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Imagine the burden of being the only person that hateful little me had ever trusted.
Now imagine betraying that trust in all the ways that would hurt me the most.
Hell hath no fury.
Every hard thing inside of me turned harder still against him. Went from steel to diamond hard.
“I need a word,” I told him coldly, turned on my heel, and walked away.
He could follow me or not, but I couldn’t take even one more second in a room with the two of them. I’d do something violent if I had to endure any more.
He chose to follow, though I didn’t acknowledge him until I was back in my room, door closed behind us.
I held up the little white box. “This was in the dresser,” I spoke quietly. God only knew who was eavesdropping.
Not a muscle moved in his face. “Yes, I know. I’d put it somewhere safe before my mother shows up here if I were you.”
I just stared at him.
He shrugged. “It’s yours. Gram wanted you to have it. That much she made clear to me. It was hers to give. So take it. Like I said, keep it safe if you don’t want my mother to take it from you.”
I was shaking my head, but I said, “I can’t believe your mom didn’t already take it. It wasn’t even hidden.”
“Yes, I know. I put it in there right before you showed up. I’m well aware of how my mother operates. She no doubt ransacked the place before they’d even taken Gram’s body away.”
I took a few deep, bracing breaths and thrust the small object at him. “I don’t want it. You take it. I have no right to it now.”
He took a weighty step back, one so impactful I swayed where I stood. “You’re the only one with any right to it,” he said, tone dull, lifeless. “Whether you want it or not, I won’t take it. Either you keep it, or my mother will. I’ll let you decide.”
Without another word, he left.
I sat heavily on the bed, staring fixedly at the tiny thing.
I didn’t have a clue what to do with it, but one thing was for sure—I’d never be letting Dante’s mother have it, not if I got to have a say.
If for no other reason than pure spite, I’d keep it at least from her.
I began to unpack, hanging the few clothes I’d brought in the near empty closet.
I knew Dante had meant it literally about his mother ransacking the place, that even my luggage wasn’t safe from her grasping hands.
Luckily I’d packed a bit of jewelry for the trip. I found a small gold chain that ironically, but not surprisingly, Gram had given me, looped the object through it, and strung the thing around my neck, tucking it into my cleavage. The dress I was wearing would cover even the chain.
I hid the box in one of my shoes. If his mother found that much, it wouldn’t be good, but at least all she’d be getting was an empty box.
I began getting ready for the funeral almost right away. Nothing made a girl want to look her best more than facing a room full of her most despised enemies.
I spent nearly an hour on makeup, going full out—smoky eyes, red lips, the works. I looked my best when polished to killing sharpness.
My hair was easier. I left it down. It was long and thick, a wavy, streaky brown mane down my back that needed only a bit of taming to look like I’d just come from a rather graceful tumble between the sheets, which suited me just fine.
I wore a form fitting black dress with a high collar. It was polyester made to look like silk, and it almost succeeded. What the dress did succeed in was accentuating every single one of my outrageous curves, the skirt hitting just above my knees.
I wore the red Louboutins Dante had given me (damn him) though it had been a struggle with myself to do so.
It was a testament to how much I hated the other people that would be attending the funeral that I’d let Dante see I hadn’t thrown them away, to let him see me wearing a gift he’d given me.
But desperate times called for desperate measures, and nothing made me feel more confident than a killer pair of shoes.
