My brows knit at his question. “The envelope last night, it wasn’t from you?”
I move back when he steps forward, and that seems to irritate him, but he doesn’t make another move to come closer. “Tell me about the letters, Gia.”
His confusion seems genuine—too genuine. The anger and possessiveness from moments ago have drained fromhis expression, replaced by something that looks almost like concern. He’s staring at the paperweight in my hand, then back at me, and there’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there before.
But the evidence is right here. The ticket stubs. The black rose. What else am I supposed to think?
“Why?” The word comes out as barely more than a whisper. “If you were going to follow me all the way to Europe, why not just tell me you were there? Why hide?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer.
“And the letters—did you think they were romantic? Because they weren’t. They were intense and—” My voice cracks. “And then they showed up at my apartment. You knew where I lived, Dante. Was that the whole point? Scare me just enough that I’d agree to move in with you?”
“Stop.” The single word is sharp enough to cut through my rising panic. “I didn’t send you any letters, Gia.”
“Then explain the black rose!”
“It’s a paperweight,” he says, his voice strained. “I’ve had it for years. It has nothing to do with—” He stops, runs a hand over his face. “Tell me about the letters. All of them. Everything.”
I consider not telling him, but I know from experience that he won’t stop until I’ve told him everything. “They started in Europe. Flowers in my dressing room at the end of every show with a white envelope and a letter inside, signed with a black rose. They felt harmless at first. They made me think it was just a fan sending them, but they got a little intense as the tour was winding up.” I turn the paperweight around, staring at the black rose. “I figured whoever was sending them would stop once I came back, but they didn’t. And then I received flowersand a letter at my apartment. That was the envelope you saw last night.”
“Show me.”
“I got rid of it this morning,” I tell him, shivering when his eyes darken. “But I still have the other notes in my locker at the theatre.”
“I’ll go with you this afternoon to get them.”
“No,” I say before my brain can register. After everything I just learned, I need some time alone to figure things out on my own. Space from a man I believed I knew. “I’ll get them myself.”
I slip out of bed, still clutching the sheet, and head toward my room. I need to shower alone, clear my head, and get out of this apartment before he tries to stop me. Before he convinces me to stay when I need space to think.
“Gia—”
“I just need some time,” I say without looking back. “I’ll bring you the letters later.”
I can tell he wants to argue but he stays silent. The message is clear. Whatever trust was there between us has been shaken and now, I'm not sure what to do. I close the guest room door behind me and lean against it, my heart racing.
I try not to think of the man in his bedroom as I shower quickly, my mind racing. I need to get out of here. I need space to process everything—the lies, the European tour, the black rose. I need to think clearly, and I can;t do that with him here.When I emerge from the bathroom, I dress quickly in clothes I dig out of boxes. I grab my bag and pause at the door, listening. No sound from his room. Good.
I slip out quietly, eternally grateful that Dante isn’t waiting anywhere to stop me when I leave.
My head is reeling as I take the elevator down, intent on storming out when the concierge stops me. He smiles warmly, holding up a small box.
“Ms. Marino, this just arrived for you.”
My stomach drops. “When?”
“Just a few minutes ago. A courier dropped it off.” He hands me the box, and I stare at it like it might explode.
“Did you see who delivered it?”
“Just a standard courier service, miss. Is everything alright?”
I force a smile. “Everything’s fine. Thank you.”
I take the box to a corner of the lobby and study it, noting that there is no return address. I bring it to my ear and shake it, brows knitting when I hear something rattle inside. My first guess is that one of my sisters sent me a gift, but the ominous feeling in my stomach makes me think that might not be the case. I use my keys to tear open the package, screaming and dropping it when I see what’s inside.
Another white envelope, but that’s not what makes my blood run cold.
