The Heiress' Revenge

Chapter 213: Was Any of It Real?

Ariana’s POV

"Your eyes keep searching the room."

I didn’t deny it.

"He’s here somewhere."

"I know," Phillip said. "I saw him twenty minutes ago. My sister is with him."

The name hit like a slap.

I swallowed. "I want to dance."

"Dance?"

"The orchestra is playing. We’re the story tonight, let’s give them what they want."

He didn’t argue.

So we dance, and for a moment I tried to forget everything.

I didn’t see Dante coming.

One moment, I was dancing with Phillip.

The next Dante stood at the edge of the dance floor, pale and furious.

"Can I cut in?"

Phillip didn’t let go right away; he looked at Dante, then at me.

"That’s up to Ariana."

The room went silent.

"One dance," I said. "Then I’m done."

Phillip nodded. "I’ll get champagne."

Then it was just us.

Dante and I.

The orchestra played something slow and sad.

The whole room watched.

He took my hand; his fingers were cold.

"You look beautiful," he said.

"Dante—"

"Please. Let me say this."

He pulled me into the dance stiff and tense.

"I’m losing my mind," he said. "Every night I try to understand what happened, and every night I fail."

"There’s nothing to understand."

"There’s everything to understand." His grip tightened. "You disappeared. You let me think you were dead. Then you came back and signed divorce papers without explaining anything, and now you’re here with him, smiling like I never mattered."

"You mattered." The words slipped out. "You mattered more than anything."

"Then why?"

I looked at him.

"Because I had to."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one I can give."

He looked toward Phillip.

"Is this real? You and him? The press? This whole show?"

I thought about the threats, danger, and the children.

"Yes," I said.

"I don’t believe you."

"That’s not my problem."

"The hell it isn’t." His voice dropped. "I know you, Ariana. I know when you lie. I know when you’re scared, and right now you’re both."

"Stop."

"Make me. Tell me you don’t love me, tell me you’ve moved on, look me in the eye and say it, and I’ll walk away."

I opened my mouth.

The words were there.

But I couldn’t say them.

"Please," I whispered. "Please don’t make this harder."

"Harder?" He laughed, and the sound was awful, empty and broken. "You have no idea what hard is. You have no idea what these past two years have been like, grieving for you, trying to accept that you were gone, only to find out you were alive, and then having you push me away all over again." His voice broke. "Did you ever love me at all?"

"Dante."

Natasha’s voice cut through the noise.

She appeared suddenly, her hand on his arm, her swollen belly visible under her gown. Her face looked concerned, but I saw the satisfaction hidden underneath.

"People are staring," she said. "The press is taking pictures. You need to step away."

"I’m not done."

"Yes, you are." She pulled on his arm. "Look at yourself. Look at what you’re doing. She’s with someone else; she’s made her choice. You’re humiliating yourself."

Dante looked at me.

And in that moment I saw something break inside his eyes. It was something I had been trying to break for weeks, and now that it finally broke, I wanted to take everything back.

"Was any of it real?" he asked.

"It was—"

"Then why?"

"But it’s over now, go home, Dante. Go home to Natasha and your unborn child.... There’s nothing left for you here."

Natasha pulled him away.

I stood alone on the dance floor while the orchestra kept playing and the cameras kept flashing.

I stood there as Phillip returned with two glasses of champagne, his expression carefully neutral. I stood there as the crowd swallowed Dante as Natasha led him to the exit, as the doors closed behind them with a finality that felt like death.

"That looked brutal," Phillip said quietly.

"It was."

"Did you mean it? What did you say to him?"

I took the champagne glass from his hand and drank it in one swallow. "Does it matter?"

"I think it matters a lot."

"Then yes, I meant it." I placed the empty glass on a passing tray. "Every word was true, it was all real, but it’s over now"

Phillip studied my face for a long moment. "You’re not going to tell me why you are?"

"No."

"And you’re not going to let me help you, whatever it is you’re dealing with?"

"I can’t."

"Can’t or won’t?"

"Both."

He nodded slowly, then he took my hand again, his grip warm and steady.

"Okay."

"Okay? That’s it?"

"What do you want me to say? You’ve made it clear there are things you can’t tell me. I’m not going to force you. I told you I’m patient." He gently pulled me back toward the dance floor. "Come on, there are still photographers here, and you still need to look like a woman who has moved on one more dance, then I’ll take you home."

I let him lead me and spin me while he held me close, and the cameras captured every moment.

And the whole time I kept thinking about Dante’s face when he asked me if any of it was real.

It was all real; I only wished I could tell him that it still was.

And that our children’s lives were in danger.

But I can’t.