Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
I’ve been here before. My mother brought me to put flowers in the wall-mounted vases that frame the granite door, the ones in which I’ve just put the roses. But it feels as if this is the first time that I’m crushing the dead birch leaves under my shoes and seeing the snowy white of velvety petals against the veined gray of the granite.
Judging by the decayed wreaths on the stone steps, no one has been here for a while. I should’ve come sooner. I don’t know why I haven’t. I don’t know why there are no flowers, no signs of me having been here.
I won’t be surprised if Leander doesn’t ever come. He wasn’t close to our mom. He never gave her the respect or love she deserved. The only interest he had in our father was what he could inherit from him.
The crunching of steps on the gravel path pulls me from my thoughts. I glance over my shoulder. Dante is walking toward me, his eyes burning on my face as if he’s been studying me from a mile away. His guards are standing at a respectable distance, giving me privacy.
My husband doesn’t look away until he stops next to me. He searches my face for a few beats before cutting his gaze to the fresh flowers. Something dark and harsh flashes in his eyes, but when he looks at my mother’s name that’s carved into the stone, whatever I saw or thought I saw is gone.
We both face forward, standing shoulder to shoulder in silence. His warm fingers wrap around my hand where it rests loosely at my side. The touch is comforting, a reminder of life in this lonely cemetery.
He breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your appointment. How did it go?”
“Good.” I smile, gazing at the roses. “Hypnotherapy is very relaxing. It’s not what I imagined.”
“What did you imagine?” he asks in a low, tender voice.
“That I’d wake up from a deep sleep and remember nothing. Instead, I’m conscious of everything that’s happening. It’s not like those shows on stage where a spectator is hypnotized and told to do something they can’t control.”
He rubs a thumb over my knuckles and says with humor, “That’s a relief.”
I laugh but quickly smother it. The sound of my happiness seems out of place here. “I miss her.”
Dante loosens his grip on my fingers and turns me toward him with his hands on my shoulders. His serious gaze drills into mine as he frames my face between his palms and stares down at me with somber, heavy intensity. “I’m sorry that she can’t be here for you.”
In an instant, I’m taken back to that defining moment when I bumped into Dante outside our condo on the day my father told me whom I was to marry. I remember the safety I felt in his arms. Snow dusted his hair and coat, but I was warm. Scared. Relieved. It was the first time I experienced a man’s desire for me. It was the first time a man vowed to fight for me. In that moment, I knew in the deepest corners of my heart that I’d always fight for him too.
Just like on that day, he opens his jacket and folds it around me, wrapping me up in his arms and scent. He showered. His skin smells clean and of that sophisticated but subtle cologne I love so much. He hasn’t been busy with work. He’s been on a job.
I pull away to look at him. “Are you all right?”
Taking my hand, he kisses the back. “Are you worried about me?”
“Always.”
He pulls me against him with an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the path. “You shouldn’t be.”
“How did you know I was here?”
He looks at me and raises a brow.
I smile. “Are you having me followed?”
“If my men report your movements to me, it’s for security reasons.”
“You can just say it if you’re worried that I’m meeting someone in secret,” I tease. “I have nothing to hide.”
He stops dead and faces me squarely. “Good, because if you ever see another man, he will be dead before you can utter his name.”
“Dante,” I exclaim. “I was just pulling your leg.”
He presses a possessive kiss on my lips. “Let’s go. It’s getting cold.”
Dante and I leave together in his car, but instead of going home, he takes me to a building I’ll never forget. My heartbeat quickens when he helps me out of the car in the underground parking lot.
I stare at him, noticing the tight set of his jaw and the strained look on his features. “Why are we here?”
He leads me to the elevator without answering. His men follow us inside and get out with us on the top floor, but they remain in the hallway when he unlocks the penthouse door and ushers me inside.