Chapter 4

Dante used to like surprises.

For his first birthday with me, I had taken him to a tiny jazz club where no one knew his name. He had left his men outside and spent the evening with his knee pressed to mine beneath the table.

On the walk home, he told me it was the first time in years he had felt like a man on a date instead of his father’s successor.

I remembered that now, with a ribbon dangling from my hospital chair and Bianca wearing his jacket.

“You can tell me,” he said.

“I’m not marrying you, Dante.”

He exhaled, looking more tired than shocked.

“Clara, you’re frightened and upset. Don’t say something you’ll regret just because you’re angry.”

Bianca’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

“This is because of me, isn’t it?” Her voice trembled. “If Clara wants me gone, I’ll go back to Montreal today.”

She had barely finished speaking when her body swayed.

Dante caught her instinctively.

“Bianca.”

“I’m fine.” She tried to pull away. “I never meant to ruin your wedding.”

“You haven’t ruined anything.”

Dante steadied her before turning back to me.

“You see how exhausted she is? She stayed up half the night arranging all of this for our wedding. Don’t start imagining things now.”

“I’m not imagining anything.”

“Then you know Bianca and I grew up together. She’s family. I have a responsibility to take care of her.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “You two are like brother and sister. You have an obligation to look after her.”

I no longer wanted to argue with him.

“I’m not jealous anymore, Dante. I understand.”

The tension visibly left his face.

“Good. Then stop saying things you don’t mean.” He adjusted his jacket around Bianca’s shoulders. “I’ll take her home to rest. When the wedding car arrives, I’ll come back for you.”

I nodded.

“All right.”

A nurse came in and announced that visiting hours were over.

The room quickly emptied.

Only Mia stayed.

At midday, the doctor reviewed my results and told me I could be discharged.

Mia drove me to the house for my suitcase.

“I can go in,” she said. “You don’t have to.”

“It won’t take long.”

A guard opened the gate. Wedding cars waited in the drive, their engines running. A florist was replacing a bent stem in an arrangement beside the door.

Inside, everything smelled of figs.

I went to the bedroom and removed my engagement ring. For a second, the pale mark beneath it looked stranger than the ring itself ever had.

I put it beside the unopened silver bracelet, then carried both downstairs.

On the coffee table, I arranged the house keys, security fob, and wedding schedule. The planner had delivered a final printed proof that morning. Beneath Dante’s name was Bianca’s.

I wrote on the bottom: You made every choice for her. I’ve made this one for myself. Goodbye, Dante.

Mia waited while I checked the desk for anything I had missed. There was nothing left that I wanted.

My phone vibrated as we reached the front door.

Dante: The driver’s at the hospital. Where are you?

I glanced at the message but didn’t reply.

Then I turned off my phone.

At the airport, Mia hugged me carefully.

“You don’t have to arrive healed,” she said. “Just arrive.”

I promised to call from Paris.

I boarded with my own passport, a contract bearing my name, and a suitcase I could lift without help.

As the plane climbed above New York, the city lights blurred beneath the wing.

For years, I had waited for Dante to choose me.

This time, I had gone before he could ask me to wait again.