C76 Cruel Liar

Dante swore under his breath as he watched Annabelle freeze.

Her body stiffened.

Just as her wide eyes filled with a swirl of emotions that he didn’t understand.

It wasn’t fear.

He definitely knew what fear looked like on her.

It was something else.

Shock.

Confusion.

Pain.

He cursed himself again.

How the fuck did he blurt that out when he had not even fully admitted it to himself?

He hadn’t meant to say it like that, hadn’t planned on saying it at all.

Not yet.

But it had slipped out.

Raw and unpolished, in the heat of the way she affected him.

I love you, Mia Bella.

“So much for easing her into it,” he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening.

She moved away from him.

Slow at first, like her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to stay or run.

Then, with a surge of determination, she was on her feet.

Then she began to walk away from him.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body.

In his confusion, he almost snarled, “You’re wearing a damn shawl, Annabelle. Don’t tell me you’re cold.”

The shawl slipped slightly from her shoulders as the evening breeze picked up.

Her silhouette against the backdrop of the moonlit trees was heartbreakingly beautiful.

The pale light cast a silvery glow on her glorious chestnut hair, making it gleam like molten bronze.

She looked ethereal and untouchable.

And goddamn beautiful.

And for the first time in a long time, Dante felt powerless.

“Annabelle,” he called out, his voice rough, almost pleading.

She didn’t stop.

“Annabelle,” he tried again, louder this time.

Her steps faltered, but she still didn’t turn.

He stood, his frustration bubbling over.

The intimacy they’d shared that evening felt like it was unravelling before his eyes.

She was pulling away, slipping through his fingers like sand.

“Talk to me, dammit,” he said, his voice laced with an edge of desperation.

Finally, she stopped.

Slowly, she turned, her face half-hidden by the shadows. “I want to go home.”

Home.

The words stirred something deep inside him.

She thought of his house as home.

Then he heard her exasperated sigh when she realised that she was turned in the opposite direction of the car.

Her statement should have brought him joy.

But the hollow look in her green eyes as she turned sucked the air out of his lungs.

The warmth of her earlier laughter and the teasing smile that had played on her lips were all gone.

He had messed up even before he could get her to trust him. Fuck.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed her arm as she tried to walk past him.

His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to make her stop.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low, restrained.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, her tone clipped.

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Annabelle. You heard what I said.”

She nodded, her expression unchanging. “I did.”

His chest tightened. “And?”

“And I want to go home,” she said again, her voice firmer this time.

Dante’s jaw clenched.

He couldn’t take the distance in her tone, the way she was shutting him out.

His temper, always simmering beneath the surface, snapped.

“You’re fine with me wanting you,” he bit out, his voice rising. “You have no problem with me screwing your brains out. But love? That’s where you draw the line?”

She gave him a look that made him feel like she was seeing all the way through his black soul.

For a moment, he didn't care if she saw him for who he truly was.

He wanted her to know him. And accept him.

Even as he waited for her reaction to his hastily blurted confession.

He expected her to snap back.

He wanted her to meet his anger with her own fire.

Oh, he was looking forward to seeing that spitfire fury of hers so he could get whatever was going on in her mind out immediately.

But instead, her shoulders sagged.

Then she looked at him with an expression so raw, so devastating that it nearly brought him to his knees.

“At least I’m not a cruel liar like you,” she said softly.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Cruel liar?

“Annabelle...”

But she was already pulling away.

“Just let me go, please. I can't...I just want to go back.” she said in a near-plea.

What stopped him was not her words.

It wasn't even the fact that her hand stood rigidly in his like she wanted nothing to do with him.

It was the little tremble beneath her voice.

It was the desolate look beneath the anger in her eyes that speared his heart cruelly.

Her arm slipped from his grasp as she turned and began walking back to the car.

Dante stood frozen, and his fists clenched at his sides.

He stared after her, his mind racing.

What did she mean by that?

How could she think he was lying?

He replayed the moment over and over in his head, trying to piece together what had gone wrong.

The moonlight caught on her figure as she reached the car.

Her movements were sharp and decisive.

Even in her anger, she was graceful, the shawl fluttering behind her like a cape.

As she opened the car door and slid inside, slamming it shut behind her, Dante felt a gnawing ache in his chest.

What the hell had just happened?

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to end.

He’d wanted to show her a piece of himself, to let her in.

Instead, he’d managed to push her further away.

The wind rustled through the trees.

The cool night air did little to soothe the heat of his frustration.

He stared at the car, his mind swirling with a hundred unanswered questions.

Why the fuck did she think he was lying?

And more importantly, how the hell was he supposed to fix this?