrying about something, and when his gaze met mine, there was an emotion there I couldn't quite place—relief, maybe.

"You're awake," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He crossed the room, stopping just a few feet from me. "You look... tired."

"I didn't sleep well," I replied softly, avoiding his eyes.

He hesitated, then sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Annalise, we need to talk."

I nodded, sitting back on the edge of the bed as he lowered himself into the chair by the window. For a moment, neither of us spoke. He was usually so composed, so in control, but now he seemed almost fragile.

"Im sorry," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

My breath hitched, and I felt my heart race. "What for?," I asked, my hands clenching in my lap.

He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightening. "I haven't been the best Father to you, forcing all these things upon you, and I'm sorry for lying to you," there's a long pause before he reluctantly continues, "and Max."

A warm smile dances across my face, "Thank you Dad," I stand up to embrace the older man, and he welcomes the hug.

"You could have died, Annalise. In that fire, and I'm sorry I couldn't save you, and I'm sorry I've been pushing you away."

"But I didn't," I said quickly. "I'm fine, Father. I promise."

He let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair. "When your mother died, I swore to myself that I'd do everything I could to protect you and your sister. But the world..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "The world is cruel, Annalise. I've tried to shield you from it, but I've realized now that I can't. Not completely."

The mention of my mother brought a lump to my throat. He rarely spoke of her, and when he did, it was always with a mixture of pain and reverence.

"You remind me of her," he continued, his voice softening. "She was stubborn, just like you. Brave, too. I see so much of her in you."

Tears pricked my eyes, and I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

"She would have been proud of you," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I know I don't say it enough, but I'm proud of you too, Annalise. You've been through so much, and yet you've stayed strong. Stronger than I ever could have imagined."

"Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking.

He stood, crossing the room to sit beside me on the bed. For a moment, he simply rested a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but comforting.

"I'm just glad you're alive," he said, his voice barely audible.

Before I could respond, the door opened, and Clara stepped inside. She paused when she saw us, her usual confidence faltering for a moment.