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Dion nods. I can’t read him, and it scares the hell out of me. He’s so cool and composed. I can’t tell if he’s sad, angry, or disappointed.
I chance a glance at his profile. His gaze is on something distant.
“It’s been a year since we’ve properly spoken.”
“I know,” I say with a sniffle.
He takes a deep breath as if to steel himself. “You rejected me.”
My breath hitches. I know I should muster up the courage to tell him the real reason I refused him that night, but I can’t risk Andrew finding out.
“I had no choice,” I mumble.
His eyes flash with frustration as he meets my gaze. “You always have a choice, Aria.”
“Believe me, I weighed every option, considered every angle. I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say, hoping to diffuse the growing tension.
“What are you even talking about? You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you my plan.” His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he struggles to contain his emotions.
I look down, grabbing onto my dress to play with the hem. “It wouldn’t have mattered. I know you’re upset?—”
He cuts me off. “You don’t know shit, Aria,” he snaps. His harsh words sting. But I deserve them. “I’ve spent 365 days wondering why. Why would you lie and make me believe you wanted a way out of your engagement?” His breathing grows heavier.
“I didn’t lie,” I whisper, trying to keep my tone steady. “I truly wanted a way out.”
Dion laughs, but it’s not a joyful sound. “Bullshit.”
“This is bigger than you and me, Dion. You don’t understand.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t know, Ari. You haven’t talked to me in a year. You wouldn’t even respond to my texts. And the first time you message me after an entire year is to have me come save you from a dingy club fucking high off coke.”
Dion’s sharp words pierce through me. But I understand his frustration. I shunned him, turned my back on him. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that I’ve caused him such pain.
I wish I could explain to him why I acted the way I did.
I want him to know that I regret my actions, that I want to make things right.
But I can’t—because of my brother.
“Signómi,” I mutter simply, but the words seem inadequate.
Dion expels a deep sigh, then gets up and extends a hand to me. “Let’s get you home.”
As soon as we’re back in the car, he tells his driver to take me to my estate. I don’t even care enough right now to avoid being seen. I hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass.
The entire drive is quiet, and our silence feels heavy.
When we pass the gates and the car has come to a stop, Dion turns to me. “I know your life is in shambles right now, so I’m not judging you—in any way. But you have people who care about you deeply, Aria. Your mother, your brother, Angelica… And me,” he says, his tone comforting. “You don’t need the drugs and alcohol to cope.”
I scoff half-heartedly, a rare burst of emotion rising within me. A flicker of what I used to be. “I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what I can or cannot do, Dion. I’m not a child, and I don’t need to be rescued.” My words come out sharp and defensive. Hurt flashes in Dion’s eyes. I know it’s not fair. I know it’s the guilt talking, making me lash out because I can’t stand to face what I’ve done. I’m projecting all my anger and disappointment onto him, and it only makes me feel worse.
“Then why the fuck did you text me then?” he retorts, his voice rising as frustration boils over. He has every right to be mad.
I stay silent and look down at my hands that are once again fidgeting with my clothes. Dion’s eyes dart to my short dress and uncovered legs. His heated gaze intensifies the butterflies fluttering inside me.
“I had no one else,” I murmur.
How do I tell him that he’s the only one I ever want to call? That he’s the only person I think of when anything happens to me, good or bad. How do I tell him these things without feeling the guilt of laying my emotions everywhere except with my future husband?
