"Would that be okay?"
Camilla gazed at Sinclair.
She didn't say she wanted to, or didn't want to. Instead, she asked, "Would that be okay?"
"Of course it would," Sinclair sensed Camilla's cautiousness and pulled her into his embrace, gently stroking her hair.
"Camilla, you're my wife,"
His voice remained low and husky, but noticeably softer now. "I'll tell you everything in my heart, one thing at a time.
It's just that some things still need a little more time, alright?"
Camilla's eyes stung with unshed tears.
The "some things" Sinclair mentioned were the very knots that had repeatedly driven him to lose control.
Deep down, she had a vague suspicion—it was likely tied to his birth mother, the subject he never spoke of.
"Alright."
Camilla wrapped her arms around Sinclair's waist and nestled obediently against his chest. "Now tell me about Michael.
I can't shake the feeling there's something off about him."
