to tell Dante about the baby. I want to tell him everything. All the pain that I’ve been holding inside me, all the anxiety and fear, all the hopes and dreams and silly visions that I have for my future.
I want him to know everything. I want him to be a part of my future.
Is it desperate? Maybe.
It’s true, though.
A lump forms in my throat, and the words stick. Closing my eyes, I let his presence comfort me until I can breathe again.
“Is it hard staying sober?”
The Prince’s question surprises me. I turn my head to look at him, frowning slightly. He noticed I’ve been sober?
He continues: “I mean, I’ve seen you refuse drinks at multiple dinners. I assumed it was something with your therapy. I just thought it might be hard, considering who you are and the kind of events you have to go to.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “No. It’s not really that hard.” With my hand still on my stomach, I think of my child. It’s not hard to stay sober for my baby.
The Prince’s eyebrows arch. “No?”
I chuckle. “I mean, not really. I only ever really partied, I was never a really heavy user or anything. I drank a lot at celebrity events. There are some embarrassing photos of me online.”
“Yeah,” Dante says, gazing at the pool.
“You’ve seen them?”
He stiffens, straightening up in the chair. “I mean, I don’t… I’m not…”
“Have you been Googling me, Your Highness?”
Dante swings his gaze to meet mine and a grin tugs at the corner of his full, irresistible lips. “Can you blame me?”
“Find anything interesting?”
“Plenty.”
His eyes linger on mine, sending pulsing heat rushing through my body. Whenever he looks at me like that, butterflies explode though my stomach. I clear my throat, tearing my gaze away from his. If I look at him much longer, I’ll be climbing onto his chair and straddling him right here, right now.
I let out a sigh, shaking my head. “I have lots of reasons to stay sober. It kills me that I don’t know what happened the night that I OD’d.”
“Have you ever considered that it might have been Beckett?”
I gulp, keeping my gaze straight ahead. “Your Highness, I wouldn’t…” If I say yes, he’ll know I was with Beckett.
“Come on, Margot. My half-brother went on a murderous rampage. He was trying to get at Luca by any means possible. Why not through you?”
My mind spins circles around me. How am I supposed to answer this? If I say yes, it’ll be tantamount to admitting that Beckett was with me. If I say no, I’m lying, and I’ve never been a good liar.
So, I settle on the truth.
“I’ve thought of it, but I don’t know how he would have hurt me.”
He nods, gazing at me. “I’ll find out.”
“Dante, you don’t have to do that. You have enough to deal with already, between Luca and the security around here. You don’t need to add me to your list of burdens.”
“You’re not a burden. Never.”
I take a deep breath, staring up at the stars in the sky. My breath leaves little puffs of vapor, and I watch it dissipate. The Prince squeezes my hand.
“I mean it, Margot. I care about you.”
“Long-lost lovers,” I whisper, staring up at the night sky.
The truth is on the tip of my tongue. The Prince has shoved a wedge in the cage around my heart, and he’s slowly prying it open. I could open my mouth and tell him everything.
My diagnosis. The night I found out. The baby. Beckett. My suspicions about my overdose.
I can’t get the words out, though. I’m scared of losing what little affection he has for me.
“Hey,” Dante whispers, tugging at my arm. I turn to look at him, feeling the wedge in my chest split the cage open another fraction of an inch. His eyes are so kind. They make me want to spill my secrets, to share my entire life with him.
It wouldn’t be that hard. In a few words, I could rid myself of this awful burden. I could tell him everything. It’s like he said—it feels like we’ve known each other forever. Maybe he wouldn’t turn me away. Maybe I wouldn’t lose him. Maybe it would bring us closer together.
He opens his mouth to speak, but the back door of the house slides open.
Felicity, my publicist, calls out my name. She comes running across the grass toward us.
“Margot! I’ve been trying to call you!”
“I don’t have my phone.”
Throwing an apologetic glance at the