Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elena
Summer in Puerto Vallarta hit harder than New York ever did.
Palm trees lined both sides of the road. When the wind picked up, it carried the sharp salt of the ocean mixed with some flower I couldn't name—nothing like New York's concrete and exhaust.
Luca's friend Diego Ramirez found me a storefront in town.
A poinciana grew by the entrance, its trunk twisted and gnarled, branches thick with leaves that threw broken shadows across the tiles out front at noon. They danced when the wind blew.
I was inside planning the renovations when Diego walked in carrying a bag of fruit. "Elena, you just found a place to live, and you're already this eager to open shop?"
Diego was a Mexican man in his early forties, got along great with Maggie, funny as hell—cut from the same cloth as Luca.
I turned and smiled at him. "No choice. This baby's growing every day. I need to start making money."
Diego set down the bag and rolled up his sleeves. "I'm hiring junior designers right now. Your sketches show real talent—you'd be perfect for the position. If you're worried about the salary, name your price. I really want to hire you."
"I'm sorry." This was his second offer, but I turned him down again. "I always dreamed of running my own shop. Maybe I won't make a fortune, but managing this place, making clothes I love—that's enough for me."
And I had other reasons I couldn't say out loud.
Diego was Luca's friend. If I took a design job at his brand, things would get awkward between us. Right now everything felt right—Luca and I kept in touch like friends, stayed casual. Diego checked in on me sometimes.
"All right." He shrugged and walked a circle through the shop, hands on his hips. "This space is perfect. I think you could do something creative with it—make customers feel like they're walking into more than just a clothing store."
His thinking matched mine exactly.
The shop wasn't big. The frontage only fit two display windows, but it had good depth.
Sunlight poured through the street-facing window and reached all the way to the back.
With this layout, I could zone by style—part for display, part for merchandise.
It wouldn't feel cramped, and customers could find what they liked easily.
Joy surged through me. This was my shop—Elena's own clothing store.
After talking through design ideas with Diego, we settled on a plan. He connected me with a local renovation crew. The quotes ran high, so I took on everything I could handle myself. What I couldn't do, I'd have to pay for.
Maggie came by the shop too. I walked her through the work we'd tackle ourselves. She nodded. "Don't worry, Elena. We'll work together and get this place looking beautiful."
We got started.
I hit the general store in town for paint and brushes, picked up an old apron that I had to wrap twice around my waist before it fit. The walls needed all that peeling old paint covered. I went with warm white.
In a place this sunny year-round, warm white would make the shop feel softer.
I climbed on a stool and started with the ceiling corners. The brush soaked up paint and made a fine scratching sound as it spread across the surface. The sound echoed in the empty room, steady and rhythmic—a beat that somehow felt comforting.
The paint smell hit strong. I stepped to the doorway for air and fanned my collar.
Maggie handed me a bottle of water, her palm settling on my belly with concern. "Elena, you're pregnant. You have to be careful."
"I'm fine, Maggie." I smiled and looked down at my stomach. "They're my child. They're strong. This won't hurt them."
Maggie wiped my forehead. "I'll head back and start dinner."
I nodded, watching her walk home with the groceries she'd just bought.
I climbed back on the stool and kept painting.
I thought about how once this wall dried, I could move the racks over tomorrow. The first batch of fabric wasn't picked yet—Diego said he knew a good wholesale dealer in town, fair prices. We'd check out the market soon.
My mood lifted. The future felt bright. Everything that happened at Moretti Manor seemed far away now.
I kept working until the light outside turned golden, that harsh glare softening into warm sunset. I'd finished half the wall. Sweat ran down my face. I was about to keep going when a voice spoke from the doorway—
"Elena."
Low, hoarse, like musical notes jumping in my ear.
I'd never mistake that voice. I treasured every word he spoke, even the ones that broke my heart—they still made my pulse race.
I turned and saw that tall figure standing in the doorway.
Sunset light poured through the window, spreading gold across the fresh wall. The poinciana's shadow swayed on the glass, leaves rustling in the wind. And Dante stood there in the fading light, looking at me with tired eyes and a soft smile.
He walked closer. That's when I saw it—his white shirt wrinkled beyond recognition, his hair uncombed and messy. I'd never seen him look this exhausted, this wrecked.
Dante reached up and lifted me off the stool, then pulled me tight against him.
"Thank God. I found you."
I froze in his arms, feeling that familiar warmth and cologne, my voice coming out wooden. "What are you doing here?"
Didn't he see the ring? I left. Valentina could stay by his side now. Wasn't that what he wanted?
Why would Dante track me down here?
He held me like he'd recovered something precious, arms locked tight. It made me uncomfortable—he was rarely this gentle with me.
"Salvador's dead." His voice came close to my ear, tinged with grief. "Before he died, he wrote me a letter. He told me about the deal between you two, the contract. He told me he drugged me. And... that you're pregnant."
Dante loosened his grip. His eyes looked red. This man, always so hard and cold, now showed emotion and hurt.
"It's all my fault." He looked up at me, those dark blue eyes full of feeling. "Elena, I'm not asking you to forgive me right away. I just want you to know—the way I treated you before, it was because I didn't know the truth. I thought you did all those things on purpose."
"I had my doubts, actually."
Dante touched my cheek. Even with my expression frozen, he still looked at me gently. "After we married, you didn't act like someone who'd drugged me. But besides you, I couldn't figure out who else would've done it. I thought you and Salvador conspired together. So I took all my anger out on you."
His words sounded sincere, his tone impossibly gentle, his eyes soft enough to melt.
"I'm sorry, Elena." Dante's hand moved to my waist, then to my belly. His warm palm pressed against my skin through my clothes. "I'm so happy you're carrying my child. When I found out, I nearly lost my mind with joy."
Wait.
Hold on.
This Dante felt like a stranger. I almost wondered if someone was impersonating him. I stepped back twice, putting distance between us, and looked up at him. "What about Valentina?"
At her name, his brow furrowed. "What happened to her in Mexico wasn't simple. I've got people investigating. She pretended to explain things to you, then turned around and had someone at the manor try to hurt you. I dealt with everyone involved."
I understood.
So the truth was out now.
Dante knew about Salvador's threats. He knew about Valentina's malicious return. He knew I never meant to hurt him. So he came looking for me. It made sense.
But somehow, I couldn't feel happy about it.
Something crucial was missing. I just couldn't figure out what.
"Listen, Dante." I walked to the doorway, staring at a shadow on the ground. "I understand everything you're saying. You want to apologize. I can accept that. But if you're hoping I'll come back to the manor and keep being your wife—I don't want that."
Dante stepped forward and grabbed my arm. "Why? You're still angry with me, aren't you? You can do anything to me. I'll accept it."
He looked nothing like that Don who controlled everything, not when he was begging like this.
I pushed his hand away and faced him. Dante still looked handsome in my eyes. But everything that happened between us since we met had been too turbulent. We'd fought, we'd held each other. We were still each other's lawful husband and wife.
"We're missing the most important thing."
I looked at Dante seriously and asked the question softly. "Dante, do you love me?"
The question froze him.
I guessed he'd never thought about it. After all, me becoming his wife wasn't his choice. And everything that followed made me notice this question we'd both deliberately avoided.
"Too much has happened between us." I leaned against the door and sat on the threshold, not caring where I landed.
"Even though I'm carrying your child now, the truth is I'm still just fulfilling my promise to Salvador.
I'm willing to have this baby not only because I promised him, but because I love this child. That's the choice I made."
"But if..." My voice came out light, low. "If you want me to choose to stay as your wife, as the mother of your child—I realize I don't have that desire."
My heart sent another sharp spike of pain through my chest.
I clenched my fists. Dante behind me stayed quiet. Silent. He didn't say a word.
And I asked myself—Elena, what about you? Do you love this man?
I thought I had no answer. But my heart sent another wave of aching pain through me, almost making me dizzy. That reaction already told me. I loved him. From the first meeting to everything after, I'd fallen for him hopelessly.
But that love couldn't give me courage right now. It made me want to retreat. Made me want to run.