She turned to look at him—and he clearly saw his own thoughts mirrored in her eyes. She didn’t want to be only a friend to him any more than he wanted to simply be her friend. Looking at her beautiful face while everything she’d just said rumbled through his mind, he felt as if he were locked in some ancient torture device. He didn’t know how to talk her into changing her mind, and he couldn’t deny his own naiveté and ignorance, which made it impossible for him to offer any reasonable argument. In that moment he could only hope that with time she would change her mind and allow him to court her.

As if she’d read his mind, she said while she squeezed his hand, “You must promise me that you will not speak to my father—or to anyone else, for that matter. You must promise me. If you care for me at all, you must promise me.”

“I do care for you, Amala—more than I can say. But I heartily disagree, and my silence feels hypocritical.”

“Do it for me,” she said.

“I can’t do it without the hope that something will change.”

“You mustn’t hope,” she said with a conviction in her voice that was a complete contradiction to what he saw in her eyes. At least he didn’t feel alone in his confusion.

Suddenly frozen as if they’d both turned to stone statues there in the garden, Henry could only stare into her black eyes and wish for some reasonable solution to the strength of all he was feeling. She didn’t seem any more eager to look away than he did. It was as if they were trying to memorize each other, trying to hold on to this moment with the fear that it would be all they’d ever have.

Henry didn’t think about kissing her; he just did it. The moment their lips met he could think of a hundred reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this, but instead he chose to simply savor the experience, as meek and simple as it was. She offered no resistance, and her eyes were glistening with fresh moisture when she opened them to look at him. He couldn’t keep himself from kissing her again.

Henry finally forced himself to some measure of rational thinking and drew away, turning to look straight ahead. He cleared his throat much louder than necessary and said, “Forgive me. That was completely inappropriate, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he wondered if that would be the first and last time he would ever kiss her.

“Your apology is completely unconvincing,” she said. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

Henry looked at her abruptly, even though he knew that meant she would be able to see the tears in his eyes. “How well you read me,” he said. “I must confess . . . I’m not sorry at all. I can’t dispute that it was inappropriate, but how can I regret it?”