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His straight answers were getting to me. I could barely hold onto my anger when he just told me the truth without prevaricating.
"What would you have done if I hadn't showed up? Would you have let her crash at your place?"
The look he turned on me was real annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of affront. "Of course not. What are you even thinking?"
And just like that, I felt my anger deflating. I bit my lip. "Were you surprised to see me?"
And just like that, he let go of his own anger and smiled. "Yes. How long do I get you for this time?"
"Three weeks."
His smile grew. "Best news I've had in a year. Holy hell, let's go home and celebrate."
And we did. Oh yes, we did.
I woke up the next day with a nasty cold. Fucking airplanes.
If I'd been back in L.A. I'd have just ignored it until it went away. No such luck with Dante. He nagged me until I went to the doctor, who did nothing but give me a ten day round of antibiotics. I bitched and moaned about it, but three days in, I was feeling human again.
It was a minor thing, quickly forgotten, though I'd have reason to dwell on it later.
The three weeks went by in a flash, and it was harder than ever to leave him again, even knowing he'd be joining me in mere months.
Before I left, we went to a local jeweler and found a ring for him. We had it sized to fit his finger, but he wore it around his neck, right next to the key to the cabin we'd shared on our very first time.
I fingered the key as we said our goodbyes in the airport. "I wonder how that old cabin is doing," I mused.
"Gram tells me it's the same as we left it. The locks have never been changed and only we have keys. But it's not about the cabin. It's the memory this holds for me."
I smiled up into his eyes. I loved his sentimentality. It never failed to touch a nerve. A good one. "Oh yes, I know. And you're never going to take it off, are you?"
"Never." It was heartfelt, that one word, and I felt it deep in my chest.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
"Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity."
~George Carlin
PRESENT
SCARLETT
Dante and I were weeks into our addictive, tentative truce when the shit hit the fan.
He'd found out about my visit from Bastian. I wasn't sure if he knew the reason for the visit or if he was suspecting something worse, but his reaction was bad.
I didn't even have to ask him how he'd found out. I knew. His mother had told him. She'd learned a thing from her spy that would hurt him so of course she'd had to share.
"So Bastian, huh?" he said unexpectedly one night over dinner.
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. Well, shit. Bringing up Bastian was bad, the look on his face was worse, and I had no idea what to say, because I didn't know what he knew, and I wasn't going to accidentally tell him more.
"I know he came to your house," he added, tone gone black, his hellish temper out to play.
"Fuck," I said softly, with feeling.
