Page 59 of That's Amore

“No, you’re not.” Dante put a gentle arm around my shoulder and led me to the couch in the sitting room.

He tried to sit me down. I shook my head. “I don’t need?—”

“Elysa,” he said with quiet reassurance. “Let me take care of you.Please.”

Thepleasecaught me off guard, and I sank into the plush couch, wrapping my arms around myself as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind only fatigue.

Dante crouched in front of me, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he studied my face. His gaze lingered on my cheek, and his jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” His tone was tight with regret.

“You couldn’t have known,” I murmured.

How could he have known when I hadn’t? My father had hit me. It was as if all my nightmares had coalesced together. My husband wanted another woman, and my father disliked me to the point of physical violence.

He exhaled sharply. “I’m so sorry,bella mia.”

“Why areyousorry?” I asked, baffled.

“For so many things.” He stroked my smarting cheek with a finger, and the sincerity on his face undid me.

“Why does he hate me so much? Is there something wrong with me?” I asked as tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Oh,bella mia, don’t cry.” He was on the couch in an instant. He picked me up, settled me on his lap, and hugged me close. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’resei perfetta.”

NINETEEN

Dante

“No, I’m not,” she sobbed. “No one wants me.”

“I want you. So much.” I nuzzled her hair with my chin.

Instead of telling me off, she broke in my arms. Her soft cries tore through the suite and shook me. I held her tightly, one hand at her back, the other cradling the back of her head, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing I did would ever feel like enough for this wonderfully fragile and remarkably strong woman.

Her tears soaked into the fabric of my shirt as she trembled against me.

I pressed my lips to the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Elysa. I’m here now. I’m here for you.”

She froze for half a second before pulling back sharply, her tear-streaked face twisted in anger. “Herefor me?” she scoffed, wiping her face with unsteady hands. “That’s a joke, Dante.”

I blinked, stunned by the venom lacing her words. “Elysa?—”

“No, you don’t get to do this,” she cut me off, pulling away and moving to the other end of the couch. “You don’t get to hold me now and pretend like you care. Do you have any idea how it feels to spend years hoping for a family, for someone who actually sees you, only to realize that you’re completely alone? Because that’s how I feel, Dante. Alone.”

It was excruciating to see and feel her pain. I’d done this. I could’ve just stopped being an ass and been happy with her, made her happy; instead, I’d decided that distance was a good thing. It made no sense, especially now that I knew I was in love with her. I didn’t know when it happened—was it the first time we made love, the first time she asked me to skip work and play tourist in Rome, or was it when she insisted on watching horror films, all the while hiding behind my shoulder, asking me if the bad part was over.

“When I married you, I thought I was finally going to have a family.” Her words quaked with anger and pain. “Don Giordano made me feel like I belonged. But now he’s gone, and you? You treat me like I’m a damn inconvenience. Like I’m just some silly little girl playing dress-up in your world.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered, wishing there wassome way I could make her see what was inside my heart.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her eyes blazing with fury. “Do you even hear yourself, Dante? Do you know how many times you’ve dismissed me? How many times you have made me feel small? I told you Patrizia called me a fat cow, and you didn’t even believe me. You chose to believe Lucia.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. She was right. She was absolutely right.

“And it’s not just Patrizia,” she continued, her voice rising. “It’syou. You constantly brush me off, act like my feelings don’t matter, like I’m some dumb twit who can’t possibly handle the world you live in. You complained about my food. You told me that I didn’t know how to dress. You showed me no interest unless it suited you. Do you have any idea what that does to someone? To be ignored, dismissed, and made to feel like they don’t matter?”

“Elysa, I’m so sorry.” The words came out in a rush, desperate and raw. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t know I was making you feel that way. I never meant to?—”

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