Guilt consumed her. “Because of me.”

“No, not because of you,” he said, his tone serious. “For you.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes,” he said. “I once blamed you, believed it was because of you, and it took me a long time to see my anger was unfounded. There are a few people I could reasonably blame, myself included, but you aren’t one of them. If I would’ve realized that sooner, it could’ve saved us both a lot of hurt.”

She stared at him with surprise, and he continued after a brief pause. “The day we found you in Chicago was October twelfth. I was so caught up in everything that it wasn’t until the next afternoon that it dawned on me it had been the anniversary of Maura’s death. Last year on that day, you didn’t stand a chance. No matter what you did, I would’ve gotten you, because it wasn’t about you—it was about her.”

A chill shot down her spine at the memory of that afternoon.

“I want you to know I’ve never hated you. I couldn’t hate you, because I never knew you. And I didn’t want to know you because I didn’t want to care about you. Nine years in a row, I spent October twelfth wishing I could punish you, but this year, all I could think about was rescuing you, which is what got her killed in the first place.” He paused. “I’m talking in circles, and I’m not sure if you’ll believe me, but I want you to know I’ve grown to care for you. And as for what I did to you last year, I don’t expect forgiveness, but I am sorry about it. If I could take it back, I would.”

He pushed his chair back and walked over to her, pulling up his pant leg to show his ankle bracelet. “Do you know what this is?”

“No.”

“It’s a GPS monitoring device. A stipulation of my bail was that I had to wear it.” Her eyes widened, and he laughed at her expression. “It’s something, isn’t it? You don’t know what it’s like to have your every move watched until it happens to you. Somewhere there’s a man watching to see where I am to insure I’m not trying to get away.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“I’m sure it does,” he said. “I had my reasons for chipping you, but that doesn’t mean what I did was right. I called in one last favor with a colleague of mine, the one who saw Carmine after the accident, and I made an appointment for you. I may be stuck with my monitoring device, but that doesn’t mean I can’t remove yours.”

Her mouth fell open as she struggled to find words. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I don’t deserve your gratitude. I’m only fixing my mistakes at this point.” He sat in his chair as tears spilled down Haven’s cheeks. “Anyway, one more thing. I want to give this to you before our guests arrive. It could be my last Christmas with my family, so I’d like to make the best of it.”

His words made her stomach twist. “You think you’ll go to prison?”

“I’m sure they’ll get me one way or another,” he said as he opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a familiar leather bound book. He set it in front of her. “My wife’s journal. I think you should keep it.”

“Me? Why?”

“She wrote a lot about adjusting to this life and her conflicting feelings about the world I belonged to,” he said. “It might help you going forward.”

She picked up the book cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. Maura would’ve wanted it this way.”

Standing, Haven headed for the door, but she hesitated before she reached it. “Not long after I got here, you asked me not to call you Master because it made you feel like my father. Michael Antonelli was a horrible man, but despite everything, you’ve been kinder to me than he was. So I do forgive you for hurting me, because you’ve helped me more than anyone else. You’re a good man, Vincent, and I think sometimes good men find themselves doing bad things.”

His expression remained blank, but for the first time since meeting him, Haven saw his eyes gloss over with tears. “Thank you, Haven.”

Haven. Her name on his lips sounded foreign as he finally said it. She wiped her tears as she walked out, knowing there was nothing left to say. She stepped out into the hallway at the same time Carmine came up the stairs. She eyed him peculiarly. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah, school was a bust,” he said, shrugging. “How are you today?”

“Okay.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Okay? Is that an, ‘Okay, I’m about two seconds away from finding a window to throw myself through, but I’m not gonna tell you because you’ll stop me,’ or is it an, ‘Okay, I’m pretty fucking peachy, Carmine, so stop questioning me’?”

She laughed. “I’m just . . . okay. Especially now that you’re here.”

He kissed her before the two of them headed upstairs. Settling into the chairs in the library, Carmine grabbed his guitar as Haven gazed at the cover of the journal.

“You still reading The Secret Garden?” he asked.

“No, I finished that book months ago.”

“Really? What happened in it?”

He didn’t truly sound interested, his gaze on his fingers as he strummed the guitar, but she smiled at the fact that he would ask. “The girl comes to the conclusion that the mean man she lives with isn’t as bad as she assumed. He’s just grieving because he lost his wife. She makes friends with the son, who the father can’t face for a long time, because he reminds him of his wife.”

Carmine’s fingers stilled, the music abruptly stopping as he looked at Haven. “No shit?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Fate,” he said, his eyes drifting from her to the book on her lap. “My mom’s journal.”

“Uh, yeah. Your father gave it to me.”

He turned back to his guitar and started strumming again, music filling the room as sunshine streamed in on them from the window. She watched him in silence, her chest swelling with love as her favorite passage from The Secret Garden sprang to mind.

One of the strangest things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever . . . sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone’s eyes.

Haven felt it then, sitting in the library with the scarred boy who had stolen her heart, his deep green eyes twinkling as the beautiful notes poured from his fingertips.

Sempre. No matter what happened next, or what went on tomorrow, nothing would ever take that away. Their love existed, despite everything else, and it was that love that would go on forever. The moment was etched in time, transcending the constraints put on them by life.

For even after they were gone, when life continued on, a part of them would always exist in everything—and everyone—they ever touched.

She turned back to the journal and opened it. Taking a deep breath, she read the first line:

Today is my first day as a free woman.