"Grandfather, what do you mean?" Vincent Hawthorne's voice grew grave.
After he rescued Vivian Windsor that day, she had been crying her heart out.
She grabbed his sleeve like a lifeline, sobbing, "Vince, I was wrong! All these years, I've been so wrong!"
He had assumed she was having an emotional breakdown after being kidnapped and tortured by Liam Linden, so he patted her back gently and coaxed her, "You've done nothing wrong. You're wonderful. Shh, don't cry."
But she couldn't stop crying, smearing tears and snot all over.
A flicker of disgust went through him.
A visceral disgust.
Because he was a germaphobe.
But he reassured himself that this was Vivian Windsor, the woman he had crushed on all through his teenage years.
He had no reason to be repulsed by her.
"Vince…" Vivian Windsor sobbed, gripping him tightly and refusing to let go. "I've figured it out."
He fought the urge to push her away and asked gently, with forced patience, "What have you figured out?"
