Page 138 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

‘Wewill be—’ his eyes flicked to the silver-faced watch on his wrist ‘—in twelve hours.’

His gaze moved over her face.

‘Did you miss me, Emma?’ he drawled.

Had she?Was that why she was so upset?

Her chest heaved. ‘Is that what you wanted?’ His hand fell to his lap, but his eyes never left hers. Brown probing blue. ‘Was it a little revenge?’ she husked. ‘Is that why you disappeared without saying goodbye? Did you want me to feel whatyoufelt when you found me gone three months ago?’

The tyres hummed along the tarmac. The speed, the adrenaline, fed her rage. And it felt good to be mad. Mad at life. Mad athim.

‘Did you missme, Dante?’

‘In our old life, I would show just how much,’ he said without missing a beat, and heat flooded through her. ‘But why would I punish you for somethingyoucan’t remember?’

Her chest was so tight she could barely breathe. ‘Becauseyouremember.’

The anger inside her was suddenly rising. So quick, so intense. Anger at herself. For wanting...for waiting.

‘At least I left a note.’

As the jet ascended into the skies, his gaze moved over her face. ‘Did you think I wasn’t coming back?’

‘I knew you would.’ Her shoulders rose. ‘Eventually,’ she said, because that was what men did when you gave them the opportunity. Exactly what her dad did. Disappeared and returned when it suited him.

‘And here I am.’

The arrogance.

‘Is this what our life was like before?’

‘Like what?’

‘Do you leave me often?’

‘I did not leave you. Besides, you are here,’ he corrected, ‘with me. Now.’ He frowned.

‘But did you keep me waiting foryou?’ she continued, because what was the alternative? To...accept that this was who she was now, a woman who waited around for a man? Her stomach curdled.

‘I refuse to be a pawn in someone else’s life, Dante.’ She swallowed, but it didn’t ease the tension in her throat.

Today, they’d packed her cases with clothes she had no recognition of. Escorted her into a waiting car. Organised her life for her. And she’d felt like a piece being moved on a board game where the winner was already known to all but her.

‘Staff have moved me around today,’ she continued, her voice heated. ‘They packed my cases, delivered me toyou—’ Her chest burned and she breathed fire. ‘I am not a parcel!’

‘I’m sorry.’

She blinked.‘What?’

He leaned in until their eyes were level. Until his breath fanned her lips. Until he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

And her brain did not compute. She’d expected lies, expected him to try to absolve himself. She hadn’t expected an apology.

‘What are you sorry for?’ she asked. She wanted an explanation. Arealexplanation. Becausesorrywas still an easy word to say.

‘The Mayfair house has lots of bedrooms,’ he said, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘I could have stayed in any of those. But none of them areourroom. I chose to stay in my hotel. I chose to leave and I chose to not wake youor leave a note—’ his eyebrows rose ‘—to say goodbye. ForthatI am sorry. But I’d make the same choice again. Because staying in a room that is not ours, in the room next to you, as you sleep in our bed, in our house... It was too much. So I left. Because I understood—Iunderstand,’ he corrected. ‘You needed time to find your footing in this life you don’t remember, but I also needed time to find mine.’

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