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In fact, Dante imagined the only reason that he wasn’t dead was that he had fathered a child—supposedly—with Minerva.
Had they simply been caught in a compromising position, he imagined that Maximus would have simply dispatched him on the spot.
“I believe it,” Dante said, because he knew that was better than any empty promises that Maximus would have discarded.
And he did believe it.
They were friends, it was true, but they were not blood.
The King family was connected by blood.
Dante had no such connections. And it was fine by him.
“You have always been like a son to me,” Robert said.
And Dante knew that the old man thought he meant it. But Maximus had never had to worry about whether or not he could have access to sharing his father’s company.
Dante wasn’t bitter about that. It was just a difference. One that he was ever aware of, even if Robert was not.
“I suppose we had better get things started,” Dante said.
“Nothing will start on time,” Robert responded, looking at his watch. “I believe Violet is in charge of hair and makeup?”
“Yes,” Dante said. “I imagine she’s also in charge of entrances.”
“What?” Robert asked.
“Never mind.”
They filed in from the back, and all of them took their places. Robert made his way back to where the bride was.
It hit Dante then that whatever differences between himself and Maximus, Robert was seeing to the double duty of being father of the groom and bride.
Had Dante been capable of feeling warmth over such a gesture, he would have, he was sure.
The crowd that filled the sanctuary, Dante knew, was not enthralled by any love story between himself and Minerva. No, they were hoping to gain the attention of either himself, Maximus, Robert or Violet.
It hit him that no one would be here for Minerva.
It was a strange thing to be bothered by. He had rarely given consideration to Minerva beyond cursory. But Minerva didn’t possess anything that anyone might want.
He was under no illusions that anyone was here because they cared about Robert or Maximus or Violet.
They cared about what any of the aforementioned people might be able to do for them.
He wondered if that was how Minerva had been vulnerable to a man like Isabella’s father. If she had been left vulnerable because of her position in the family.
As he had been thinking earlier, life was very much what you fashioned from what you were given. Minerva could have created anything.
As it was, she had created a baby with a dangerous man. And that had been her decision.
But not Isabella’s.
And if he was being magnanimous in any way, then it was on her behalf, because he knew what it was to be a child hamstrung by his parents’ poor decisions.
And yes, there was the matter of getting to have possession of King. That did matter to him.
What he had not expected was for Minerva to look quite so lovely last night. And for the kiss to send a jolt of electricity through his body.
