The smell beckoned me from the foyer, but when I entered the room, both she and Dante fell silent.
“Good evening, Miss Lau,” Greta said. When we were alone, she called me Vivian, but around other people, I was always Miss Lau.
“Good evening.” I scanned the banquet-worthy prep. “Are we having a party I don’t know about? This seems like a lot of food for two people.”
“It is,” she said after a brief pause. She frowned and flicked a glance at a stone-faced Dante before busying herself with the food.
My heart accelerated. “Are we having a party?”
“Of course not,” Dante said when Greta remained silent. He didn’t give me a chance to relax before he added, “Christian and his girlfriend are coming over for dinner tonight. They’re in town for a few days.”
“Tonight?” I glanced at the clock. “Dinner is in less than three hours!”
“Which is why I came home early.”
Breathe. Do not yell. Do not throw the bowl of tomatoes at his head.
“Were you going to tell me we’re expecting guests, or was this supposed to be a surprise?” My fingers strangled the strap of my bag. “Or am I not invited to the meal altogether?”
Greta chopped faster, her eyes fixed firmly on the garlic.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dante said.
Ridiculous? Ridiculous?
My patience snapped clean in half.
I’d tried my best to be sympathetic, but I was sick of him treating me like a stranger he was forced to share a house with. After the magic of Paris and the progress we’d made over the past few months, our relationship had suddenly regressed to where it’d been the summer of last year.
Then, it’d been understandable.
Now, after all we’d shared? It was unacceptable.
“Which part is ridiculous?” I demanded. “The part where I ask my fiancé for the common courtesy of informing me when we have guests over to our house? Or the part where we’ve grown so far apart in the space of one week that I wouldn’t be surprised if you did exclude me? I’d like to know, because I’m damn well not the one being unreasonable here!”
Greta’s knife hovered, suspended, over the cutting board while she gaped at me with wide eyes.
It was the first time I’d raised my voice in front of her since I moved in and only the fourth time I’d raised my voice, ever. The first had been when my sister “borrowed” and lost one of my favorite signed books in high school. The second had been when my parents forced me to break up with Heath, and the third had been the night Dante found Heath in the apartment.
Dante’s skin stretched taut over his cheekbones.
The tension was so stifling it took on a life of its own, crawling into my lungs and sinking into my skin. The air-conditioned room blazed like we were in the middle of the desert at high noon.
“I just remembered I’m expecting a grocery delivery soon,” Greta said. “Let me check where they are.”
She dropped her knife and bolted faster than an Olympian competing for gold.
Normally, I would’ve been embarrassed about making a scene, but I was too fired up to care.
“It’s a dinner,” Dante growled. “Christian didn’t tell me he’d be in town until yesterday. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Then you could’ve told me he was coming over yesterday!” My voice rose again before I forced more oxygen through my nose. “It’s not about the dinner, Dante. It’s about your refusal to communicate like a normal person. I thought we were past this.” Emotion clogged my throat. “We promised we wouldn’t do this. Act like strangers. Shut down whenever things got hard. We’re supposed to be partners.”
Dante rubbed a hand over his face. When it fell away, I glimpsed the conflict in his eyes—remorse and guilt at war with frustration and something else that chilled the breath in my lungs.
“There are some things you’re better off not knowing, mia cara.” The endearment I’d initially despised and grown to love barely touched my skin before it dissolved. Soft yet rough, like the churn of waves in a raging storm.
The wistful notes lingered for an extra beat before his face shut down again.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
He walked out, leaving me with a pit in my stomach and the unshakeable sense that our relationship had somehow been fundamentally altered.
Vivian
Dante and I barely exchanged a word during dinner. I did, however, push his fish into his vegetables when he wasn’t looking and delighted in his look of absolute horror when he saw his food had touched.
Besides that one petty act of retribution for his behavior, I focused my attention on Christian and his girlfriend Stella. Christian was perfectly charming, as always, but something about him made me uneasy. He reminded me of a wolf dressed in perfectly tailored sheep’s clothing.
Stella, on the other hand, was warm and friendly, if a bit shy. We spent the majority of dinner discussing travel, astrology, and her new ambassadorship with the fashion label Delamonte, which was, coincidentally, a Russo Group brand.
As far as last-minute dinner guests went, it could’ve been much worse.
After dessert, I took Stella on a tour of the penthouse while Dante and Christian discussed business. It was mostly an excuse to catch my breath after hours of underlying tension between me and Dante, but I genuinely enjoyed Stella’s company.
“Don’t ask,” I said when she tilted her head at one of the paintings in the gallery. The hideous piece stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the Picassos and Rembrandts. “I don’t know why Dante bought that. He usually has more discerning taste.”
“It must be worth a lot of money,” Stella said as we made our way back to the dining room.
“Apparently. Proof price isn’t always indicative of quality,” I said dryly.
Our footsteps echoed against the marble floors, but my steps slowed when I heard the familiar rumble of Dante’s voice trickling through his office door. I hadn’t realized they’d moved from the dining room.
“…can’t keep Magda forever,” he said. “You should be glad I didn’t throw it in the trash after the stunt you pulled with Vivian and Heath.”
My throat dried at the unexpected mention of my and Heath’s names.