The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 356

Everything from before flickered through her mind, memory after memory spinning out of control.

Petty used to love Franco so much it hurt. She ignored every warning from Hans and insisted on marrying him, no matter what anybody said.

But three years had burned that lesson deep. She’d learned that if you want too much, it’ll cost you. For her, the price was loving someone who never loved her back, three years of being laughed at and played with, three years watching her enemies walk away unpunished. However much she loved Franco before, that’s how much she hated him now.

She stared out at the sea, watching the sunlight jump across the waves. The yacht was open, the railing only a few steps from the helm. Behind her, Franco was trying—awkwardly—to comfort her. At one time, all she’d wanted was for him to hold her, to keep her safe, to say it would be okay. She didn’t need it anymore.

“I never hurt you,” he whispered, voice rough against her ear.

Petty frowned. Her eyes stung, growing even more red and hot.

She let out a sharp, cold laugh. Then, moving before Franco could react, she shoved him hard in the chest with both hands, finally free. But her legs were still tangled with his, and as he stumbled backward, falling toward the edge, she went with him.

She didn’t fight it.

Right before they both tumbled into the water, Franco’s big hand caught her shoulder. The force yanked her back onto the yacht, but sent his own body crashing straight into the dark blue water.

Petty landed on the deck, breathless. She caught a glimpse of Franco’s tall body disappearing into a burst of white spray. Right before the sea swallowed him, she thought she saw his leg jerk.

Then the waves smoothed out again, like nothing had happened. The only sounds were the slap of water against the hull and the distant cries of seabirds.

She gave it a quick whistle, almost smiling. As she kept reading, trying to figure out how to start the engine, a sudden, thundering splash exploded from the side of the yacht. Anger seemed to rise right out of the water.

Before she could look, she saw two hands grip the edge. Franco hauled himself onto the deck in one smooth motion, water streaming off him.

She spun around and the sharp scent of salt hit her just as his hands, still cold from the sea, cupped her face. Before she could react, he pressed his mouth against hers, rough and desperate, forcing a kiss that stole her breath.

His eyes were stormy, his movements hungry and wild, as if he had to remind her—after all this—she still belonged to him... even though she’d been playing around, whistling at seagulls, like none of it mattered.

Her lips burned under his, cold and searing all at once, the ache racing straight to her heart.