“Right,” Kinsley mutters. “I forgot you’re the Father of the f*****g Year.” She shakes her head and lets her hands drop to her sides. Her eyes scan the balcony for a moment before they turn back to me. She’s still searching and coming up empty. “Are you so scared of allowing me to see the real you?”
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” I snarl. “I’m starting to think you don’t have it in you to ask the right ones.”
“Maybe you don’t have it in you to answer,” she fires back.
There’s no anger in her tone anymore. Just the sad resignation of someone who’s just realized that they’re fighting an uphill battle, and that gravity always wins in the end.
“But you know what, Daniil? As much as you try to push me away, it’s not going to work. Because it’s not just you and me anymore. There’s Isla
