She'd not been able to forget that damn American: his bright eyes, his easy smile. She tried not to think of him when the Nazi had his hands on her, when thin angular lips harshly angled with hers instead of the gentle caress that she'd become accustomed to with Bobby. She'd tried to treat it as a mild fling, a summer romance that could never amount to anything, but in the quiet of the night, as her hands rested on the growing child within her belly, she'd not been able to stop the pang of regrets and longing that had shot through her.
And now he was here, in the city, on some heroic quest to free the people of France from tyranny. She tried not to give it that sarcastic tinge, given that she herself was involved in that very same fight, but it was hard. Perhaps it was the undue guilt and shame rising in her heart that caused her to feel this way. She didn't want to feel those things. She'd made her choice and he hadn't been there.
Her eyes widened at the realization. She'd felt left behind, abandoned.
He glanced over at her from where he'd been conferring with his captain and she was unable to hide the emotions that the recognition of the source of her antagonism to this American. His own blue eyes widened in response.
She knew that there had to be some sort of reckoning between them.