Page 72 of Gilded Princess

No one says anything, and then Matteo and Dante pull out their vibrating phones. They still for a moment, and trepidation tiptoes down my spine. “What’s going on?”

“Goddamnit,” Matteo curses. “That’s the third one this week. Motherfuckers are getting bold.”

“We need to figure out the problem,” Dante offers.

“A meeting’s been called for all of us.”

“What?” I ask again. The shift in energy is palpable, and it’s triggering my fight or flight response, which is such a weird reaction. I know I’m safe with them, so I’m not sure what wires are crossed.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Madison.” His tone is dismissive, and he barely spares me a glance.

“Maybe I want to help,” I offer.

Matteo scoffs. “I don’t think so.”

I bristle, his disbelief at my offer to help pokes at an old emotional wound. “I’m good at problem solving,” I defend.

Matteo barks this sarcastic laughter that grates on my nerves. I just know whatever he’s going to say next is going to hurt. “This isn’t a charity dinner or a school dance, this is a real-world problem with real-world consequences. It’s out of your pay grade.” He sneers, the words slithering from his mouth like poisonous darts.

My mouth falls open at his casual mention of a school dance, like he didn’t absolutely shred my innocent heart at a school dance two years ago.

Then he pours salt on the wound.

I roll my lips inward and nod my head a few times. It’s more to buy myself a few extra seconds than anything else. I hover by the entrance to the hallway, my mind already planning how I’m going to pack my stuff and leave the second I leave this hallway.

My sinuses sting, warning me of impending tears, but I shove them down. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he struck a nerve.

I should be thanking him. I was starting to look at him differently, think of him differently. I guess I needed the reminder of who he really is, and who he thinks I am.

Not a partner or an equal.

But as someone who’s only good for one thing: arm candy.

My steps are hurried as I walk down the hallway toward my room.

“Madison. Wait.”

I stop in my tracks and spin around, my hair whirling with the sharp movement. My jaw hurts from how hard I’m clenching it—in anger and in a weak attempt to hold off the tears that want to break free.

“What, Dante? I think your silence said enough.”

He stops a foot in front of me and holds my gaze without flinching. “Don’t leave.”

I fold my arms across my chest and look to the side as anger and embarrassment hold my tongue hostage.

“I won’t speak for anyone else, but I want you to stay.” His voice is low, persuasive and earnest.

Like some sort of spell caster, his voice eases my immediate anger and smooths over the rough edges of embarrassment. I turn my head to look at him, inhaling his woodsy scent.

He searches my gaze, and after a few moments, he nods. I’m not sure what he saw, but whatever it was satisfies him. He nods again and takes a backward step.

“Dante,” Matteo calls from the kitchen where I left him.

Dante looks at me for a moment before he turns around and stalks toward the kitchen.

I exhale a breath I forgot I was holding and decide it’s time for some air.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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