“This isn’t my fault.”

“I just said that,” he said, sounding exhausted.

“You all but asked for this. You wanted your feelings for me to replace your feelings for Camille. You needed someone closer to blame because you couldn’t blame her. You have to get along because she’s going to be family, and I’m just someone you work with…someone you knew would move on.”

Thomas seemed too emotionally drained to argue. “Christ, Liis, do you really think I planned this? How many ways do I have to tell you? What I felt for you, what I still feel for you, makes my feelings for Camille insignificant.”

I covered my face. “I feel like I sound like a broken record.”

“You do,” he said, his voice flat.

“You think this is easy for me?” I asked.

“It certainly seems that way.”

“Well, it’s not. I thought…not that it matters now, but that weekend, I hoped that I could change. I thought, for two wounded people, if we were invested enough, if we felt enough, then we could make it.”

“We’re not wounded, Liis. We’re matching scars.”

I blinked. “If we ran into unfamiliar territory, which is everything for me, we could adjust for variables, you know? But I can’t throw away every plan I have for my future on the hope that, one day, you’ll stop being sad because you’re not with her.” I felt tears burning my eyes. “If I were going to give you my future, I’d need you to move on from the past.” I grabbed the flat frame and held it in Thomas’s face, forcing him to look at it.

His eyes left mine, and when he scanned over the photograph beneath the glass, one side of his mouth turned up.

Incensed, I turned the picture around, and then my mouth fell open. Thomas and I were inside the frame together, a black-and-white snapshot, the one Falyn had taken of us in St. Thomas. He was squeezing me against him, kissing my cheek, and I was smiling like forever was real.

I picked up the other frame and looked at it. It was all five Maddox brothers. I picked up the last one to see his parents.

“I loved her first,” Thomas said. “But you, Liis…you are the last woman I will ever love.”

I stood there, speechless, and then retreated toward the door.

“Can I…have my pictures back?” he asked.

I realized then that I had left the file on his desk, and instead, I’d walked off with the pictures in my hands. I slowly walked over to him. He held out his hand, and I returned the frames.

“I’ll just give this to Constance,” I said, picking up the file, feeling disoriented. I turned on my heels and bolted.

“Liis,” he called after me.

The moment I breached the door, I practically tossed the file at Constance.