Page 138 of The Wrong Man

How can life be this good?

Chapter forty

Dylan

Iwake up feeling lighter than I have in months.

For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling of the penthouse bedroom while the early morning light filters through the floor to ceiling windows. Dante is warm against my back, one arm draped over my waist, his breath slow and steady against my neck.

Last night I told him everything. The seduction plan, the manipulation, all of it. And he’s still here.

The guilt that’s been eating me alive for weeks is finally gone. I told him the truth, and he forgave me without hesitation. We both did things we’re not proud of, he said. But we’re here now, together, choosing each other.

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Dante to wake up and realize he made a mistake, that he can’t actually forgive what I did. But when he stirs behind me, all he does is pull me closer and press a kiss to my shoulder.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning.”

“What time is it?”

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Half-five.”

Dante groans. “Why are you awake at half-five?”

“Because today is the day.” I roll over to face him, unable to keep the grin off my face. “The reopening. We’ve been preparing for three weeks, and it’s finally happening.”

He opens one eye to look at me. His hair is mussed from sleep, and there’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He looks softer like this. More human. I love him so much it makes my chest ache.

“You’re excited,” he observes.

“I’m terrified,” I admit. “What if no one comes? What if they’ve all forgotten about us? What if the sourdough doesn’t rise properly and the croissants burn and everything falls apart?”

“Then we’ll handle it.” He reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face. “Together.”

Together. The word settles into my chest like a warm ember.

“Together,” I agree. “Now get up. We need to be at the bakery by six.”

Getting ready is a familiar chaos by now. Three weeks of early mornings have established a rhythm. I dart around the penthouse gathering my things while Dante moves at his own unhurried pace, somehow always ready at exactly the right moment.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” he says as I check my bag for the third time.

“I’m being thorough.”

“You’ve checked for your keys four times.”

I pat my pocket. He’s right. “I knew that.”

“Of course you did.”

The drive to Borough Market is quiet. London still waking up around us. I watch the familiar streets pass by and feel something settle in my chest. Three weeks ago, I was a wreck. Barely sleeping, barely eating, suffocating under the weight of everything I’ve been through, as well as my dark secret. Now the secret is gone, and it feels like I can finally breathe.

Sean and Teagan are already there when we arrive, the lights blazing in the windows of the shop. Sean looks up from the display case he’s arranging and grins.

“There he is! The man of the hour.” He takes in my expression and his grin widens. “You look different this morning. Less like you’re about to vomit.”

“Thanks for that lovely image.”