“Shadow.” Roane gestured to the dog to move as he replaced him, lowering to his haunches in front of me. His eyes glittered with fear. “Evie.”

“Tell me it isn’t true,” I begged, desperately needing him to have a reasonable explanation now that he was in front of me, reminding me just how much I goddamn loved him.

Guilt etched its way into every one of his features, and suddenly I understood why they called it a broken heart.

It felt like mine had shattered inside my chest, the pain so great it was hard to breathe past the piercing, broken shards.

No.

Tears stung my eyes, flowing over and slipping down my cheeks as Roane cursed under his breath and tried to reach for me. I jerked away. “No,” I bit out, swiping at my tears. “Explain.”

He straightened but only to take the seat beside me.

To my horror, I had to quash the urge to throw myself into his arms. Roane’s arms, after all, were the first and only place I wanted to be when . . . well . . . ever. Biting my lip to hold back more tears, I placed the mug on the floor and curled my arms around my waist to keep the sobs inside.

“When . . . all those months ago . . . you told the entire pub that you wouldn’t date a younger man or a man who had money.”

I flinched, remembering that drunken night. Or at least some of it.

“I never meant to lie to you, Evie . . .” His tone was pleading. “I just . . . I wanted you to give me a chance without my age or money clouding your judgment. I never lied . . . I just omitted things.”

Oh my God.

It was true.

It was really true.

Nausea rolled through my stomach.

“And the entire village was in on this? Lying to me . . . making me the village fool?”

“No.” He gripped my arm.

“Don’t touch me!” I yanked it out of his hold and jerked up off the couch. “Don’t touch me.”

“Fuck, Evie.” Roane’s voice shook. “Please . . . it wasn’t like that. I tried to tell you so many times over the last month but—”

“The last month!” I spun around to face him, my rage and hurt and disappointment building into something I didn’t know if I could control. It was breaking me. “You should have told me from the start!”

“I know.” He stood, holding his hands up defensively. “I know. It’s just . . . I loved you from the start, and I was afraid you wouldn’t give me a chance.”

I didn’t want to hear his excuses. “How old are you?”

Roane exhaled slowly. “I’m just about to turn twenty-seven.”

“You’re twenty-six?” Oh my God, he was almost seven years younger than me.

“Aye.”

Seven years. How could I not have realized that? When I was forty, he would just be turning the age I was now.

“Oh my God.”