"You're the one that left.  I wouldn't have been alone for her to join if you'd been with me." 

Oh hell no. 

If he wanted to fight, he'd come to the right place. 

"Is that right?" I asked, tone dangerous. 

He was feeling lucky, apparently.  "Just stating facts, tiger.  If you'd kept your promise and stayed here, you wouldn't be so worried about whether Tiffany was paying me surprise visits or not."  

A fight it was.  "If I can't trust you—" I began.

"That's not what I said.  Don't twist this.  It was strange timing.  I was here reading—"

I rolled my eyes.  "Really?  Reading at a bar?" 

"Yes.  I do it a lot, actually.  I don't mind the noise.  It's nicer than being alone." 

Ouch.  Yes.  Point taken. 

"And she just walked up, sat down.  I was as surprised to see her as you were." 

I studied him with narrow eyes.  "And this is the first time she's visited you?  Since I left, I mean." 

"Yes," he said without hesitating, eyes meeting mine squarely. 

"Where is she staying?" 

"I have not a clue.  I never asked."

"How long was she here before I showed up?" 

"A few hours.  We mostly talked about everyone from high school.  It was a boring conversation, to be honest.  I was just being polite." 

His straight answers were getting to me.  I could barely hold onto my anger when he just told me the truth without prevaricating.     

"What would you have done if I hadn't showed up?  Would you have let her crash at your place?" 

The look he turned on me was real annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of affront.  "Of course not.  What are you even thinking?" 

And just like that, I felt my anger deflating.  I bit my lip.  "Were you surprised to see me?" 

And just like that, he let go of his own anger and smiled.  "Yes.  How long do I get you for this time?" 

"Three weeks."

His smile grew.  "Best news I've had in a year.  Holy hell, let's go home and celebrate."

And we did.  Oh yes, we did.   

I woke up the next day with a nasty cold.  Fucking airplanes. 

If I'd been back in L.A. I'd have just ignored it until it went away.  No such luck with Dante.  He nagged me until I went to the doctor, who did nothing but give me a ten day round of antibiotics.  I bitched and moaned about it, but three days in, I was feeling human again. 

It was a minor thing, quickly forgotten, though I'd have reason to dwell on it later. 

The three weeks went by in a flash, and it was harder than ever to leave him again, even knowing he'd be joining me in mere months. 

Before I left, we went to a local jeweler and found a ring for him.  We had it sized to fit his finger, but he wore it around his neck, right next to the key to the cabin we'd shared on our very first time. 

I fingered the key as we said our goodbyes in the airport.  "I wonder how that old cabin is doing," I mused.

"Gram tells me it's the same as we left it.  The locks have never been changed and only we have keys.  But it's not about the cabin.  It's the memory this holds for me."

I smiled up into his eyes.  I loved his sentimentality.  It never failed to touch a nerve.  A good one.  "Oh yes, I know.  And you're never going to take it off, are you?" 

"Never."  It was heartfelt, that one word, and I felt it deep in my chest.    

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

"Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity." 

~George Carlin

PRESENT

SCARLETT

Dante and I were weeks into our addictive, tentative truce when the shit hit the fan.

He'd found out about my visit from Bastian.  I wasn't sure if he knew the reason for the visit or if he was suspecting something worse, but his reaction was bad. 

I didn't even have to ask him how he'd found out.  I knew.  His mother had told him.  She'd learned a thing from her spy that would hurt him so of course she'd had to share. 

"So Bastian, huh?" he said unexpectedly one night over dinner.

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.  Well, shit.  Bringing up Bastian was bad, the look on his face was worse, and I had no idea what to say, because I didn't know what he knew, and I wasn't going to accidentally tell him more.

"I know he came to your house," he added, tone gone black, his hellish temper out to play.

"Fuck," I said softly, with feeling.

"He came to your house, and you left with him."  His rage washed over me, hot enough to scald.

But it's a fact that sometimes I like to burn.

I squirmed in my seat.  "We only left to talk.  Calm down."     

"It was Bastian who told you about the blackmail," he guessed.  The words were low, almost soft.  He was trying very hard not to raise his voice.  "Of course it was." 

I didn't answer, kept my face perfectly blank, but he didn't need my confirmation. 

"It was him," he said, sounding certain.  Dammit.  "If it were anyone else, the shit would've hit the fan by now.  Sneaky son of a bitch."

I just stared at him, trying to gauge just how angry he was.  He'd betrayed his rage with the first few things out of his mouth, but he was doing a very good job now of hiding it.