Page 65 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

“You’re not entitled to anything from me, Dante.”

That’s the sentence too many. Everything I’ve been holding back for days explodes at once before I can stop it.

“So that’s really how you want to play this?”

My voice comes out too loud, too harsh, and I don’t even care.

“You don’t think I have the right to know what happened to you? I’m your husband, for fuck’s sake!”

“Dante.”

Andrea’s voice is firm.

A warning.

I know I need to calm down before I say something unforgivable.

I take one breath. Then another.

And swallow the rage crushing my chest.

“You’re not my husband anymore, Dante,” she replies, her voice so cold it cuts. “You’re marrying Bianca in three days. Remember?”

And then, out of stupidity, out of pain, out of that pathetic instinct that makes people strike when they’re bleeding, I say the worst possible thing.

“At least she doesn’t push me away.”

The silence afterward makes me instantly want to take every word back.

Her expression breaks for half a second. Then closes again.

But I saw the pain in her eyes.

Brief.

Blinding.

And I know I just shattered the fragile thing still holding us together.

“So what are you waiting for, Dante?” she says. “Go back to her.”

She turns toward Stephen.

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

I watch them walk out of the room.

I could stop her.

Apologize.

Find the words I should’ve said from the beginning.

But she’s locked inside that icy fury that lets nothing through, and I’m the only one to blame for it.

Talking to her about another woman. What the hell was wrong with me?

Because you’re hurting, a voice inside me answers—the one I wish I couldn’t hear. And you can’t stand the fact that she keeps you at a distance. So you strike before you can be struck.