Crossed (Never After, #5)

by Emily McIntire

And nobody in the church ever seemed to catch on that my mother was a hypocrite. A fake. Or maybe they did, and they simply stayed quiet. After all, people often ignore traits in others that exist within themselves.

“My eyes are up here, Father.” His nostrils flare and he straightens, moving forward until he’s leaning over my seat, his hands gripping the arms of my chair. “I know every single inch of you, petite pécheresse, as if you were painted by my hands.”

“Tu es la mienne, au cours de toutes nos vies,” I whisper in her ear. I push myself away from her, forcing the distance I’d do anything to erase. Then I’m gone, knowing that was goodbye.

The truth is that we both got lost in the world, and the world didn’t care to find us, so we found each other instead.