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“Samantha!”
I see her shoulders tense, her head drop forward, and she slowly turns and looks at me.
The anguish in her eyes is enough to destroy me. Her mouth is clamped shut, and she crosses her arms over herself. It feels like she’s closing in, shutting herself away from the world.
Shutting herself away from me.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” I murmur as I step closer to her. She takes a step back, and I freeze.
“No, Dante. He didn't hurt me,” she says in this empty, robotic voice that makes me want to hit something again. She emphasizes the word “he,” and it’s clear all of a sudden which of us actually did hurt her.
“Baby—”
“You should go back in there. You have people waiting for you,” she says.
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Well, your fiancée won’t be happy you’re out here.”
“Fucking Marlena. She’s not my fiancée,” I say forcefully, and she gives me this look like she thinks I’m full of shit. “We were engaged once upon a time. I broke it off. I don’t want a fucking trophy wife.”
“Yeah? Then why’d she say that?”
“Because she’s not over it, and she can’t believe there’s a man alive who doesn't want her,” I growl. “I sure the fuck don’t.”
“Well. She certainly seems to think everything is just great between you. And thanks for telling her that you were paying me. That was an especially nice touch,” she says bitterly.
I stare at her. “I never said a damn thing about our agreement.”
“Well, she made sure to let me know that she knows. So at least two of your little friends know that I’m nothing but a paid wh—”
“Don’t say it,” I growl. “What we agreed to is something separate from everything else. I’ve never thought of you that way, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “‘Don’t talk to anyone, Samantha.’ ‘Just smile and nod, Samantha,’” she mimics, and I open my mouth to argue.
She holds a hand up and shakes her head, and I close my mouth again. “It doesn’t matter. One thing is very clear. She fits here a hell of a lot better than I do.”
“Samantha, she’s crazy. She wants me back, but I’m not interested. I don’t want her. I want you.”
“Did you hear me, Dante?” she asks, her voice hard, angry. “It would never work. I don’t fit with…all of this,” she says, extending her arms and gesturing to everything around us: the venue, the line of limos, her evening gown. “This is your world, and I was never meant to be here.” Tears spill from her eyes, but she looks away from me, and it’s clear that she doesn’t want me to comfort her. She’s standing right here with me, but she’s already removed herself from my life.
My chest feels tight. “So that’s it? Just done?”
She looks down.
“Samantha,” I growl.
“Yes. Done. We said a month. The month is over. Or did you not notice that it’s midnight? Our contract is up.”
I stare at her in surprise and dread. She’s still got that anguished, torn look in her eyes, but her voice is so distant it feels like I’m a million miles away, even though I’m standing right in front of her.
“Samantha,” I repeat. “Don’t go.”
She lets out a sardonic huff of a laugh, a bitter sound that doesn’t suit her.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone else to decorate your arm and fuck you whenever you need it.”
“That’s not—”
