Old Flame: Dante’s Story by Sam Mariano
1
Dante
There’sa lot of shit that goes through your head the night before your soulmate is supposed to marry someone else.
First, there’s all the good times you had together. Flashes of holding her in your arms in Greece, not a foot away from the rough sea, feeling every slight movement of her body as she sighs and marvels at what an incredible view it is. It is an incredible view, but she’s all you really want to look at. Fuck the great architecture all around us, fuck the choppy waves of a moody sea. Her blue eyes are the only sea I want to get lost in, her lips and her curves the only architecture I want to explore.
A calm moment, almost insignificant in the great scheme of things, but the kind of moment that plants itself deep inside you because it’s the moment you know: this woman is my home. This is the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, and there’s no point looking at anyone else anymore.
Then you think about the bad times. There weren’t even that many, it’s just that when things get bad in my family, they can’t just be normal bad—they’re fucking traumatizing. Lives are ruined, people die, the course going forward is forever changed, even if it isn’t my fucking doing.
Even if someone else’s sins are the main reason I lost her, I know I could have handled it better. Could have been a little softer, a little more fucking understanding. She was upset and I could have been there for her, could have reassured her, but I was more focused on cleaning up a goddamn mess. My pride was scratched besides that, so instead of doing the thing she needed me to do, instead of controlling the fucking situation and fixing it so she eventually got over it, I let it get out of hand. I let her imagination run away with her. I let her run away.
I didn’t know just how much I would fucking miss her.
A pit of emptiness inside me seems to hollow out even more. I’m used to it being there, but damn, if I can’t feel it more acutely tonight. There’s something about knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the only woman for you is perfectly content to walk down the aisle with some other bastard—that knowledge can’t go down smoothly, no matter how much Scotch you imbibe to try and ease the passage.
Usually I sip on and savor my favorite Scotch, but on the eve before Colette’s fucking wedding, I’m making an exception. There’s not much left in my glass now. I throw the rest back, then wave down the waitress so I can get a refill. I’m at the strip club I own with my brothers, but I don’t give a fuck about the gyrations of the half-naked woman on the pole a few feet in front of me. I don’t give a fuck about anything tonight.
The waitress comes over, glancing at my empty glass, then briefly looking me over. My pain is laced with rage tonight and I feel like it must be plain to see, but I know it’s not. I’m a consummate fucking professional. I might be torn up inside, but my exterior won’t show any signs of it.
“I need another drink,” I inform her, my words thick as they tumble out of my mouth.
Her gaze shoots back to my face. As a cocktail waitress, she has seen enough men in my state to know she should cut me off, but given who I am, she offers an obedient smile instead. “Of course, Mr. Morelli. Can I get you anything else?”
Before I can answer her, I catch sight of my younger brother heading my way, his dark brow furrowed in disapproval.
“Ah, Christ,” I mutter, sitting up a little straighter.
Alec stops beside the waitress and stares at me. “What are you still doing here? I cut you off and told you to go home an hour ago.”
I sit forward, grabbing the glass and holding it out for the waitress. “You did, but turns out you’re not my fucking boss,” I tell him. Turning my dark gaze back on the waitress, I tell her, “I don’t have all night, honey.”
She grabs the glass and turns, heading to the bar to get me a refill.
Alec turns to stare at her in mild disbelief, then he looks back at me. “This is it, Dante. This is your last drink. You’re fucking hammered and enough is enough.”
“No, I’m not,” I mutter.
Alec is the second youngest in our family, and the absolute youngest of the children produced by both of my parents. By the time our mom and dad created Alec, I guess me and my older brother had already soaked up all the dysfunction their gene pairing had to offer. To be fair, Mateo and I definitely took more than our allotted shares.
Whatever the reason, Alec is normally a pretty laid-back guy, but right now he’s agitated and impatient with me.
“Yes, you are, and this is fucking stupid.” Sighing, he drops onto the booth next to me and meets my gaze. “Just go talk to her. Give her a chance to change her mind. Maybe she’s thinking about you, too. Maybe she’s having doubts about this whole thing. Maybe you showing up tonight is exactly what she needs. Maybe she would call off the wedding and come back voluntarily.”
There are a whole lot of maybes in there, and they’re all bullshit. Colette has had plenty of time to back out and change her mind if she wanted to. Me showing up tonight like some fucking sad sack piece of shit wouldn’t change a goddamned thing—not for the better, anyway.
“If she’s having doubts, she doesn’t marry some other asshole tomorrow,” I tell him. “That’s not a thing you do when you have doubts, Alec.”
“Maybe it’s gone too far for her to back out without a reason. Go give her one.”
I shake my head. “It’s too late for that.”
Besides, I did try to talk to her. After I found out Colette was engaged, I finally broke my own fucking rule and went to the flower shop to see her. To tell her she was making a mistake and I wanted her to leave this stupid asshole and come back home. She didn’t want to hear it then, and there’s no reason to think she’d want to hear it the night before she plans to marry the sorry bastard.
She doesn’t want to come back to me, that’s the problem. Colette Fontaine is exactly where she wants to be tonight—she’s just not where I want her.
No point telling Alec that, though. He wouldn’t approve and it’s none of his fucking business anyway.
“It is not too late,” Alec insists. “Tomorrow it will be too late. If you go through with this, Dante… she may hate you forever. You might really lose her. You may never get her back.”
“Fuck that,” I mutter. I know Colette. She was made for me. I know she might resist initially, but she can’t hate me forever. Only for a time, then it will pass and she’ll be mine again, like she always should have been.
I’m relieved at the sight of the waitress. She brings my drink over, but I don’t even let it hit the table before I snatch it and take another gulp, trying in vain to numb the pain gnawing away at my insides. Trying to numb the trace of paralyzing fear, too. The fear that Alec could be right and I could be wrong, that Colette might hate me forever for what I’m about to do. That I may really never get her back, even I give her no choice but to be with me.
I picture Colette in her room right now, gazing dreamily at the puffy white wedding dress hanging on her mirror. I know it’s hanging on her mirror because I couldn’t keep from checking on her and I saw the goddamn thing. It’s easy to imagine her running her hands along the delicate fabric, envisioning herself in it when she marries the new man of her dreams.
Fucking bullshit. How can he be the man she wants to marry when it used to be me? How can you just change your mind about something like that?
Not for the first time, the thought passes through my mind that maybe I was just wrong about her. I was a few years younger then, greener than I am now, even if I didn’t know it at the time. Maybe she doesn’t love hard enough to be with me and I’m remembering her wrong. Maybe she left because she truly isn’t capable of sticking it out with me and maybe forcing her to come back to me won’t change that. Maybe nothing will.
Nah, fuck that, too. Just like I do every other time the thought blows across my mind, I stomp on it until it’s gone. I know what Colette and I can have together. I know she’s it for me, and if I’m not it for her, well, that’ll just have to change. Colette Fontaine is mine, and nobody is going to stop me from claiming what’s mine.
Not Colette.
Not her fiancé.
Nobody.
I take another gulp. I’m gonna need another refill in a minute, so the waitress hasn’t even bothered to walk away. Alec is going to be so pissed when she goes to get me a refill again after he expressly told her not to, but she’ll do it, anyway. This one wants my dick, and if she thinks ruffling Alec’s feathers to obey me instead of him will finally get it done, she won’t hesitate.
It’s a waste of her fucking time, but I don’t mind wasting her time.
The glass is empty again, so I hand it back to her. I don’t bother saying anything this time. She knows what I want, so she promptly heads back toward the bar to get it.
Alec calls after her, “For Christ’s sake, at least make this one on the rocks.”
“Neat,” I call after her more forcefully, though it’s probably an unnecessary reminder. I expect she would’ve brought it the way she knows I like it regardless of Alec’s interference.
“First Mateo, now you just can’t keep from ruining your own fucking life.” Alec sighs next to me, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Why am I the only man in this goddamned family with any common sense when it comes to women?”
“Restraint,” I offer, even drunk off my ass. “I have plenty of common sense, it’s restraint you have more of than me, and only with this one. Someday maybe you’ll find someone who makes you fucking crazy.”
“God, I hope not. If I ever start acting like you self-sabotaging assholes, you have my blessing to shoot me in the face—save the poor girl and put me out of my misery in one fell swoop.”
I nearly crack a rare smile, but he’s not wrong. Love is fucking misery—at least, once you’ve lost the only woman you want but you can’t stop craving her, it sure is. I’ve only ever loved Colette, so I can’t say what it’s like for anyone else.
“I should take her tonight,” I mutter, getting lost in thoughts about how nice it would be to hold her. To touch her again, to feel her sigh against my lips as I kiss her.
“You should talk to her,” Alec says again. “I’m serious. It doesn’t even matter that you’re drunk. I can drive you or you can call Adrian for a ride, but go to her tonight, tell her you still have all these feelings for her and you don’t want her to marry this other guy. Just tell her that and give her a chance to change her mind.”
Ha, put myself out there so she can tell me no again. Over my dead body. I ignore his shit advice and take another drink. “I’ll pass,” I tell him, easily. “I don’t need advice or a shoulder to cry on, Alec. I’ve got the situation under control.”
“I tried to stop Mateo and he didn’t fucking listen to me. Look how well it worked out for him,” Alec says, shaking his head as he stands. “You’d think you assholes could learn from each other’s mistakes, I swear to God.”
“I’m not Mateo, and I’m not making a mistake,” I assure him, my gaze on the amber liquid in the glass.
“Yes, you are,” he says seriously, watching me for another moment. “And once it’s done, it’s done. There’s no taking this back, Dante.”
Looking away from the alcohol in my glass, I meet my little brother’s concerned gaze. His words irritate me more than they should. It’s too late to change paths now, but since the only alternative is giving up on Colette, I wouldn’t even if I could. Alec has more sympathy than the rest of us, so I’m sure he feels bad for the poor asshole who mistakenly thinks I’m gonna let him marry my woman tomorrow.
Me, I don’t feel bad for anyone who’s that fucking stupid. He should have known he’d never take what’s mine without a little bloodshed, and his stomach’s too weak for that kind of fight. It’s fucking astounding that Colette went from me to some lily-livered desk jockey who probably doesn’t even know how to throw a fucking punch.
If anyone is going to rip Colette away from me, it won’t be without a fight. It won’t be while blood still flows through my veins, while my heart is still pumping. The only way anyone is taking Colette away from me is if they take her out of my cold, dead arms.
I won’t feel bad about prying her out of his cold, dead arms instead. Knowing who I am, any man with even a little bit of sense would know that’s the price he’d pay for putting his hands on my property.
I don’t need to convince Alec that this is what has to be done, but I do need to believe my own words, because I’ve bet absolutely everything on this hand. If Alec is right and it goes bad, I lose everything that really matters.
Alec can’t be right.
I’m right.
I know I am.
Clutching that belief as tightly as my glass of Scotch, I assure my brother, “I will never want to take this back.”
