He winced. Actually winced, like the words had landed somewhere soft. “No. That’s not—” He dragged a hand through his hair, the casual confidence crumbling completely now. “I could have asked anyone. I’m asking you.”
“Because everyone else said no.”
“Because—” He stopped. His jaw worked. He looked away, and when he looked back, those dark eyes were raw in a way I’d never seen before. Stripped bare. No prince. No charm. Just a man standing on the edge of something honest.
“Because you’re the only one I actually wanted to go with.” His voice dropped, rough and low. “I know I don’t deserve that. I know I haven’t given you a single reason to say yes. But I’m asking anyway.”
The silence stretched between us. My heart thundered so loud I was sure he could hear it.
“You called me a disgrace, Rocco.” My voice was quiet. Steady. Sharper than a blade. “You said I wasn’t worthy of being your mate. Two years of nothing—and now this?”
He flinched. Not a wince this time—a full-body flinch, like I’d driven a stake into his chest.
“I know.” His throat bobbed. “I had my reasons. I can’t explain them. Not yet.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both.”
I waited for more. An excuse. A justification. Something I could grab onto and rip apart. But he just stood there, letting my anger wash over him without trying to deflect any of it.
"You know what you did to me that day." It slipped out quieter than I wanted. More honest than I intended.
His eyes closed. When he opened them, they were glassy. "Yes. I know exactly what I did."
But he didn't explain. Didn't defend himself. Just took it like a man who believed he deserved every word.
Damn it. And damn that stubborn, traitorous part of me that still wanted him.
“You must be really desperate,” I said, keeping my voice flat, “to want to go with me.” I tilted my head. I’d already planned on going alone—hadn’t even considered finding a date. And now here he was, the last person I’d ever expected, asking me. “Do you even have an invitation?”
He glanced around the café, checking if anyone was listening. I was sure every girl in the place had her eyes on him—the fallen prince in his perfectly tailored suit. “Yes.”
Except I’d helped Julienne with those invitations. I’d written out half of them myself.
His name hadn’t been on the list.
“I made out the invitations, Rocco.”
His eyes darkened and he shrugged, but the casual gesture didn’t reach his face. “I’m representing someone. He’s unable to attend and asked me to go in his place.”
The limo. Dimitri driving. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up.
Oh god. No.
I swallowed hard. “Who?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was barely a murmur. “Angelo Santi.”
The name landed like a bomb.
“Are you working for the Santi family now?”
He shook his head. “No. But I’m doing this as a favor.”
“That’s dangerous, Rocco.” I searched his face, looking for some sign of what he’d gotten himself into. “You don’t want to owe Angelo any favors.”
“I’m not.” A muscle twitched beneath his eye—barely, just for a second. “He owes me.”
