I loved Dante. I’d known since Paris, and there was no point pretending my feelings had magically changed overnight despite what happened. I loved the way his smiles peeked through his scowls. I loved how he kissed my shoulder every morning when I woke up. I missed his humor and intelligence, his strength and vulnerability, his thoughtfulness and ambition. But just because I loved him didn’t mean I trusted him or myself. We can make it work. That is…if you want to.
