Chapter 3
Eleanor's POV
Dante's question hung in the air between us. His dark eyes searched my face, looking for cracks in my act.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, steadier than I felt. "I really should get back to my fiancé."
I stepped around him, gripping my purse tight. My heels clicked on the marble as I walked away.
"Eleanor."
I didn't turn around. I couldn't. He'd see right through me.
Twenty minutes later, I stood by the champagne station, trying to look normal while everything felt wrong. Luca was chatting with some business contact, all charm and easy smiles. The usual auction house sounds filled the space – clinking glasses, quiet conversations, expensive perfume.
Then Dante appeared next to us.
His voice had that edge I knew too well. "I was just telling Eleanor how we used to know each other. Weren't you quite... fond of me once, Eleanor?"
I nearly dropped my champagne. Several people nearby turned to look, curious. Nothing like a little drama to spice up their evening.
"I..." My face burned. "I'm sorry, I don't remember. My memory—"
"Is still recovering," Luca cut in smoothly, his hand finding my back. "Perhaps we should give Eleanor some air. Excuse us."
As Luca led me away, I felt Dante watching.
"He's still staring," Luca murmured, keeping his smile in place.
The VIP lounge was empty when we got inside. Luca locked the door behind us, and suddenly everything went quiet.
"Okay, spill." His polite mask dropped, replaced by that troublemaker grin I knew from childhood. "That guy is obsessed with you, and you look like you're about to have a panic attack."
I collapsed into one of the chairs. "It's complicated."
"Eleanor, honey, you're sitting on a goldmine here." He perched on my chair's arm, practically vibrating with excitement. "He's obviously not over you, you're playing the amnesia card – this is like every romance novel's wet dream! You could have him wrapped around your finger!"
"Luca." I rubbed my temples. "I don't want him wrapped around anything. I want nothing from him."
"Bullshit."
I looked up, startled.
"Elle, we've been friends since we were seven. I've seen you cry over exactly three things: your goldfish dying, breaking your arm, and this man breaking your heart." His voice softened. "What happened?"
I listened to the distant auction sounds through the walls. "Seven years of what I thought was love turned out to be... convenient company. Just me fooling myself."
"And the amnesia thing?"
"Fresh start." I stood up, smoothing my dress. "This arrangement works for both of us. Your family gets their alliance, you get to keep dating around, and I get to move on. Everyone wins."
Luca studied me, then sighed. "Fine. But if you change your mind about payback, I'm in." He stood too. "What do you need?"
I pulled Dante's jacket from my purse – I'd been carrying it around all night like an idiot. "Can you return this? I'm heading to the parking garage. I've had enough drama for one night."
"Sure you don't want to stay? There are some gorgeous pieces tonight."
"I'm sure." I handed him the jacket. "I think I'm done here."
I was so wrong.
The exhibition hallway was dimly lit, showing off pieces that didn't make the main auction. I was looking at a Venetian glass sculpture when I heard footsteps.
"Leaving so soon?"
I turned. Dante walked toward me, hands in his pockets, wearing that half-smile I used to love and now hated.
"It's been a long day." I kept my voice polite. "Good evening, Mr...?"
"Cut the shit, Eleanor."
The curse word in this refined space made me flinch. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist.
"Dante, let go—"
Then I saw his phone screen. My blood went cold.
Medical records. Mine. Hospital discharge papers with my name, accident date, even brain scan photos.
"Interesting reading," he said casually. "Mild concussion, some bruising, but no real neurological damage. Memory should return to normal in two to three weeks."
My mouth went dry. "How did you—"
"Get these?" He tilted his head. "Eleanor, darling, you forget what I do. Information is my business."
That word – darling – hit me hard. I tried to pull free, but his grip held firm.
"This is quite a performance," he continued, his thumb moving over my pulse. "But I have to wonder why someone would go to such trouble to avoid a conversation."
"I need my jacket back," he said suddenly, his voice dropping low.
"Luca has it," I managed. "He'll—"
"I don't want Luca to bring it." His free hand touched my cheek, and I hated how I leaned into it. "I want you to get it."
Before I could protest, he was guiding me down a side corridor. The lights dimmed, auction sounds faded.
"Dante, where are we—"
He pushed open a door marked 'Staff Only' and suddenly I was in a storage room, surrounded by wrapped artwork and the smell of old wood. The space was small, too intimate.
"This is crazy," I said, backing toward the door. "If someone sees us—"
But he was already blocking my way out, hands on either side of my head. "Then you'd better stay quiet."
The first kiss was gentle, almost asking permission. The second wasn't.
Seven years came rushing back – every fight, every makeup, every moment of love and pain. My body remembered him even as my brain screamed to push him away.
His hand slipped under my jacket, fingers tracing along my ribs to my lower back where he knew I was sensitive. I gasped against his mouth.
"Dante, no—" I pushed at his chest. "Someone could see. My reputation—"
That seemed to snap him out of it. His hand stopped, and he pulled back to look at me, breathing hard.
"Your reputation," he repeated, voice rough.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
We stared at each other in the dim room. Then his arms came around me, pulling me against his chest.
"We did so many inappropriate things together," he whispered into my hair, voice broken. "In public places, private places, anywhere someone could have seen us. And you're telling me you just... forgot all of it?"
I closed my eyes, fighting not to melt into him completely. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Only me, Eleanor?" His arms tightened. "You forget only me? What are the odds?"
His words hung there – question, accusation, plea. I realized my lie was falling apart, piece by piece.
Because the truth was, I remembered everything. Every touch, every promise, every moment of joy and heartbreak. I remembered it all.
And that was exactly why I had to keep pretending I didn't.
