"Tonight," she stated stonily, a faint but unmistakable hint of a threat in her voice.
And I knew what the threat was. Of course I did. I needed to talk, or poof, she was gone.
"Tonight," I agreed. "Are your roommates still on a trip?"
"Yes. They come back late tomorrow."
This next part I didn't like. It went against the grain of every instinct I had. But I'd rarely balked at doing what needed to be done. "When they're home, you sleep at your apartment." My tone was careful. I was going for neutral, but it came out more than a touch pained.
I felt her staring at me. Her eyes were burning a hole into the side of my face.
I kept my gaze resolutely on the road.
"Okay," she said simply.
She wasn't even going to ask? I hated that. Hated that she might not really care, that somehow she could go even one more night without me and not need a reason why.
I'd spent many, many nights without her, but I'd always, always, had my reasons and known them too well.
But if she was going to let it drop, I had to let her. I had so many blows to deliver. I needed to pull punches whenever, wherever, however I could.
Maybe if I could space out the damage it would do less lasting harm to her.
One could hope. I was less a man for wishing and more a creature of action, but I'd take anything I could get.
The drop-off didn't go well. She tried to dart out of the car without a goodbye, but I stayed her with a firm grip on her wrist.
"A kiss," I told her solemnly. We would get back on track. We had to. I'd been through hell and back, had lost faith in everything except for this, her and me, simply because I had refused, despite every awful thing working against us, to let it go.
Sometimes faith is a choice.
We would get back on track.
She was as far from me as she could get in the restrictive confines of the vehicle.
It was a small car though, a Jaguar F-Type, so we were still pretty damned close.
"Scarlett, just a kiss. I'll behave myself, I promise."
She watched me warily. "I can't, Dante. I don't have any time. I need to keep my game face on here. This role is important to me.
I knew, absolutely knew, that she was just making excuses. It hurt, but I'd been hurt worse.
I told myself that it wouldn't always be this way.
"Just a kiss on the cheek, then, and then we'll say goodbye," I cajoled.
She was worrying at her lip, looking at me like I might bite (because she knew me), but she slowly nodded and leaned a bit closer.
I met her more than halfway, placing a chaste, loving kiss on her cheek, then her forehead, then her other cheek.
Her breath was coming out in little pants, her eyes closed, lips parted.
So much for chaste.
I rubbed our lips together, tongue darting to lick hers tentatively, and then deeper, stroking into her mouth, my hands going to cup her face.
She moaned, deep in her chest, a sound of abject need, and started sucking on my tongue.
I pulled back with a gasp.
Her face was stunned for a moment but it quickly turned into a glare.
I almost smiled. "See you tonight."
"Bastard."
*****
She got home late, and I was waiting up for her. Even if I could have put it off another day, I wasn't sure I wanted to, at this point. I was ready to come clean, to get it all out in the open, at last.
God, it was a long time coming.
Scarlett didn't draw it out. We'd barely cleared the bedroom door when she said, "What does she have on you? Tell me."
I stopped mid-stride, turning to her. She'd gone by her apartment before she'd come over and packed an overnight bag. I'd carried it upstairs for her and still had it clutched in my right hand.
I dropped it on the floor, just staring at her for a minute.
Where to even begin?
I felt my head shake. A slow, precise movement. A little to the right, a little to the left.
It was enough. So simple but so telling.
Her face froze. "That," she said dully. "Of course. For how long?"
"You know," I said.
I watched as comprehension struck. It was a terrible thing.
The look in her eyes would haunt me. To the end of my days. Haunted.
Like everything with us, the hurt cut both ways.
"She made you break up with me." She said it like she didn't quite believe it.
You'd think the truth would be less harmful than the lies I'd told her. But sometimes the truth is the hardest thing to stomach, especially if you knew that some part of you should have seen it all along.
"Of course." Two words. Straightforward. Brutal in their simplicity.
She jerked like she'd been struck, her blinking eyes searching the room frantically, looking anywhere but at me.
"When you made that phone call," she paused, "both of those phone calls," she corrected herself. "She was with you, wasn't she?" Her voice broke on the question, her tone so raw it made my chest ache and my eyes sting.
But I answered her. "Of course."
And there it was.