Old Flame Dante’s Story (Morelli Family 8)

Brutally hypnotic, that was Dante Morelli. I didn’t know it was happening as it did because it wasn’t hard or painful; it was easy, like falling into the pages of a well-woven fairytale. Anyone who suggested he was too good to be true wasn’t long for my life anyway, and the damndest thing is, I barely noticed.

I barely noticed a lot of things until ignoring the harsh, scary reality all around me became impossible. Until I woke up and realized my fantasy was a nightmare, my prince was a monster, and I needed to escape if he’d let me and never look back.

I guess I’m the fool for believing he actually let me go.

I didn’t believe it at first. I was paranoid, always looking over my shoulder. I was on edge every time the bell rang at my shop, alerting me to a new customer. Each time a well-dressed man walked through the front door, my stomach would sink and I would think that was the day Dante had come back for me.

For years I lived like a fugitive on the run from him. Then, finally, I allowed myself to move on. Finally, I recovered from him enough to let someone else into my life, into my heart. Finally, I let myself have some comfort instead of the self-imposed loneliness that resulted from constantly running from a monster who wasn’t even chasing me.

I convinced myself that I had been overly dramatic all that time, overestimating my importance to him. Monster or not, Dante Morelli has a lot to offer a woman, and there was never a shortage of women who noticed. Surely Dante had picked out another one once the bruise on his ego faded. Surely he didn’t even think of me anymore. Surely by then I had become just one more woman in his past—at least, that’s what Declan assured me on the nights when fear would overtake me, when something innocuous like the wind blowing a branch against the window terrified me, when I couldn’t focus on what we were doing, when I became unhinged in my mission to double check all the locks and look out each window to make sure he wasn’t outside. To make sure he hadn’t come for me.

When I was with Dante, he was my fairytale.

After I left him, he became my nightmare.

The line between the two is much thinner than people think. For me, it was so thin I couldn’t even see it until I accidentally stepped over it.

Today, on my wedding day, I feel like the last character alive at the brutal end of a ghastly horror film, almost numb as I look around at all the destruction I have wrought.

Because make no mistake, I wrought this destruction.

Deep in my heart, I knew Dante wouldn’t leave me alone. Deep in my heart, I knew he would never be done with me, but I let clueless people who didn’t understand that life convince me otherwise. I’m so helplessly angry at them for feeding me that reassuring bullshit, but I’m angrier at myself for listening. Those people didn’t know Dante. They meant well. They believed all their reassuring, stupid, wrong words.

But I knew better.

I knew him.

This is all my fault.

I dared run away from the devil and start a life without him, and now he’s going to burn me for that unforgivable sin.

Five Years Ago

FIVE YEARS AGO

Colette

I smiled up at Dante as he opened the car door, offering his big, strong hand to help me out. I didn’t need help, but I craved that man so much I seldom passed up a chance to touch him. Once I emerged from the car, his arm moved around my back and came to settle on my hip in a casually possessive gesture that reassured me he felt the same way.

“I like this dress on you,” he murmured in my ear.

I leaned closer and wrapped my arm around his waist, nestling into his side. “I’m glad.”

“I’ll like it even better later, when I’m taking it off you.”

Biting down on my bottom lip, I offered him a devilish smile. “You think that now. Wait until you see how many buttons it has down the back.”

Cocking a dark eyebrow, he slid me a look of mild displeasure. “You know I don’t have the patience for buttons.”

“It was on sale,” I told him, in defense of my purchase. “And it’s so pretty,” I added, running a hand down my hip.

“I’m gonna destroy it later,” he stated, and I knew he wasn’t just saying it the way some men would. I knew he meant it. “Enjoy those pretty buttons while they’re still attached.”

He’s such an obstinate brute, I thought. The mental image filled my head of him jerking my beautiful dress open, ruining the poor thing in his haste to get to my naked body… I couldn’t seem to muster much sympathy for the dress.