22. Juliette
Juliette
L ess than sixty minutes later we were in the air and on our way to Chicago.
Help had come from the most unlikely place. Dante DiLustro.
The man I had been resisting from the moment I’d met him. That clean, earthy scent had been tickling my nostrils ever since the priest had pronounced us husband and wife and he kissed me.
Our first kiss.
At least, the first kiss with him that I could remember. His lips claimed mine, and strangely enough, it was pleasant. Even as I felt his lips curve into a satisfied smile, I enjoyed it. But that was a far cry from sex.
Then there was Dante’s scent. It was soothing. Clean and manly. He always smelled like a damp forest, rain on hot pavement.
After the whole incident on the cliff, he helped me into his car before driving toward the airport.
Priest had driven him here, apparently more than happy to blow my cover.
For some reason though, I couldn’t find it in me to be mad at him.
Dante hadn’t said a word, not that much conversation was possible in the convertible.
Once at the airport, a private jet was waiting for us, ready for takeoff.
Since I didn’t have shoes on my feet, Dante scooped me up into his arms and carried me up the steps and into the cabin, set me in one of the luxurious seats, buckled me in, then took his own spot on the other side of the cabin.
I was surprised he didn’t take a spot next to me, but I certainly wasn’t complaining. I reveled in the space.
“What about all our stuff?” I asked. I had left everything in the hotel. My purse. My phone. Everything.
Dante didn’t look up from his phone. “It’s already in the baggage compartment.”
“Efficient,” I muttered, since I had nothing else to say, sufficiently drained. He didn’t comment, so I turned my face to stare out the window where all I could see were fluffy, white clouds, reminding me of pillows.
Exhaustion pulled on my bones, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to fall asleep.
It wasn’t that I thought Dante would attempt anything.
Not after what had just happened on the cliff.
My mind refused to calm down—especially after that little catnap in the car.
I snuck a peek at him through my lashes, but he seemed oblivious to my presence.
The silence stretched, Dante vigorously typing on his phone. Probably planning world domination. Or Travis’s ending , I thought smugly. The latter was so fucking satisfying. There was raw elation in knowing that he wouldn’t be alive for much longer.
A good person would feel remorse. I didn’t.
Not even an ounce. I wasn’t a good person.
I was so hungry for revenge and blood that it suffocated me.
I would have preferred to kill Travis myself, but I’d settle for this.
For years, I had lived in fear—an irrational one—but I couldn’t shake it off.
The terror that that fucker would slip to the world what they had done to me plagued me.
It was bad enough I knew my shame. I didn’t want anyone else knowing.
Strangely enough, my small admission to Dante didn’t shatter me.
In fact, it almost felt like a weight lifted from my chest.
Maybe I’d let it all fester inside me for far too long and I ended up consumed by it.
I let out a heavy sigh. There was no point in pondering about it. Regrets brought you nothing. I had to move forward, deal with it my own way.
“I’m assuming you have at least two bedrooms in your place in Chicago,” I said, breaking the silence that suffocated the cabin.
His eyes darted my way. “More than two,” he replied.
I offered a small smile. “Does it matter which bedroom I take?” I asked.
Dante’s dark eyes watched me, a flicker of hunger gleaming in their depths.
I was a mess. My hair that started the day in a French braid with diamonds weaved into it was now a frizzy disaster and my white dress had dirt smeared all over it.
And then there were the black soles of my feet. Yeah, like I said… I was a damn mess.
Though you wouldn’t think it by the look in my husband’s eyes.
My husband.
The words felt foreign in my head. I couldn’t fathom how they’d taste on my tongue.
“We’ll share a bedroom,” he stated calmly, returning his attention to his phone.
I stiffened, all my good thoughts about Dante instantly turning darker. “I thought you said—”
“I won’t force myself on you, but we’ll sleep in the same bed.”
His tone was calm and measured. Soft and vehement. But there was something raw in his obsidian gaze that had me shuddering. It slowed the blood in my veins. It made the world turn just a bit slower. And the buzz of the engine just a bit duller.
“But—”
“That’s final, Juliette,” he said, a dark edge to his voice. I shivered. “Besides, there are no other beds in the house.”
His tone was dry and amused. I had a feeling he’d played me, but I couldn't be sure.
“I could sleep on the couch,” I grumbled under my breath.
He said nothing, so I returned the favor. For the remainder of our flight, I chose to ignore his presence.