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“You look a mess,” she spits, and I frown. I’m confused by her anger. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
“I’m so sorry,” I begin. This angers her more, and this time, she reels back and slaps me hard across the face. I cry out, gripping my cheek.
“I thought we were friends, but the second he comes along, you dump us for him. You know he’s a monster, don’t you, Tessa? But then you always did love the danger.”
I’m crying into my hands as I feel Dante touch my back. “Emerson, it’s been a while.”
“A whole year. I can’t say I’ve missed you . . . either of you.”
“Emerson, what the fuck are you doing?” Her dad rushes towards us. “Mr. Anderson,” he adds, holding out his hand for Dante to shake, but he stares at it coldly until it’s retracted.
“Your daughter just hit my wife,” Dante says through gritted teeth.
“Jesus, I am so sorry,” Emerson’s dad rushes out. “Shit, Emerson, apologise.”
“It’s fine,” I mutter feebly, wanting to get away from it all.
“It’s not fine. Hit her back,” Dante orders.
I glance up at him. “Huh?”
“You heard me. Hit her back.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Hit her, or I will.”
I swallow, glancing at Emerson, who looks outraged. “I don’t want to.”
Dante grabs a handful of my hair. “You’re fucking weak,” he hisses.
“Please, Mr. Anderson, I can’t apologise enough. I’ll have strong words with Emerson,” her dad pleads.
Dante releases me, shoving me to Kai, who takes my arms and begins to pull me away. “Please, Dante,” I yell. “Please don’t hurt her.”
I’m almost out the door when I see Dante backhand Emerson across the face.
Present day . . .
Dante stands in the kitchen doorway, watching as I finish off scrubbing the kitchen floor. My hands are sore and my knees ache. Drying my hands on my top, I push to stand. “I lost track of time,” I say, standing on my tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek. “Did you have a good day?”
“Leave dinner tonight. I’m taking you out.”
“I’ve cooked chicken,” I say, glancing back at the oven. “It’ll be just a minute.”
“I’m taking you out. Go and get dressed.” He hands me a bag containing a dress before he saunters off to his office, and I sigh. I’m shattered from the housework, and the last thing I want to do is spend the evening watching my every word in case I upset him. I turn off the oven and rush upstairs to do as asked. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
By the time I’m ready, he’s at the door, and he watches as I descend the stairs. “Beautiful,” he mutters. Dante rarely compliments me these days, so I smile politely.
He drives us to his favourite Greek restaurant. We’re seated in his usual spot by the window, and he orders our meals without checking the menu—soutzoukakia for him and a Greek salad for me.
“How was your day?” he asks, pouring some water into my glass. Dante never asks about my day, so it only adds to my suspicion.
“It was fine,” I reply carefully. “I got dinner like you asked.”
“Good. Did you go anywhere else?” I shake my head. “Why?”
“You didn’t say I could.”
