King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

After we confirmed the movie date and parted ways, I wound my way up Fourth Street toward Washington Square Park.

My pulse thudded louder with each step until it crescendoed at the sight of a familiar tall, dark figure standing by the arch.

The park bustled with street musicians, photographers, and students in NYU sweatshirts, but Dante stood out like a slash of boldness against a faded backdrop. Even in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, his presence was powerful enough to draw not-so-subtle stares from passersby.

Our eyes connected across the street. Electricity crackled down my spine, and it took me an extra beat to start walking after the last car passed.

I stopped two feet from him. The sounds of music, laughter and car honks fell away, as if he existed within a force field that prevented any outside intrusion.

“Hi,” I said, oddly breathless.

“Hi.” He tucked his hands in his pockets, the gesture endearingly boyish compared to his rugged features and broad, muscled frame. “How was brunch?”

“Good.” I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “How was…your day?” I had no clue what he’d been doing that morning.

“I beat Dominic in tennis. He was pissed.” A crooked smile formed on Dante’s lips. “Good day.”

A laugh bubbled up my throat.

It’d only been two days, but I missed him. His dry humor, his smiles, even his scowls.

He was the only person who could make me miss every individual part of him as much as his whole—the good, the bad, and the mundane.

His eyes and mouth sobered. “I wanted to apologize,” he said. “For Friday night. You were right. I should’ve tried harder to understand where you were coming from instead of…ambushing you when we went home.”

His voice carried the stiffness of someone delivering an apology for the first time, but the underlying sincerity melted any grudge I might’ve held.

“You were right too,” I confessed. “I don’t like admitting it out loud, but I am different around my parents. I wish I wasn’t, but…” I blew out a breath. “There are some things that might be too late to change.”

I was twenty-eight. My parents were in their late fifties or early sixties. At what point were our habits and dynamics so ingrained that trying to change them would be akin to trying to bend a concrete pillar?

“It’s never too late for change.” Dante’s eyes softened further. “You’re fucking perfect the way you are, Vivian. If your parents can’t see that, then it’s their loss.”

His words grabbed hold of my heart and squeezed.

To my horror, a familiar prickle sprung up behind my eyes, and I had to blink it away before I spoke again.

“Maybe I’ll wear a silk suit instead of tweed at our next dinner,” I half-joked. “Spice things up a bit.”

“Silk suits you better, anyway. Next time they drop in for a surprise visit, we can also tell them we’ve contracted a terrible, highly contagious stomach bug and lock ourselves in our apartment until they leave.”

“Hmm, I like it.” I tilted my head. “But what would we do, locked all day in the apartment?”

He slid me a wicked grin. “I can think of a few things.”

Heat washed over my skin, and I fought back a blossoming smile. “I’m sure you can. So,” I said, switching topics. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Yes.” He slid his hand into mine, the action as casual and natural as breathing. “I’m spending it with you.”

My smile broke free, as did the butterflies in my stomach.

Just like that, we were okay again.

It wasn’t a long reconciliation, but it didn’t need to be. Moving on didn’t always involve big gestures or heavy talks. Sometimes, the most meaningful moments were the small ones—a softening glance here, a simple but sincere apology there.

“Perfect,” I said. I kept my hand in his as we walked away from the park. “Because there’s a new exhibit at the Whitney I’ve been dying to check out…”





CHAPTER 30





Vivian





“I’m sorry, you want us to go where?” I looked up from my sushi and pinned Dante with a disbelieving stare.

“Paris.” He leaned back, the picture of nonchalant ease. Jacket off, tie loosened, expression unruffled like he hadn’t just suggested I drop everything to jet off to Europe.

It was Wednesday, five days after our short-lived fight and three days after our reconciliation.

We were eating lunch in my office and having a perfectly pleasant conversation when he dropped the Paris bombshell out of nowhere.

“I found out today I have to meet some of our subsidiary CEOs there ahead of the Cannes Film Festival,” he said. “My VP was supposed to do it, but his wife went into early labor. I’m leaving Saturday and staying there for a week.”

Normally, I would’ve jumped at the chance to join him. Paris was one of my favorite cities, and I was long overdue for another visit, but I couldn’t drop everything to cavort around France when the Legacy Ball was only weeks away.

“I can’t,” I said reluctantly. “I have to be here for ball prep.”

Dante raised his eyebrows. “I thought everything’s pretty much set.”