And it wasn’t. It couldn’t.
Because he finally realized that he had been fighting a losing battle all along.
Even after everything he had done to prevent it, the fourteen-year-old awkward girl from the past had captured his heart from the very start...and he had never gotten it back.
Chapter Three
“Last shot now, I promise,” Saffi begged, holding her SLR up once more. Behind her, Staffan rolled his eyes. Trust his fangirl wife to have a need to take a thousand photos of Bree in her prom attire – and the younger girl hadn’t even stepped out of the living room yet.
Bree glanced at her date, Rob Cramer, and he returned her long-suffering look with a grin. But he gamely posed anyway, and with a shake of her head, Bree did the same, repositioning herself next to him.
“One, two—-”
The doorbell of the main entrance rang, its chiming melody blaring through the house’s speakers and cutting Saffi off.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Saffi asked. Both of them lived in an exclusive community, and security didn’t just let anyone in.
Bree knew Saffi was referring to her alcoholic aunt, Christy Wyle, who also happened to be her legal guardian – or at least she had been until Bree had turned eighteen.
She shook her head. “I don’t think she’ll go against the TRO.”
“I’ll get it.” Staffan went to the door and used the peephole to check their unexpected caller’s identity. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at what – who – he saw.
He looked at Bree. “It’s Ariadne.”
Bree was stunned. “Ariadne?” She hated how her voice shook just because Ariadne was connected to Dylan. That part of her life was completely finished and she shouldn’t go back to it again.
“Shall I handle this?” Staffan asked quietly. He had no quarrel with Ariadne, but his loyalty was where his wife’s loyalties lay, and that was with Bree.
Bree said slowly, “No, I think I better talk to her.” She looked at Rob. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”
He nodded. “Take as much time as you need.” The understanding in his eyes almost made her wince. It was clear he knew about her and Dylan.
But then, why should that be a surprise? Neither of them had ever attempted to hide they...knew each other. Dylan had been photographed numerous times with her and to his credit, he had never denied her presence in his life.
She’s special. That had always been his answer.
And she believed him, not realizing that other women could be more special than she was.
Excusing herself with a mumble, she opened the door and mustered a smile for Dylan’s cousin, the drummer of Minuit Rouge.
The incandescent light from the antique lamp post behind Ariadne made her look like an angel on fire, with her long auburn hair making a nice contrast against her tanned skin and white tank top paired with cropped shorts.
Ariadne’s eyes widened when she saw Bree’s attire. “Oh God. It’s prom night?” Dylan knew about this, she realized.
Despite everything, Bree couldn’t stop herself from grinning at the appalled tone. It was one of the reasons they enjoyed each other’s company. Normally, Ariadne hated anyone Andre or Dylan dated.
“I know,” she said wryly. “But it’s my last year in high school so I figured I should attend this.”
Ariadne was beginning to think her coming here was a bad idea. It just wasn’t fair to argue Dylan’s case when Bree was clearly doing her best to move on. In the less than two weeks that Dylan and Bree had been apart, the younger girl had noticeably lost weight and had dark bags under her eyes attesting to sleepless nights.
“You know what? I totally think this is the worst time for me to visit. Forget I came here.”
Bree grabbed the other girl’s hand as Ariadne turned away. “Why did you come?” Just asking the question made her feel anxious and she couldn’t understand why.
Ariadne shook her head. “It’s nothing. I was just really going to say I think Dylan’s a bastard for what he did, that’s all.”
But the other girl couldn’t look at her in the eye as she spoke. Bree said baldly, “You’re a horrible liar.”
“Look, just forget I said anything—-” The look in Bree’s eyes made Ariadne squeeze hers shut. No, no, hell no. She wasn’t going to let Bree’s puppy brown eyes get to her—-
“Ariadne, please.”
Hell.
Without opening her eyes, Ariadne said, “I wanted to say that...”
Bree held her breath.
Ariadne’s fingers clenched. “If you’re waiting for Dylan to come running to ask for forgiveness, he won’t.”
Before Bree could say anything about it, Ariadne raised her hand, a sick feeling on her face. “There’s something you have to know about Dyl – something he’d never tell you...”
DYLAN TOSSED BACK HIS fourth shot of whiskey, the liquor burning its way down his throat. But its heat couldn’t compare to the fiery sensation residing in the pit of stomach – a sick sensation that had stayed with him since he had learned Bree hated his guts.