18
DANTE
I watched her face her sister, and a woman I didn’t know existed walked out of Cassia’s skin.
My grip on the doorframe tightened until the wood groaned.
Cristo.
She goes to the guest room.
I’m in my study reviewing port manifests when I track her footsteps overhead. Down the upstairs hall, past our bedroom, to the guest room she’s been hiding in the last few days.
The guest room. Like she’s a visitor in her own home.
Fuck that.
I give her an hour. Tell myself she needs space.
Sixty-three minutes later, I’m done with that lie.
The stairs are quiet beneath my feet. Down the upstairs hall. Past our bedroom. To that door.
I don’t knock.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. Not crying. Shoulders curled in, making herself small.
“What are you doing in here?”
She looks up. Her composure is shattered, and she’s not even trying to hide it.
“I thought.” She stops. Swallows. “I thought you’d prefer space. Now that she’s here.”
“Space from you?”
“From the situation.” Her voice is too careful. “The real bride showed up. I’m the substitute. It’s awkward. I understand if?—“
“Stop.”
She goes still.
I cross the room. “Get up.”
“Dante.”
“Get up, Cassia.”
She rises. Her pulse flutters in her throat.
I cup her face. Her skin is cold. Her eyes search mine, wary, waiting for the blow.
“Nothing changes us.”
She stiffens. “But Elena.”
“Elena ran.” My thumb traces her cheekbone. “You walked into a monster’s house and stayed. Elena took money to destroy this family. You’ve spent every night trying to protect it.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.” Her voice wavers. “For two days.”
