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?”
I shrug, setting the bottle down. “Something like that.”
He laughs, grabbing another bottle from the shelf. “Try not to puke before you ask her.”
My eyes flick toward the front door again.
I check my watch and let out a quiet laugh.
She’s late.
Again.
“I don’t think it’ll be that bad. But… I’m kind of nervous about her saying no.”
“If you need backup, let me know. I’ve got you,” Eli says, lifting a tray of shots. “I’m glad you found the one.”
I lean against the bar, fingers closing around the small velvet box in my pocket. “I appreciate the offer. But I don’t think I’ll need backup.”
“You sure about that?” Ian asks, pouring himself a drink.
“Positive. It’s time to settle down. Right?”
Ian puts the bottle back on the shelf and picks up his glass, leaning back against the counter.
“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.”
I press the button on the side of my phone again, lighting up the screen.
“Thanks. Fingers crossed it all goes as planned.”
My gaze catches on the door and everything else fades into the background.
She’s here.
I leave the bar and meet her halfway, sliding an arm around her waist and stealing a quick kiss.
“Come upstairs with me,” I murmur, threading my fingers through hers. “I want to show you something.”
She drops my hand and steps back slightly.
“Can’t we just get a drink down here?” she asks.
I wrap my arm around her waist again and steer her toward the stairs. “It won’t take long. I promise. I have to get back to work.”
We take the stairs and step into the event hall. The room is dark, city lights glowing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She walks to the glass and rests her hand against it.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
My heart pounds in my ears as I drop to one knee behind her, the box open, words burning on my tongue.
“I’m leaving.”
I freeze.
She doesn’t turn. “I got an offer in London. A job I can’t pass up. I leave tomorrow.”
I shoot to my feet, snapping the box shut in my fist.
“What?”
She finally faces me—eyes clear, smile too calm for the way my chest is splitting open.
“It’s been great, Dante. Really. But this is over.”
She walks out, heels clicking against the hardwood, never once looking back.
I don’t follow.
I slide the box back into my pocket and make myself a promise.
Never again.
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.
I start wiping down the counter, silently praying no one asks anything.
“Can I get a vodka sprite?”
I look up as a short brunette slides onto a barstool, her green eyes watching me like she already knows how this is going to end.
I grab a glass and the bottle, pouring without a word.
When I slide the drink toward her, 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.”
I roll the glass between my hands. Anything feels better than standing here.
“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?”
