“You f*****g knew.”
Maxime didn't move. Chloe stood near the terrace doors, one hand still resting against the frame. For a moment neither of them answered. Damian looked from his mother to his sister and felt something inside him tighten. Twelve years. Twelve f*****g years, and suddenly the two people standing in front of him looked like strangers. “How long?” Maxime frowned. “How long what?” “Don't.” His voice was low. Almost calm. Chloe knew that tone. It was worse than shouting. “Damian—” “I saw her.” The room went silent. Saying it aloud made it real in a way it hadn't been at the water. Rose. Not a woman who looked like her. Not some trick his mind had played because Mallorca carried too many memories. Rose. “I saw Rose.”
Maxime slowly put down the glass she'd been holding. “Where?
