She created insecurities.

Just like with his mother, I held that against her.  By this point, I had a whole list.

"And when he does, I'll be right here," she continued.  "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm very patient."

"He doesn't even think you're interested in him," I told her with incredulous hostility, though I wasn't sure who that was aimed at.  Dante, most likely.  The blind fool. 

Yeah, okay, it was definitely aimed at him.

"Good," she said, the word filled with warm satisfaction.  "I don't want him to.  He'll come to me when he's ready.  Just you watch."

I almost punched her, but I managed to maintain my composure enough to just walk away. 

Dante came back inside sooner than I'd have thought possible, and looking mad enough to breathe fire, he strode right to me.  "Okay," he gritted out.  "Message received.  We'll stay away from Tiffany, so long as you promise me you'll stay away from Reese McCoy."

"I promise," I told him solemnly, feeling like I'd finally, at last, been heard. 

Sometimes drastic measures pay off.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he said, snagging my hand. 

I smiled at Tiffany while he made our excuses, turning my head to hold her glaring gaze with delight as he wrapped a solicitous arm around my waist and pulled me outside. 

I felt I'd won, because back then I didn't know it was more than a battle; it was a war.   

It was sometime later, deep into the night, before I brought it up again. 

Dante was in a much, much better mood by then.  We were in the backseat of his Audi, parked deep in the woods, several miles from his house.  He was on top of me, catching his breath, kissing my temple every so often, his big, firm, edible chest right in my face.

I wriggled underneath him, and it made him groan.  He was still inside of me.  "I need to get home," I told him. 

"No," he said as he pulled out.  "Not happening.  I'm keeping you." 

I was in a serious mood, but that made me smile.  "Promises, promises." 

He kissed me lightly.  "Seriously, though.  It's not right that we can't sleep together.  There has to be a way.  I'm moving in with Gram.  I think you should, too." 

"You think I wouldn't love that?  But my grandma would never agree, and I'm not eighteen yet." 

He kissed me again.  "We'll find a way." 

I didn't share his optimism, but I kept my peace.  

He was driving me home when I asked, "She's crazy, you know that, right?"

"Who?"

"Tiffany."  Duh.

He didn't roll his eyes, but it was close.  "Yes, I'm aware you don't like her."

"She's a clone of your mother," I told him.  Maybe that would get through to him. 

It didn't.  He just looked more annoyed.  "Please.  You're exaggerating.  Tiffany is harmless."

Famous last words, I thought dramatically at the time.35

But I was more right than I knew. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Don't allow your wounds to transform you into someone you are not." 

~Paulo Coelho

PRESENT

SCARLETT

I woke up feeling strange.  I was at home, in my own bed, but I didn't know what to do with myself.  I checked my phone, saw several missed calls and texts from Bastian, and recalled that I'd promised to call him the day before. 

Had an entire day passed?  It didn't seem possible but it must have been.  I'd woken up the day before in Seattle with a raging hangover and an aching heart. 

What was I supposed to do now? 

As though answering the question, my phone began to ring. 

It was Bastian. 

"Hey," I greeted him. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, sounding more worried than he should have. 

Was I okay?  No.  Was I going to be?  Who knew? 

Not me.   

"I'm fine," I told him.  Girl code for don't ask a silly question, of course I'm not okay. 

"I still need to do some digging around, and I have more questions for you, but I just needed to make sure you were all right." 

"Where's Dante?" I asked. 

"Here.  Somewhere in Seattle, I believe.  I'm going to try to find him today." 

"Find him?  You didn't tell me he was missing."  It seemed like something that should have come up considering how much we'd talked that night. 

"I told you he's been having a rough time." 

I didn't bother to point out that one had nothing to do with the other. 

"Listen," he told me somberly.  "Don't do anything rash.  Don't confront anyone.  In fact, it would be best if you act as though everything is normal.  I still have a lot of digging to do.  The less they think we're onto them, the better." 

I felt a little nauseated.  This man was kicking a beehive, and he didn't understand, not fully, what was about to come out to swarm him. 

But what he was doing—I needed it done.

"I won't confront anyone," I assured him.  "Everything will stay normal on my end.  Good luck.  And . . . thank you." 

"You don't have to thank me," he said, something hard entering his voice.  "I'm doing this for myself as much as anyone.  I'll be in contact soon."

I felt strangely better after we hung up, a little lighter.