Yulian takes both my hands. His body heat seeps into me. I have no idea how he can be so warm, not after all the blood he’slost, but somehow, he is. And he’s giving it all to me.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. It sounds so foreign, that word on his tongue. Yulian Lozhkin doesn’t do apologies. “For lying to you.And for everything I’ve put you through.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Last year.” He gives me an intense look. “I’ve been trying to make it up to you. To change for you. But I never apologized toyou, and that should have been the first thing.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I shake my head. “It’s in the past. It’s—”
“It’s not,” he cuts me off, though not unkindly. “Not as long as I refuse to acknowledge it.”
“After my family died, I locked myself up. Shut down every emotion. I didn
