The darkness I sometimes glimpse in his eyes makes those golden depths appear like a simmering inferno. “When it comes to you?” His reply is simultaneously soft and harsh. “Never. No one touches what’s mine.”
Dante has always been possessive. No matter what I say, he’s not going to change.
Deciding to let it go, I ask, “May I come in?”
“You don’t have to ask.” He closes his laptop. “I’m sorry that work got in the way. I was planning on spending time with you and Noah.”
I go inside. “Is there anything I can do?”
He leans back in his chair. “I should be asking you that question.”
I scoff. “I’m not fragile.” I walk around the room, trailing my finger over the back of the sofa before stopping in front of the built-in bookshelves. “I’ve just lost my memory.”
He doesn’t reply.
Tilting my head, I read the titles of the books. Dante has always been hungry for knowledge and curious about everything. The eclectic collection includes subjects ranging from business strategies to software coding. Yet there are none of the books I usually read, which is mostly fiction.
I turn around. “Can I see our wedding photos?”
For a second, he seems surprised, but he’s quick to wipe the look from his face. “Of course.”
He gets up and goes to the seating area. His manner is reserved when he takes an elegant white photo album from the coffee table and hands it to me.
I flip over the cover, and then it’s my turn to be surprised. I’m wearing a beautiful dress. Dante looks more handsome than ever in his dark suit. What catches me off guard is Noah who stands next to us dressed in a miniature version of Dante’s tux. Our son is the same age in the photo than he is now.
I search Dante’s eyes. “Our wedding happened recently.” Which explains the absence of a wife’s touch in Dante’s model home.
His answer is gruff. “Yes.”
My pulse quickens, and it’s not in a good way. “How long ago?”
“Two weeks,” he says roughly.
My breath catches. “Why?”
Shutting down his emotions, he shoves a hand in his pocket and watches me with a stoic expression. “Why what?”
“Why did we wait so long?”
He works his jaw from side to side. “We were separated for a while.”
The impact of his answer is like a physical blow. I can’t imagine not being with Dante.
“Why?” I ask again, stunned.
He watches me unblinkingly. “We had trust issues.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate on his cryptic answer.
He’s hiding something.
My pulse picks up even more, my throat constricting. “Does that mean we got through our problems?”
His eyes tighten with something close to regret. “We’re working on them.”
A million scenarios run through my head. I can think of hundreds of reasons that would make us lose faith in each other, but none of them makes sense.
We won’t be the first couple to have problems. I just never thought it would happen to us. The connection between us has always been too strong. What we share is special. That feeling has become my religion, the solid rock on which I built my entire life. To have the only thing I’ve ever truly believed in ripped away is too much. I don’t think I can bear it.
