Vivian was the daughter of the enemy, and I would do well to remember that.
I stayed on the bench for a while longer, trying to recapture the magic from earlier, but the peace was gone.
When I returned home, I found a check waiting on my bedside table for exactly one hundred thousand dollars.
CHAPTER9
Vivian
The flea market was alive with the sounds of haggling and the faint honks of cabs from the neighboring streets. The scent of churros swirled through the air, and everywhere I looked, I saw an explosion of different colors, textures, and fabrics.
I’d been visiting the same market every Saturday for years. It was a treasure trove of inspiration and one-of-a-kind items I couldn’t find in the carefully curated luxury stores, and it never failed to pull me out of a creative rut. It was also my favorite place to visit when I needed to clear my head.
Today, however, it did neither of those things.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the memory of Dante’s mouth on mine.
The firmness of his lips. The heat of his body. The subtle, expensive scent of his cologne and the self-assured weight of his hands on my hips.
Days later, I could stillfeelthe vividness of the moment as clearly as if it’d just happened.
It was infuriating.
Almost as infuriating as how I’d opened up to him over breakfast, only for him to revert to asshole status after a brief, shocking display of humanity.
There’d been a moment when I’dlikedDante, though that might’ve been my loneliness talking.
Contrary to what I’d told him at the photoshoot, there was something unsettling about coming home every day to a silent, spotless house. Our month apart had eased the sting of his words before he left for Europe, and I hadn’t realized how much Dante’s presence electrified the space until he was gone.
“We’ve been to this stall already,” Isabella said.
“Hmm?” I toyed with the fringe on a purple patterned scarf.
“This stall. We’ve been here already,” she repeated. “You bought the pashmina?”
I blinked as the rest of the stall’s contents came into sharp focus. She was right. It was one of the first vendors we’d visited when we arrived.
“Sorry.” I released the scarf with a sigh. “I’m a bit out of it today.”
I’m too busy thinking about my jerk fiancé.
“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Isabella’s teasing smile faded when I didn’t return it. “What’s wrong? You normally blitz through this place like hellhounds are chasing us.”
Isabella loved thrifting and joined my Saturday excursions whenever she could. I’d tried to convince Sloane to come once, but the chances of her stepping foot in a flea market were slimmer than a Jimmy Choo stiletto heel.
“I just have a lot on my mind.”
I wanted to tell Isabella about the photoshoot, but there was nothingtotell. Dante and I had touched lips for thirty seconds for a photo. Anything beyond that was hormones and my dry spell talking.
Besides, I wasn’t lying. Between my job, my fraught relationship with Dante, my new social obligations as the future Mrs. Russo, and my miles-long to-do list for the wedding, I was running on fumes.
“We’re almost done,” I added. “I just need to find a gold mirror for Buffy Darlington’s granddaughter’s Sweet Sixteen.”
“I can’t believe we live in a world where there are people named Buffy Darlington.” Isabella shuddered. “Her parents must’ve hated her.”
“Buffy Darlington the Third, to be exact. It’s a family name.”
“That’s even worse.”