My heart soared; my stomach plunged into a wild free fall. The contradiction defied the laws of physics, but nothing about our relationship had ever adhered to rules.
I love you, Vivian.
The words echoed in my head and spilled into my chest, where they met their counterparts for the first time.
I love you, too. Even after what you did. Even if I shouldn’t. I love you more than I could ever hate you.
The only difference was, I couldn’t bring myself to voice them yet.
“You and me,” Dante said. His eyes held mine. “For real this time. We can make it work. That is…if you want to.”
If you can forgive me.
The real meaning brimmed between us.
Could we really move past what happened this easily and quickly? He seemed sincere, but…
I never willingly chose her.
I did what I had to do.
This is just business.
I plummeted back to earth.
I loved Dante. I’d known since Paris, and there was no point pretending my feelings had magically changed overnight despite what happened.
I loved the way his smiles peeked through his scowls.
I loved how he kissed my shoulder every morning when I woke up.
I missed his humor and intelligence, his strength and vulnerability, his thoughtfulness and ambition.
But just because I loved him didn’t mean I trusted him or myself.
We can make it work. That is…if you want to.
The week’s emotional rollercoaster had taken its toll on me, and I had no clue what I wanted. I hadn’t even worked out how I felt about my father’s company’s troubles. Obviously, Dante had a hand in it. But how upset was I really when a tiny, secret part of me blamed Lau Jewels for what my family had become?
“Go on a date with me,” he said when I didn’t answer. “We’ll do anything you want. Even eat popcorn.”
I didn’t smile at his joke. Another flicker of nerves surfaced in his eyes.
“We’ve been on dates before.”
“That was before. This is now.” His face softened. “Just one date. Please.”
My heart wrenched, but I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Frustration and a splash of panic tightened his features. “Why not?”
“There’re a thousand different reasons. You hate my family. You never wanted to get married, and you never wanted me. You were forced into it, and if we get together again, my father still wins. And…” Dryness coated my throat. “We’re not good together, Dante. Our relationship was so hot and cold, but we made it work because we had to make it work. Now that we don’t…” I searched for the right way to phrase my thoughts. “Things have been difficult since day one. Maybe it’s a sign.”
The last part came out quietly, like a pin dropping into the ocean.
Our relationship had been tainted from the start. Even if I loved him, I couldn’t see how we could overcome the mistakes of our past.
My heart twisted again, this time with pain so sharp I wasn’t sure how I’d survive it.
But I would. I had to.
“That’s six reasons,” Dante said. “I can work with six. I can even work with a thousand.”
My chest ached. “Dante…”
“You don’t think we’re a good idea, but I’ll prove we are.” Determination lined his jaw, but his voice and lips were soft as they brushed my forehead. “Give me time, mia cara. That’s all I need, besides you.”
CHAPTER 38
Vivian & Dante
VIVIAN
“Hey, Vivian. The usual?”
“Yes, please. Make it four,” I said as the barista rang me up. I frequented the coffee shop near my office so often they’d memorized my order. “Thanks, Jen.”
“No problem.” She smiled. “See you tomorrow.”
I paid and moved to the pickup area, only half looking at where I was going. I was too distracted by the flood of new messages scrolling across my screen.
My phone had been blowing up all weekend. Friends, acquaintances, society reporters, everyone wanted to congratulate or talk to me after the smashing success of the Legacy Ball.
Mode de Vie had deemed it “one of the most exquisite balls in the institution’s history” in their Sunday style roundup, which meant I woke up that morning with even more messages crowding my inbox.
It was only Monday, and I already had twenty-two new client inquiries, five interview requests, and countless invitations to balls, screenings, and private parties.
The whispers about Lau Jewels’ troubles were still circulating, but they weren’t enough to override the prestige of hosting the Legacy Ball.
It was equal parts thrilling and exhausting.
I opened a new email from a prospective client right as I bumped into another patron. Coffee splashed over the side of their open cup and onto their shoes.
Horror streaked through me. “I’m so sorry!” I looked up, the email forgotten. “I didn’t mean…” My apology died a quick death when my eyes landed on a familiar head of dark hair and bronzed skin.
My lips remained parted, but my words had fled to some far-off island for an unplanned vacation.
“That’s all right,” Dante said easily. “We’ve all been there. It was my fault for leaving my cup open when it’s so crowded.”
I watched, stunned, as he plucked a lid from the counter and fitted it over his coffee.
It was the middle of the workday, but instead of a suit, he wore black dress pants and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. No tie.
“What are you doing here?” I found my voice somewhere between the rapid thumps of my heart and the dryness in my throat.
It was the second time I’d asked him the question in twice as many days.
His office was a few blocks away, but there were at least half a dozen coffee shops between here and there.
A small, playful hitch of his brow. “Getting coffee, like you.”
He placed a hand on my arm and gently moved me to the side before a harried twenty-something blonde blitzed past us with a full tray of coffee.
If I hadn’t moved, I’d be wearing Americano and cold brew with my Diane von Furstenberg.
Dante’s hand lingered a beat on my arm before he removed it and held it out. “I’m Dante, by the way.”
The imprint of his touch burned into my skin.
I stared at his outstretched hand, wondering if he’d bumped his head and developed a sudden case of amnesia over the weekend.
I couldn’t work out how else to respond, so I slid my hand into his with a wary, “I’m Vivian.”
“Nice to meet you, Vivian.” His palm was warm, rough.
My stomach fluttered at hazy memories of that roughness mapping my body before I shoved them aside.
They belonged in the past, not here in my favorite coffee shop, where I was having the world’s most bizarre conversation with my (amnesia-ridden?) ex-fiancé.
“So, do you come here often?” he asked casually.
The cheesiness of the pickup line pulled me out of my shock. “Seriously?” I said, my tone dubious.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. I hated how endearing it was. “It’s an honest question.”