Prologue
DANTE
Nights at Lumière all start the same. Dim lights, loud music, and people pretending tomorrow doesn’t exist. The hum of conversation blends with the bass as I tilt the bottle and pour shots for the four women in front of me. I’ll probably have to cut them off soon.
“Hey, ladies,” Eli says as he slides past me behind the bar. “Big night? You ready?”
“Something like that,” I say, setting the bottle down.
He nudges me with his elbow. “Try not to puke before you ask her.”
My eyes flick toward the front door again before checking my watch.
She’s late.
“Come on, I’m not going to throw up. It’s Layla.”
“If you need backup,” he says, raising a brow, “let me know. I’ve got you.”
He lifts the tray of shots. “You two are good together.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need backup,” I say, resting my elbow against the bar.
“You sure about that?” Ian asks, pouring himself a drink.
“Positive. It’s time to settle down. Right?”
My fingers close around the small velvet box in my pocket.
Ian leans back against the counter, lifting his glass. “It’s your decision. Not ours. You’ve got our support.”
Brooklyn nudges me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “If you’re happy, we’re happy.”
“Thanks. Fingers crossed it all goes as planned.” I press the button on the side of my phone again, lighting up the screen.
My gaze catches on the front door.
She’s here.
“Showtime,” I mutter, giving the box one last squeeze inside my pocket before grabbing a tray of drinks.
Layla weaves through the crowd in a cream sweater that slips off one shoulder, her skirt showing off the legs that were wrapped around my waist a few hours ago. She smiles at a couple of regulars before making her way to the bar.
“I was about to come looking for you,” Brooklyn says.
“Traffic.” She laughs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I almost called Dante to come rescue me.”
Eli slides her favorite drink across the bar.
“On the house.”
She grins. “You’re my favorite.”
He taps the side of the glass. “Only because I know your order.”
“That’s exactly why you’re my favorite.”
A few of us laugh.
Brooklyn catches my eye.
“Hey, Dante. Can you run upstairs and grab the extra shaker?”
I nod, setting the tray on the bar.
“Come with me.” I slip my hand into Layla’s, threading our fingers together.
She stays quiet as we take the stairs and step into the event hall. The bass from downstairs vibrates through the floor beneath us, softened by the empty room. City lights spill through the floor-to-ceiling windows, washing the hardwood in a pale glow.
She carries her drink to the glass and rests one hand against it, staring out over the city.
I stop a few feet behind her.
Don’t screw this up, Morelli.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. My heart pounds in my ears as I drop to one knee with the box open.
“I’m leaving.”
Is this a fucking joke?
She doesn’t turn. “I got an offer in London. A job I can’t pass up. I leave tomorrow.”
The box snaps shut in my hand as I shoot to my feet, tugging at my sleeves.
“What?”
She faces me, lifts the glass to her lips, and takes another sip.
“It’s been great, Dante. Really. But this is over.”
She walks out, her heels clicking against the hardwood, never once looking back.
“Fuck.”
My fingers tighten around the box as I rake a hand through my hair before throwing it. It smacks against the window and lands at my feet.
My head tips back as I blink against the sting behind my eyes.
Never again.
I swallow hard, bend down, and pick up the box before sliding it back into my pocket.
My feet move on autopilot, carrying me down the stairs and behind the bar. The music is still playing. People are still laughing. The world didn’t stop—only mine did.
My hand grips the counter, silently praying no one asks anything.
“Can I get a vodka Sprite?”
A short brunette stands across from me, her green eyes watching me like she already knows how this is going to end.
Ice clinks against the glass as I pour the vodka, top it with Sprite, and slide it across the bar.
She reaches out, her fingers brushing my arm.
“Perfect,” she says. “I’m McKenzie. And you look like you could use something to take your mind off this place.”
My hand balls into a fist before I force it open and tap the counter.
“Something like that.”
She runs her finger around the rim of her glass, then bites her lip.
“What time do you get off?”
“Now.” I don’t smile. “What did you have in mind?”
