But I didn’t have to. That was the worst thing about Dante. He knew me too well. Every in and out of me. Every lie and truth. He and I alone held the keys to my destruction.
As I’ve said, lovers should have secrets.
I asked the one question that would put an end to this madness. “Will you ever tell me why?” I didn’t have to elaborate. He knew what I wanted to know.
Why did you throw me away?
And . . .
Why did you let me give you every part of myself just so you could toss it all back into the trashcan that it came from?
But particularly . . .
How? How could you break my heart?
“I can’t give you an excuse,” he said in a careful voice that trembled. “But I’m asking for forgiveness. Please. I don’t make sense without you and you don’t make sense without me and you know it. We only ever worked together. How long did you think it was going to last? Scarlett without Dante, Dante without Scarlett? You and I going about our lives as though the other doesn’t exist? Who are you kidding? Who are we without each other? Apart we’re not ourselves. And it’s been long enough. I’ve been punished long enough.”
Had he?
And—had I?
And—couldn’t he at least try to make up an excuse? Even if it was bullshit, even if it was a complete lie, couldn’t he at least try?
I didn’t know how to respond to him. I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t know what to think.
He had completely weakened me, utterly destroyed any resolve I thought I’d built against him, and when he started to move to me, I couldn’t find the strength to get away.
He crowded but barely touched, his hands going around me, under my hair, feeling at my nape.
Time froze as he unfastened one of the chains around my neck, took the ring off, and put it on my limp finger.
“I know this is sudden to you. I know it’s a shock. I’ll give you time. There’s no deadline on your answer, but it’s out there now, what I want, how I feel, though that was never much of a mystery if you were paying attention.”
“It doesn’t even make sense,” I pointed out tremulously. “We don’t live near each other, and you know damn well it can never work long distance between us.” We’d tried and failed it once. Some part of me blamed that distance for our downfall. It was my ego, I supposed, that was certain that he never would have turned to her if I hadn’t been so far away.
“I’ll move to L.A. If you say yes, that you can forgive me and give us another chance, I’ll move tomorrow.”
I was looking down at the diamond on my finger, Gram’s diamond, that she’d passed down to Dante, that he’d given to me once upon a time when I’d still believed in the conquer all power of love.
I couldn’t stop shaking.
“Don’t say no,” he pleaded. “Don’t say anything. Just think about it. I’ll wait for you. However much time you need, I’ll be here waiting.”
And then, he backed away.
We barely touched, barely said another word when he dropped me off at the airport.
I didn’t look back as I headed into the terminal, but that insidious thing inside of me was raging again, every step I took that led me away from him, it raged.
I was on the plane before I let myself cry. I pulled a blanket over my head, and God, did the tears fall.
I’d folded in on myself, my body failing under the weight of one simple realization: I needed to change. I couldn’t go on like this. Hatred alone was not enough to fuel a person through life. I needed to find some version of peace.
What could I forgive for the sake of love? What could I get past for the simple justification that I wanted to be happy again?
My answer stunned me. Rocked me down to my soul.
More than I’d ever thought I could.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
“Never make a decision when you are upset, sad, jealous or in love.”
~Mario Teguh
I didn’t make him wait long before I called, though some part of me thought I should make him suffer longer, I just didn’t have it in me.
I shut my eyes tight at the sound of his voice. I was in my bedroom at my apartment, sitting on my bed. I’d only gotten back from Seattle the day before, though I’d made my decision before my plane even touched down.
“Dante,” I breathed, my voice close to a sob. I felt so emotional and so desperate to get it out that I didn’t even wait for an opening. “Dante. My answer is yes. I want you to move to L.A.” I didn’t say anymore. I didn’t need to. If he came here for me, I’d be his. We both knew it, and I’d never been any good at expressing my feelings over the phone.
He was gasping on the other end, breaths so ragged that they punched into my ear like he was shouting.
“Scarlett,” he said once, his heart in his voice, hiding nothing from me.
But then, a few beats later, the strangest thing happened.
The tone of the call changed, the connection faltering as it lessened in quality, the background noise getting just a touch more static.
He’d switched it to speakerphone.
It was like déjà vu.
My hand pressed to my chest as the air seized in my lungs.
This has happened before, my mind recalled in horror, not even having to place the memory, because it was burned right there on my frontal lobe in a spot I could never misplace.
And his voice, when he spoke again had been stripped of all emotion. It was detached to the point of cold. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I’ve thought about it, and it was all a mistake. What I proposed . . . is impossible.”
“What?” I breathed. “I don’t believe you.”
“Don’t you?” he asked, his indifferent tone ringing out hollow.
“And this was what? You messing with me? Revenge? Why would you do this?” My voice broke on the last word.
“You and I can never work,” he said simply.
My eyes were on my shaking hands. “This is really what you want?” I asked, and as I heard the words come out, heard how pathetic they were, I wanted to snatch them back.
“It was silly to think we could be together again. I’m sorry I put you through that, but it is impossible.”
And with that, he hung up.
A few days later, I pulled myself together enough to send him a small care package.
My return gift to Dante was not as fun as a pair of Louboutins, but it was far more valuable, and the note that went with it felt satisfying as hell when I wrote it.
Dante,
I know you love meaningless gestures. How’s this one for you?
Enjoy. Thanks for everything.
S, aka the hate of your life
P.S. There is not one more fucking thing we need to talk about. Ever.
P.P.S. Lose my number.