Page 61 of The Scandal Behind The Italian’s Wedding

He drew her close, leaned in and whispered in her ear. “What did he say to you? That night at your father’s party.”

Her eyes went misty. “Do we have to talk about that?”

It still bothered her. It was hard for him to imagine that. He’d lived through poverty. Loss and pain. And it wasn’t so much that he didn’t think people like her—people who lived in comfort and relative ease—didn’t also feel pain for the things in their lives. It was simply that of all the things he’d ever cared about, the good opinion of others wasn’t often one of them.

Robert, he cared about his opinion because the man had changed his life.

But in general, he’d never... He’d been thrust into private school with boys who had been privileged and cosseted all their lives. They’d either found Dante to be a source of fascination, or something quite beneath them.

He hadn’t care for either. But he hadn’t cared about it, either.

He’d had trouble connecting. The only person who had ever mattered to him was Maximus. Their friendship had been unsteady at first, Maximus clearly not understanding why his father had ever cared much about the Roman urchin he’d pulled off the streets.

Eventually, slowly, rooming together at boarding school had brought them closer together. Dante had told Maximus about holding his father at gunpoint and he knew then it would either break their bond or solidify it forever.

Maximus had nodded and said: “You do what you have to, I guess.”

And so, solidified their bond had been.

Whatever anyone else thought hadn’t mattered. Minerva, though, was still clearly haunted by her humiliation.

Witnessing that had enraged him, and it bothered him she was still hurt.

That no man had stepped in to heal that wound.

You’re her husband. The only one she’ll have.

It was a profoundly depressing realization.

For her.

Another man might have eased this pain already, but he had not. Suddenly he found that he did want it. More than anything.

“I want to know,” he said.

“He... He just said that I was stupid if I thought he really wanted to be here with me. He just wanted to be at the party. Wanted to see the house. Being my date was a dare. What he really wanted was a chance to see my sister.”

“I see,” Dante said. “What is more beautiful? A ruby or an emerald?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s more beautiful, a tropical island or a desolate mountain?”

“They’re both beautiful,” she said. “Just different.”

He nodded slowly. “Exactly. There are some things you cannot compare, Minerva, because they are not alike. One is not less. You cannot compare yourself to Violet. She’s beautiful. She’s successful. I don’t want her. I do want you,” he said, his voice rough. “Because the truth of the matter is, whether an emerald or ruby are equal in beauty, or a tropical island or a mountaintop are both perfect in their natural splendor, there is always one that a man prefers. And it has nothing to do with how it looks, not really. But what calls to his soul. And in this case, to my body. That’s you. I cannot explain it. But it is.”

“You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“I’m not. I was very happy to go through my life never having been bewitched, Minerva, and finding myself held in thrall by a woman that I have known for more than half my life is a very strange thing. I am not sure how it happened. This is not the first time we danced, but it is not the same as that first time.”

“But still, when the pictures get published in the paper I imagine the headlines will be the same.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But even then, what do you believe about yourself? What you know to be true, or what a bunch of strangers say about you?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But... I do like what you said about me. I suppose, even if I can’t win with strangers, I can content myself to have nice things said by you. Does this mean that we are going to be... Nicer to each other again?”

“I hope I was never unkind to you.”

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