“You flew across—the world—” she gasps. “On your—birthday—” “Elodie. Fuck.” “And you hurt—a very dangerous man—because he—hurt me.” “I’m so fucking sorry.” She takes my right hand off the wheel, lifts my arm, and scoots into my side, hiding her face into my chest as she cries even harder. “Don’t be sorry. It’s the—most romantic thing in the—entire fucking world.”
