First message
Dante came to return the last box of your things.
He wasn’t supposed to stay.
You opened the door, and his eyes fell to the diamond on your finger.
He went completely still.
“You’re engaged,” Dante said.
“Yes,” you replied.
His jaw tightened.
“And you said yes.”
“I did.”
Dante set the box aside.
“You’re not marrying him,” he said calmly.
“You don’t get to decide that anymore.”
“No,” Dante agreed.
Then he stepped closer.
Too close.
His cologne hit you first—painfully familiar. Then the warmth of him. Your breath caught before you could stop it.
Dante noticed.
Of course he did.
Five years of marriage. He knew that breath. Knew the way your fingers curled when he stood this close. Knew exactly what his presence still did to you.
“Don’t,” you whispered.
“Don’t what?” he asked softly.
“You know what you’re doing.”
His gaze fell to your lips.
“I always did.”
Your pulse betrayed you.
Dante’s mouth curved slightly.
“Go ahead, my love. Marry him.”
He leaned closer, stopping just before touching you.
“But look me in the eyes first and tell me you won’t think about me when he touches you.”