It couldn’t have been that easy. “They believed you?”
“I told them you had suffered from selective amnesia and that your memory returned earlier tonight. The memories were traumatic, especially those surrounding your mother’s death, and you wanted to go to the church to pray before the party just like she used to do.”
“That must’ve been even harder to believe.”
“I don’t care what they believe.”
No, he doesn’t. A man like Dante doesn’t have to. He can get away with anything he wants, and he knows it.
Well, almost anything.
Tonight, the necklace was finally in his grasp. He held it in his hands for just a few seconds before it slipped through his fingers again.
I take in the savage, obstinate set of his handsome features. “You didn’t go after the necklace.”
He smiles, the gesture cynical. “Did you think I’d leave you to die?”
I don’t understand. The necklace was all Dante ever wanted. It was more important to him than anything in the world. He fought wars for that necklace. He swore he’d get it back and avenge Lee’s death. Yet he gave it up to save my life.
Did he do it for Noah? Or did a small part of him also do it for himself?
He presses another kiss on my knuckles. His smile turns amused, but he can’t hide the strain that tightens the lines of his face. “Why are you giving me that look?”
I stare at my hand that lies small and pale in his broad, darkly tanned, inked one. “Sometimes, Dante, I don’t understand you.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not a complicated man. What’s not to understand?”
Lifting my gaze back to his, I search his face—wishing, hoping, and hating myself for it. I emphasize each whispered word. “What do you want?”
His answer comes easily, yet his eyes remain guarded. “I want you to get better.” When I don’t reply, he adds with vehemence, “I’ll get you the best doctors and treatment money can buy. We’ll see a nutritionist to work out a meal plan that’ll ensure your recovery and long-term health. If need be, I can get a full-time cook and nurse to stay at the house.”
The longer he talks, the more my heart sinks. That cruel thing called hope wilts and shrivels up inside me. Because this is nothing but his guilt talking.
Oh, Dante.
If only he’d given me a chance, we could’ve been so much more.
The knowledge that it’s over hits me far harder than the news about losing a kidney. This is what I wanted when I went to that church, not to be free of Dante but free of the constant heartache and pain of never being enough for him.
I’ve been a fool to think that walking away from him would end the pain. Now I know better. It will only get worse, and nothing can take it away. But I’m worth more than being used as a pawn or arm candy. I can’t go back to being Dante’s prisoner, trapped in a marriage that was forced on me for all the wrong reasons. He married me for power and revenge but never for love. I owe it to myself to end this vicious cycle. I’m tired of being no more than a means to an end. I just want to be myself and find someone who loves me for who I am.
Yes, admitting that Dante and I are done just when he gave me new hope by saving my life slays me worse than the bullet that tore into my flesh, but I’ll get over it. Time heals all, doesn’t it? The necklace is gone. This chapter of my life is finished. I can close the entire book. It would be so much easier to just let it go. Move on.
But I can’t.
I’ve always loved Dante more than life itself, enough to sacrifice myself for him, and a part of me always will. My feelings for him run too deep. My love will always survive just like it did before, flourishing in the darkest corners of my heart whether I’m brave enough to face those shadows or not. That part of me can’t deny him or take away what matters to him most.
“Let me get the doctor.” He stands, still cradling my hand in his. “Can I get you anything else? Say the word, and consider it done. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
What I want will never truly be mine. However, he still has a chance, one shot at finding closure.
“The necklace…”
“Hush.” He puts my hand under the covers, bends down, and kisses my forehead. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Dante, please listen to me.”
At my tone, he stills.
