I glance down at my lap.
I keep getting carried away. I need to keep reminding myself of what this really is. It's a temporary agreement. It's not forever.
He's not mine to keep, and I'm not his.
“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way,” he says finally. “I apologize for making this decision without telling you. It was foolish of me.”
His words are earnest. He means everything he just said.
Enzo gasps softly from the back seat. “I never thought I’d see the day. This is the first time I’ve heard him apologize to someone.”
"It's just that I don't like unpredictable events,” I say. “Every time something out of the ordinary happened in the past, it wrecked me. There were no such things as good surprises.”
"It won't happen again," Dante says. "And if you will let me, I’ll make it up to you tonight."
I suck in a breath.
I don’t know what he means by that, but I’m immediately flooded by visions of last night. The way we were drunk on each other for hours. The way his touch felt so right on my skin.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I can't deny that the two of us make sense, even if it's all happening in a twisted world.
Even if he's a man with twisted morals.
Even if I'm sinking into unknown waters every time our eyes meet.
The fashion showis being held inside a museum.
The guests are guided past several exhibits before reaching the main event space.
There are so many people here that my heart starts racing. I begin to get that itch—to want to be anywhere but here.
Dante takes my hand in his. He lifts it to his mouth and kisses it, making warmth gather in my chest.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
I nod.
"If you want to leave at any moment, just say the word," he tells me.
"What if I want to leave?" Enzo asks.
"Enzo, not right now," Dante says.
"It's unfair," Enzo mutters. "What if I really did have agoraphobia?"
"Then I'd tell you to deal with it," Dante says.
I bite the inside of my lip and turn to look at Enzo. It’s normal for the two of them to bicker back and forth all day, but Enzo looks genuinely displeased today.
“You look like you would rather be anywhere but here,” I say.
“I hate these events,” Enzo grumbles. “It’s all so unnecessary and wasteful. Not to mention, all of these designer brands are made by the filthy rich and only cater to the filthy rich. It's peak consumerism."
“Maybe so, but they're also a form of creative expression," I counter.
Enzo shakes his head.
