THE PROXY BRIDE: His bride. Her Secret.
“You don’t have to hide from me. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Clarisse looked down at their joined hands, her tears slipping freely now. “And yet…” she whispered in French, voice trembling, “le passé ne me laisse jamais tranquille — the past never leaves me alone.”
Amara’s brows knit in confusion. “Is this about him?” she asked softly, the name Julien caught in her throat but unspoken, hanging like a forbidden word.
Clarisse’s body stiffened at the almost-question, her tears spilling harder. She didn’t answer. Instead, she shook her head, gaze flicking away as though even meeting Amara’s eyes might break her.