Page 179 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

‘And what will you tell him?’ she asked. ‘Your wife is in love with you?’

‘You are not my wife,’ he spat. ‘You are an imposter.’

‘You’re right. I am. I’m not the woman you married. I’m not the woman content to be in a relationship where nothing but the physical means anything. But you are an imposter too. You have changed. You let me in, Dante. You took me to your place. You have done so many things our contract doesn’t allow for. You came for me when I fell. You brought me to Japan. You trusted me, only me, enough to take me there tonight and tell me your story. I know how hard that was for you, because it was hard for me to tell you everything about myself the other night on the terrace. You love me, Dante,’ she said, and prayed. Prayed everything she’d said was enough. Because she wanted to stay. With him. ‘Even if you won’t admit it to me, can’t admit it to yourself.’

The pressure built behind her eyes, and she couldn’t hold the tears back. They splashed onto her cheeks in hot, salty streams. There was too much to hold in. She did not want to say it. She did not want to leave. But she understood. She knew him. What this would cost him. But she was not her father. She would not use a language of lies to take what she needed from him if it meant he would lose himself. But—

‘Is it such a great sacrifice, Dante?’ she asked, and stifled the tears—wiped them away. She tilted her neck, straightened her spine—her shoulders. ‘To let me love you? To love me in return?’

‘I do not love you, Emma,’ he said.

She wanted to block her ears. Close her eyes. ‘Dante—’

‘I have listened to you, and now you will listen to me,’ he said. ‘The contract was clear. I have been clear. And now it is over, Emma. I am ending it.’ The coldness of his words, his voice, stabbed into her chest. Into her heart. And it cracked. Not a split. Not a fracture.

It was fatal.

A killing wound.

‘I’m sorry,’ she husked, because she was. She was sorry she couldn’t lie. Couldn’t pretend. She was sorry her feelings were too big for them both. ‘I’ll leave. Now.’ And she dragged her eyes away from him, turned her body away from the only man she’d ever trusted. The only man she’d ever loved and wanted to love her back.

And it was agony.

It was like a death.

She took a step forward, and she felt it. Her heart breaking. But she would stem the flow. She would survive him. The way her mother hadn’t survived her father. Because she at least was honest enough with herself to know what she needed. What she deserved. She was honest enough to walk away with the knowledge that he couldn’t return her love.

Firm fingers caught her wrist. She looked up in to his eyes. And they blazed. His nostrils flared.

‘You do not get to leave me ever again.’

Dante’s chest heaved. His every muscle stretched tight.

He’d let her get too close. Let her become essential to his survival, let her become his air. But he would learn to breathe without her. This was the ultimate betrayal. He’d trusted her. Told her things. Shown her things. He’d allowed her to get too close. She’d taken his power. Dulled his defences with her tears and tales.

‘Do you know why I came to get you from the hospital?’ He stepped closer to her to prove he could be near her without reaching out and touching her.

He would claim his power back.

‘Because you care, Dante,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Because you love—’

‘I came tooutyou.’

‘Out me?’

‘Expose you,’ he said, and watched her pale face drain of colour.

‘Expose me?’ she gasped.

‘It was not hard to work out, Emma, because you are all the same.’

‘The same?’

‘You all want more. You are no different from any of them.’

He’d been right all along.

She was playing with him.

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