Three is a War(72)

I shake my head. “I made mistakes, too.”

“Mistakes? No, Danni. You love with everything you have. Christ, how many times have you forgiven me? The least I can do is forgive you for the last seven months. But that’s the thing. You’ve done nothing wrong. Cole and I went into this knowing how it would end. We put you in a horrible position, and you’re sitting here telling me not to go easy on you?”

He’s so damn mature and logical I don’t know why I expected anything less. His levelheadedness is one of the countless things I depend on.

“We’re putting this behind us,” he says firmly. “No more fighting about the past. No more regrets. We’re moving forward.”

My mind races as everything sinks in.

“You’re single.” Saying the words aloud feels like a newborn breath.

“I gave my heart away a long time ago.” Months of regret retreat under the raw affection in his voice. “I’m very much committed.”

My chest squeezes. “I have things to say.”

“Say them.” He leans in, a hand on the back of my chair, the other on the table, surrounding me in the strength of his presence.

“I’m not perfect. I’m messy. I’ll scatter shit all over the floor and jumble up your self-control. I’ll irritate you, do impulsive things, piss you off, and beg for forgiveness.” I swallow hard, fighting tears. “I’ll always love Cole.”

His silence is so deep the whispers of restaurant patrons envelope us in an airless bubble, where we’re a universe of two holding its breath.

When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. “I’ll always love him, too.”

My face crumples, and I grab his hand on his lap. “I’m yours. You’ll never find a woman who loves you as much as I do.

“I talked to Cole this morning, and he told me the same thing.”

“You did?” My stomach churns as I search his face for answers. “Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Is he…?” Okay? Will he ever be okay?

“I sent him a text mentioning your appearance last night. That was the trigger for his call this morning. He didn’t want to talk to me until you made contact. Didn’t want to be the one to tell me what happened.” He bends closer and trails a finger along my jaw, sending shivers down my spine. “At his request, I won’t give you updates on him. It’s the same request I made seven months ago, and I trust that he honored it.”

I nod, trembling against a surge of tears.

“Shake it off,” he says sternly. “He told me you’ve been back for a month. I assume you spent that month crying for him.”

I nod again. “I needed the time.”

“Good. Now it ends.”

He reaches into the pocket of his pants. My pulse detonates as he slides a silver band on the ring finger of my left hand. The same infinity band he gave me a year ago.

“We’ll marry on Valentine’s Day.” It’s an order, not a question.

My lungs pant with confusion and excitement. “That’s only—”

“Thirty days away.” He lifts my hand and touches his lips against the inside of my wrist. “You have a month to choreograph the dance. I’m in charge of everything else, including the dress.”

Shaken by the turn of events and the inflexible demand in his voice, I let my mouth hang open until he shuts it with a finger beneath my chin.

“I informed the restaurant you would only be dancing for two hours.” He stands, pulling me with him. “Your shift is over.”

I follow him in stunned silence out of Bissara and down the hall toward his private elevator. I’ve been so worried about winning him back I hadn’t let myself even think about the feel of his mouth against mine, let alone a night in his penthouse.

He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t look at me until we step inside the lift. Pressing the button for the 31st floor, he steps back, hands behind him with the width of the elevator between us. Then he gives me the full force of his gaze.

“I haven’t had sex in seven months, and that was…” His jaw sets. “Cole was with us. Before that, it had been—”

“Seven weeks.” I remember that night, the angry sex, with agonizing shame. “You didn’t come inside me.” I peer at him from across the elevator, begging for forgiveness. “We haven’t been together, really been together, in over a year.”

He nods, eyes hard and unblinking as he glares at the painful-looking erection pressing behind his zipper. “I’m…excited.”

It’s a strange, wonderfully endearing thing to hear from such a self-restrained man.