75. Kingsley
75
KINGSLEY
“M arry me.”
Two words.
Two beautiful words that stretch across my heart like a tattoo. He wants to marry me. It is the last thing I am expecting, but not something that’s totally unwanted. There’s nothing I want more than tying myself to Dante. Any time I think of him not being in my life, it’s like I lose a little bit of my soul. I need him in my life. I want him in my world. And there is no one else I would rather spend the rest of my life with.
I’m too tongue-tied to say anything, and so I say nothing. Dante brings out his phone, fiddles with something, and the soft strains of a song I know and love filter through the room.
“Dance with me,” he says, holding his hand out to me as he rises from his chair. He lifts me up, holds me to him, and we start to glide slowly across the room to the sounds of The Righteous Brother’s Unchained Melody. I try to hold them back, but I can’t help the tears that form in my eyes and slide down my cheeks. This man. This man that can be soft and caring and comforting as much as he can be hard, ruthless, and angry. This man that’s stolen my heart. This man who has become my whole world and who will continue to be until I take my very last breath.
Dante kisses the top of my head, inhaling me as he leans into my body. My silent tears come faster, until they are falling in a torrent down my face, staining his shirt until it’s wet with my mark.
“Yes,” I whisper, as the song comes to an end. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Before I know what is happening, Dante has me in his arms and he is twirling me around the room, then planting a kiss on my lips. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it, then brings up his other hand and slips a ring on my finger. A beautiful ring. The right size. The perfect style. An elongated oval-cut diamond cushioned above a hidden halo of smaller diamonds in a platinum finish. It suits my finger perfectly and sits against my hand like it has been made to my specific measurements.
“We can get another if you don’t love it,” he says.
“Are you crazy?” I hold my hand up to display the ring’s beauty on my finger. “It’s gorgeous.”
“A ring fit for a queen named King,” he smiles.
My hands go to his face, holding him for the longest moment. It is only when he raises his hands against mine that I realize how lost I have become in his eyes. “This is the last thing I was expecting.”
“Regrets, already?” he asks, leading me out of the room.
“I will never regret the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Dante. You are my world.”
* * *
I’ve never been the type to put my life on display. Sharing the intimate details of my world has never come naturally to me, perhaps because there’s never been a wide circle of friends or family to share it with. The list of people I’d tell my news to is almost nonexistent. Except for Stella.
When I connect with her over an online meeting, her reaction is instantaneous and exuberant. She leans toward the camera, her face alight. “Finally! Dante got his head out of his ass and realized he should put a ring on your finger before someone else did. About time.”
The ring on my finger glints in the soft light, its presence undeniable. It’s substantial, taking up the space to the first ridge of my finger, impossible to ignore. And yet, I don’t bring it up unless someone else does. I don’t need to. Everyone must already know—Dante’s constant presence at my side is enough to make it clear that we’re a couple.
But Fiona notices. Oh, she notices. My PA’s eyes dart to the ring every time she’s in the room. She tries to play it off, her expression blank, but it’s impossible not to see the tension in her posture or the way her gaze keeps returning to my hand, as though the ring is a magnet she can’t resist. She blusters in and out of my office, her usual efficient composure replaced by something unsettling—a mix of agitation and something sharper, darker.
It makes my skin crawl.
Later, I mention it to Stella. "I can’t figure her out," I admit, leaning back in my chair. “She’s been distracted lately. Off. It’s… unnerving. Especially the way she keeps staring at the ring.”
Stella’s brow furrows on the screen. “Fiona? That’s strange. When I hired her, she had glowing references. Everyone she’d worked for couldn’t say enough good things about her. Diligent, reliable, thorough…”
“And she’s been all of those things,” I agree. “Until recently. Now, it feels like she’s… watching me. Like she’s waiting for something.”
Stella’s lips press into a thin line. “You think she’s jealous?”
Jealous. The word hangs in the air, heavier than I’d like. I’d never paid much attention to Fiona beyond her role as my assistant. She was professional and efficient, and that was all I needed. But now…
“Maybe,” I admit reluctantly. “But it’s more than that. There’s something… off about her. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s angry.”
Stella’s eyes narrow. “Keep an eye on her. And if she steps out of line, let me know. I’ll handle it.”
I nod, but the unease lingers. As I end the call and glance down at the ring, its sparkle seems almost mocking, a stark contrast to the growing tension in my office. Fiona’s behavior isn’t just a minor irritation anymore. It’s a problem. And problems like this have a way of escalating.
* * *
When the flowers arrive, Fiona drops the vase on my desk with a touch that lingers too long, her eyes narrowing slightly as she says nothing and leaves the room.
I frown, setting down my pen as I eye the roses. They’re black—midnight black, with a strange, waxy sheen that makes them look almost artificial. I lean closer, until the faint scent of decay that clings to them wafts around me like an unwelcome guest.
My stomach twists. Black roses. Not the kind of gesture Dante would ever make. With me he is all warmth, light, and fire—these are cold, angry, and foreboding. They are a message, but from who?
I hesitate before reaching for the small envelope tucked among the thorny stems. My fingers hover over it, dread pooling in my chest. Instead, I buzz Fiona back into the office.
Fiona appears in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral. "You called?"
"Who delivered these?" I gesture at the flowers, my voice cool but probing.
Fiona shrugs. "No name. Just dropped them off downstairs."
I study her, the vague answer doing little to ease my unease. "I thought packages were supposed to be checked before they came up."
Fiona’s lips curl into a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "These looked personal."
"Personal?" I repeat, my brow arching. "You think black roses are personal?"
Fiona’s gaze flicks to my hand, to the engagement ring that catches the light like a taunt. Her eyes linger there for a beat too long before meeting mine. "I think whoever put that ring on your finger has a dark sense of humor."
The insinuation strikes me like a slap. My eyes narrow, and I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. "Dante didn’t send these."
"Didn’t he?" Fiona counters softly, her tone almost teasing. "Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do."
My jaw tightens. She’s out of line…again. There have been times when she’s thrown out random comments that struck the wrong way, but she’d quickly understood her words were inappropriate and backtracked. Today, it seems like she’s going for broke.
“Are you feeling all right, Fiona? You seem... a little off ."
Fiona’s smile vanishes, replaced by something cold and brittle. "Of course you’d think that. Must be easy to judge from up there in your ivory tower."
"Excuse me?" My voice hardens, my patience fraying.
"Nothing," Fiona says, turning to leave, but not before adding, "Enjoy the flowers. They suit you."
The door closes softly behind her, but the tension in the room lingers like a bad smell. My chest tightens as I stare at the roses, my mind racing. Something is deeply wrong with Fiona—had been for a while—but today feels different. Why was I constantly ignoring the gnawing feeling she leaves me with every time she’s around?
I force myself to reach for the envelope, my fingers trembling slightly as I slide it open. The card inside is black, a blood-red rose painted in stark relief against the darkness. The image is grotesque, dripping with what looks like crimson tears. I open the card with a flick of my thumb, holding the edge like it has the ability to scorch me. My heart is pounding as I read the words inside:
"Everything beautiful eventually dies.
REST IN PIECES”
A shiver runs down my spine. I set the card down carefully, my eyes drifting to the door behind which Fiona sits. For the first time, I realize I might not be dealing with just resentment or jealousy. This is something far more sinister.
I toss the card across the room, a scream bubbling up my throat and threatening to roll free. I pick up my phone and send a text to Dante. Our safe word. That’s all he needs to know that I am in trouble.