THIRTY-TWO
"Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity."
~George Carlin
PRESENT
SCARLETT
Dante and I were weeks into our addictive, tentative truce when the shit hit the fan.
He'd found out about my visit from Bastian. I wasn't sure if he knew the reason for the visit or if he was suspecting something worse, but his reaction was bad.
I didn't even have to ask him how he'd found out. I knew. His mother had told him. She'd learned a thing from her spy that would hurt him so of course she'd had to share.
"So Bastian, huh?" he said unexpectedly one night over dinner.
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. Well, shit. Bringing up Bastian was bad, the look on his face was worse, and I had no idea what to say, because I didn't know what he knew, and I wasn't going to accidentally tell him more.
"I know he came to your house," he added, tone gone black, his hellish temper out to play.
"Fuck," I said softly, with feeling.
"He came to your house, and you left with him." His rage washed over me, hot enough to scald.
But it's a fact that sometimes I like to burn.
I squirmed in my seat. "We only left to talk. Calm down."
"It was Bastian who told you about the blackmail," he guessed. The words were low, almost soft. He was trying very hard not to raise his voice. "Of course it was."
I didn't answer, kept my face perfectly blank, but he didn't need my confirmation.
"It was him," he said, sounding certain. Dammit. "If it were anyone else, the shit would've hit the fan by now. Sneaky son of a bitch."
I just stared at him, trying to gauge just how angry he was. He'd betrayed his rage with the first few things out of his mouth, but he was doing a very good job now of hiding it.
"It was when he came to see you in Seattle, wasn't it?" he asked. The question was filled with the fire of his temper, warm and awful.
I froze.
"I don't know what you're—" I tried, because when you're just not sure if you're about to set a crazy, jealous ex off into a jealous rage it's always best to lie.
"Save it. I know he came to see you, and that must have been when you found out about the blackmail."
I processed that. "Who told you all of this?" I asked, but I knew. Oh, I knew.
"My mother called me earlier. She's been saving this little bombshell for a while. As you know, Farrah keeps her well informed. Adelaide thinks you and Bastian are sleeping together, and she couldn't be more pleased about it. And of course she wanted to make sure I knew every little detail."
"We are not sleeping together. We never have."
"Not even in Seattle? When you went up to his hotel room. For hours."
His eyes were scary, his hands clenched and shaking on the table between us. If I were anyone but myself, I'd have been worried for my safety.
Dammit. This was all going to end up in Bastian's lap, when all the guy wanted to do was help us.
"Nothing happened," I said, tone as unflappable as I could manage, eyes steady on his. "We did go off together, but all we did was talk. About you. About what your mother's been up to."
"You kissed him at the bar." There was the finest tremor in his voice, but it was a crucial one, like the very first crack in an unsteady foundation. "You were all over him. You rubbed your tits against his chest. She told me everything."
Fucking Farrah hadn't gone easy on the details. FUCK.
I thought of that night, the state I'd been in, and my own temper rose to the occasion. I knew I had to be mercilessly honest to take the blame away from his brother. That, more even than Dante's feelings, was what I needed to salvage here. "I was in bad shape, Dante. Because of you. Yes, I kissed him. Yes, I rubbed up against him. I have no doubt I'd have done more, just to fucking spite you, but your brother had your back. While you're going over the details, go over this: He turned me down. Not because he didn't want me, but because he wouldn't do that to you. He came to see me because he wanted to help us, and that was as far as he let it get."
He wasn't looking at me, his eyes on his fists. They were full of cruel, dark things, not the least of which was anguish.
"We have enough things to hate each other for," I added harshly. Honestly. "We don't need to embellish or invent any. I did not sleep with your brother. And you can thank him for it. Not me. Him."
"Jesus, you never did know how to pull any punches," he said in a voice that ached.
I felt my upper lip tremble, eyes blinking rapidly, stinging with the urge to tear up as I fought to look anywhere but at him.
Because wasn't that the brutal fucking truth.
"It's worse with you," I said when I'd regained my composure, trying hard to make my voice light. "You're the only guy who ever dumped me."