Page 193 of Reckless Obsession

“And if they sing to me?”

“I will stop them.”

I consider that.

“Acceptable.”

Dante smiles, then walks back toward the villa, leaving me beneath the olive tree with pink lilies in my lap and a cat staring at me from the canvas like she knows exactly what I am trying not to feel.

Chapter 32

MAKSIM

I rip the black silk shirt off my arms, ball it up in a sudden, irrational fit of fury, and throw it across the bedroom.

It hits the back of the armchair and slumps to the floor—joining a cream linen button-down, an emerald velvet shirt, and a tailored gray knit. Four shirts in twenty minutes. None of them look right. None of them sit right against my skin. Every single piece of fabric feels suffocating, itchy, like my body is rejecting anything that tries to make me look composed.

Dante will be here soon to pick me up for dinner. Somewhere nice, probably. He always picks somewhere nice. And instead of getting ready like a normal person, I’m stuck in a loop of pulling clothes on and off because my brain has decided tonight is the perfect time to be unbearable.

They are not the ones who hurt you.

Dante’s voice won’t leave me alone. It’s rattling around the inside of my skull like a loose bullet.

I know they didn’t hurt me. I know that. My father didn’t break my heart. Anton didn’t use me to pass the time. Alex didn’t stand in an apartment and let me walk out into the dark without fighting for me.

So why am I treating them like enemies? Why did I make my mother swear to keep them in the dark? Why have I spent three months running an emotional scorched-earth campaign against the only family I have?

I drag both hands down my face, digging the heels of my palms into my eye sockets until bright bursts of static flash behind my eyelids.

The ugly truth stares back at me: it’s not anger. It was never really anger.

It’s shame.

The realization settles in my stomach like a stone.

Alex knew.

He knew enough, anyway. He had seen the way I acted whenever Tristan’s name came up. He had warned me. Not gently, because Alex has never believed in gentle when it comes to me, but he had warned me. He told me I was letting myself become consumed by something that could not end cleanly.

And I ignored him.

Of course I did.

Now what am I supposed to say?

You were right. Congratulations. I made myself an idiot for someone who couldn’t choose me.

The thought makes my face burn.

And my father and Anton? They might not have known the filthy, intimate details, but neither of them is stupid. You don’t live in a house full of wolves without learning how to smell blood.

I pace to the window.

The terrace is silver under the moonlight. Far below, the water is black, broken only by thin strips of reflected light from boats in the harbor.

I turn back toward the room.

The luggage is still where I left it three months ago, and my old phone is in there.