Page 62 of How Not to Mess with a Millionaire

“Don’t.” He waved off a street vendor approaching them with a basket of trinkets. “I don’t deserve your pity.”

“How can you say that?”

“It was my fault.” Dante ran a shaky hand through his windswept hair, still not daring to look at her. “Nicole would still be here if it wasn’t for me.”

Zoe stared at the man beside her, so near physically but so distant emotionally, lost in his sorrow and self-accusation. Yes, she’d known him for not even a month, but that was long enough for her to know that the man wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone, especially not someone he loved. And it was obvious from his demeanor—the slumped shoulders, the haunted expression, the rough, halting timbre of his voice—that he had loved Nicole. Very much.

A pang of sadness hit her right in the chest. Not just for Dante and his loss, but for herself. Had she ever loved anyone that way? Would she?

She tried again to touch him, twining her fingers through his longer, stronger ones. This time, she breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t pull away. “I don’t believe that.”

“We were celebrating her birthday,” Dante continued, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. “A week late, because I was away on business. That was why I ordered the rum cake. It’s an Italian tradition. I didn’t know the chef had used a strawberry-infused rum.”

“Strawberry?”

“Nicole was highly allergic. She went into anaphylactic shock almost immediately. I administered her EpiPen, but it wasn’t enough. By the time the paramedics got there, she was already gone.”

He looked at Zoe for the first time since they’d sat down on the steps. The deep, acute anguish in his eyes just about broke her.

“That wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could.”

“Did I? I was supposed to protect her.”

His gaze drifted down to their hands, still joined. He started to pull back, but Zoe held fast, determined not to let him get away that easily.

“No, you were supposed to love her. And it sounds to me like you did a pretty good job of that.”

“Not good enough.”

Another vendor started to come up to them, but Zoe gave him an icy glare that made him change direction. When she turned back to Dante, his head was down and his eyes closed, shutting himself off in some private place, with only his grief and guilt to keep him company.

Zoe squeezed his hand, subtly letting him know he didn’t have to battle his demons alone. “Sometimes terrible things happen for no reason. No one is to blame.”

Dante shook his head. “I should have been more careful. Gone to the kitchen and talked directly to the chef.”

“No matter how careful we are, there are always things we can’t control,” she said gently. “You have to stop punishing yourself.”

His shoulders drooped lower. “I wish I knew how.”

“Talking about it is a good first step.” She scooted closer to him and dared to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for trusting me.”

He let out a quick, hollow laugh. “I didn’t have much choice.”

“Yes, you did. You could have stayed silent and let me walk away.”

“No. I couldn’t.”

He lifted his head. The pain in his eyes was still there, but now there was something more. A longing she hadn’t seen there before. It was real and raw, and it sent another sharp zing to her chest, but this time it was more awareness than sorrow.

The world around them seemed to stop. The moment felt important, pivotal. Like it marked a turning point in their relationship, moving it from something fast and fleeting to something deeper and intensely personal.

But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? She was leaving. He was staying. How could their romance be anything more than a holiday fling?

She released his hand and wiped her palms on her dress, suddenly awkward and nervous. “It’s been a long night. I’d understand if you wanted to skip the opera.”

He checked his watch. “If we hurry, we can make the opening curtain.”

“Are you sure?”