The guest room

"Dante? It's past midnight. What are you doing here?"

Celine stood in her doorway in a silk robe, one hand still on the lock. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, then soft.

Dante had driven around Brookhaven for an hour after leaving the club. Past his office. Past the villa, where the dining room light was still on. In the end, there had been only one door he could stand to knock on.

"I needed someone to talk to," he said. "Is that all right?"

"Of course. Come in." She pulled him inside and led him to the sofa. "You look terrible. What happened?"

Then her face fell, and she pressed a hand to her chest.

"Is it Mira? Oh, Dante, I'm so sorry. Someone must have given her my address. When she came into the lobby screaming on Tuesday, I just stood there. I couldn't even speak." Her eyes filled with tears. "Maybe I should pack up and go back to Lakeport. Then she'd leave you alone."

"I asked her for a divorce," Dante said.

Celine went very still. "What?"

"Tonight. I gave her the papers." He rubbed his face with both hands. "My father stepped down this morning. He can't hold the company over my head anymore. So I ended it."

"Are you sure?" she asked softly. "That's a big decision."

"I've been sure for two years." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I just never had the power to say it before."

Celine sat beside him and rested her hand on his back. Her touch was light and careful.

"Then whatever you decide, I'm here," she said. "Your father controlled every part of your life, Dante. He hurt us both."

He looked at her. She had been like this in Lakeport too, three years ago, when he was finishing his degree and she worked the front desk of the hotel where he lived. She had always known what to say. She had never once made him feel like a prisoner.

So why couldn't he stop hearing Theo's voice?

'Mira gave up Paris for you. What has Celine ever given up?'

Dante pushed the thought away.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm glad I came. Can I stay in the guest room tonight?"

Celine's lips pressed together, just for a second. Then she smiled.

"Of course," she said. "Stay as long as you need. You're always welcome here."

Dante walked down the hall to the guest room. At the door, he turned back.

"Goodnight, Celine."

"Goodnight, Dante."

He closed the door. After a moment, he turned the lock.

Three mornings later, Celine stood at the stove and cracked eggs into a pan with more force than she needed.

Three nights. Three nights he had slept under her roof, and every single night, she had heard the soft click of that lock.

'Slowly,' she told herself now, turning the eggs. 'He's asked for a divorce. She's out of the picture. You've waited three years. You can wait a few more weeks.'

Behind her, Dante sat at the small kitchen table in yesterday's shirt, his hair still messy from sleep, reading emails on his phone. It was barely half past five. He had always woken up early.

Celine glanced at him over her shoulder. Then she slipped her own phone out of her robe pocket and took a picture. Dante with his coffee cup, rumpled and relaxed, at her table.

For six months, a few photos from a number Mira didn't know had been enough. Celine had watched from her window as Dante's perfect little wife drove past this building at night with her headlights off.

And now there was no reason to hide anymore.

Celine typed quickly, with her back to him.

[No matter what you do, he will always come back to me. He never loved you. Give up. Celine.]

She hit send and slid the phone back into her pocket.

Four minutes later, it buzzed.

Celine turned off the stove and read the reply.

[Six months of photos, and you only had the nerve to sign your name once you thought you'd won. Keep him, Celine. I'm done.]

'I'm done.'

Celine bit down on her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She had won. Just like that.

"Breakfast is almost ready," she said sweetly.

"Thanks." Dante stood and stretched. "I'll be right back. And don't forget, you have your interview at Sucre Doré on Friday. I talked to their manager myself."

Celine nearly dropped the spatula. Sucre Doré was the biggest bakery chain in the country. The Russo Group had been trying to buy it for a year.

"You really did that for me?"

"My father can't stop you from working anymore. He's done fighting me." Dante tucked in his shirt. "Consider it an apology for everything he put you through."

"How will I ever thank you?"

"Get the job. That's thanks enough." He set his phone face up on the table and headed down the hall. "Can I use your shower?"

"Of course."

The bathroom door closed. A moment later, the water came on.

Celine went back to the table to clear his cup. As she reached for it, Dante's phone lit up.

[Mira]

Celine froze.

She looked at the hallway. The water was still running. She looked at the screen. It had not locked yet.

She picked it up.

Two new messages from Mira. The first was a screenshot. Celine's own message, her photo of Dante, her name right there at the bottom.

Celine's fingers went cold around the phone.

'No,' she thought. 'No, no, no.'

The second message was long. Celine skimmed it with shaking hands. [The papers are signed... I crossed out the five million... I'm a Beaumont, Dante...]

If Dante saw that screenshot, he would know about the photos. All six months of them. And he would look at her the way he looked at Mira now.

She pressed hard on Mira's name. [Delete conversation?]

Yes.

The whole conversation vanished. Two years of it, gone with one tap. Mira's name disappeared from his inbox as if she had never written to him at all.

Celine set the phone back down exactly where he had left it. Face up. Screen dark.

The shower stopped.

She was at the stove, humming, when Dante walked back in with wet hair.

"Smells good," he said.

"Sit," Celine said, sliding a plate in front of him. "Eat while it's hot."

She turned back to the pan so he wouldn't see her smile.

'Sorry, Mira,' she thought. 'He'll never know you said goodbye.'