"Why?" I ask.
My voice comes out wrong. Too small. Too desperate.
"Why me? We barely know each other. We spent a few weeks in the same house two years ago. We fought constantly. I told you to leave and you left. That's not—that's not a reason to?—"
I can't finish the sentence.
Dante watches me struggle.
"You asked me to be honest," he says. "I'm being honest."
"But it doesn't make sense." I stand up. Pace to the window. Turn back. "You have a family. People who love you. People whowould have been devastated if you died. And you chose to spend your last moments with someone who?—"
I stop.
Someone who what?
Someone who told him to go away? Someone who's spent two years pretending he doesn't exist? Someone who's been treating him like an inconvenience instead of a person?
"Why?" I ask again.
The word sounds different this time. Less angry. More lost.
Dante doesn't answer right away.
He's watching me with that look again. The one I can't read. The one that makes me feel like he's seeing something I'm not showing him.
"Marina," he says quietly.
Just my name. Nothing else.
I wait.
Dante
"I need you to understand something," I say.
My side aches. The wound pulls with every breath. But the pain feels distant now. Secondary to what I'm about to say.
"I'm not good with words. Never have been."
Marina doesn't move. Doesn't turn around.
"But you asked me why. And you deserve an answer. A real one."
I take a breath. It hurts.
"Do you remember the first time we met?"
She turns slightly. Not all the way. Just enough that I can see her profile against the window.
"You came to my door," she says. "Looking for Sophia."
"Yes."
"You told me to come with you. I said no."
"You did."
