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He’s asked me to move in with him when I sell Blackleaf.
I said I would—as long as he gets rid of that damn perfume bottle.
I don’t want to smell florals for as long as I live. But I walk with him to bury it in the woods.
We bury it far from the Midnight Manor, in a quiet spot beneath a hemlock tree.
Dane lifts the dusty bottle and inhales its scent one last time.
“I’m sorry, Lila…” he says as he sets it in the ground. “For every time I hurt you and all the ways I broke your trust.”
He covers the bottle with clean, soft earth.
Right next to it, I bury the picture of Jude and me off my nightstand.
It was a picture from a happier time, but when I look at it now, I don’t see it quite the same. I can’t forget what Jude’s face actually looked like beneath his mask. And I see it now, leaking through. His teeth smile at me in the photo. But not his eyes.
I lied to myself about who my brother was.
I lied about our relationship.
And it caused so much pain.
I’m responsible for what happened to Tom and Gideon—responsible in a hundred different ways. I made so many mistakes.
And I’ll make a million more. But different mistakes instead of the same ones. I’ll never be perfect, but I can be better than I was.
“How do you feel?” I ask Dane when it’s done.
He sighs.
“I can’t get her forgiveness. But at least I can know I’ve changed.”
“How do you know?” I ask him because I’m wondering for myself. “How do we know when we’ve changed?”
“We’ll know if we’re honest with ourselves.” Dane lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. “In everything we do right and everything we do wrong—no excuses, reasons, or justifications. Because when is it okay to lie to you? When is it okay to hurt you?”
“Never,” I whisper.
“That’s right. And I won’t.”
He still hasn’t. And neither have I. Which is pretty good for Doctor Death and the Black Widow.
* * *
When I visitthe Midnight Manor, it all disappears. There, Dane and I can be exactly what we want to be—which is completely obsessed with each other.
We explore our darkest fantasies and strangest urges. I discover who I am beneath his fingers, and he trusts me to love who he is at his core, in all his beauty and imperfection.
On a stormy evening in November, when Dane’s on call, I visit him at his private clinic.
I hoped he’d be alone because of the weather. Sure enough, there’s no cars out front—only a single golden light flickering in his window.
I knock on his door, my hair whipped around in a tornado of dead, dry leaves, the hem of my coat flapping.
Dane pulls the door open, his expression haughty and cool until he sees me. Then that warm, wicked smile spreads across his face.
“How can I help you this evening?”
