Chapter 2

Eleanor's POV

"I think we should head into the auction hall," Luca said, sensing the tension between Dante and me. His hand covered mine protectively. "The collection starts in ten minutes."

Dante's dark eyes searched my face, looking for cracks in my performance. After a long moment, he stepped back, but I could feel his presence as we walked into the auction hall.

The main gallery glittered with Manhattan's elite in their evening wear, champagne glasses catching the light. I walked between the velvet chairs in my black silk dress, aware of Dante following behind. Other guests turned to watch us, trying to piece together this drama.

"Eleanor, darling!"

I turned to see perfection approaching—blonde hair like spun gold, sparkling blue eyes, effortless elegance. She moved toward Dante with the confidence of someone who belonged at his side.

"Victoria." Dante's voice was neutral as she slipped her arm through his, kissing his cheek. The gesture was intimate, possessive.

"I was wondering where you'd disappeared to," she said with a Virginia accent. "The Rothschild piece is coming up soon, and I know how much you wanted—" She stopped as her gaze landed on me. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were with friends."

"Victoria, meet Eleanor Romano and her fiancé, Luca Castellano," Dante said tightly. "Eleanor, Luca—this is Victoria Ashford. My fiancée."

The word hit me like a blow. Fiancée. Someone he'd actually proposed to. Someone he'd chosen to marry.

"How lovely to meet you both!" Victoria extended her hand, smiling warmly. "Eleanor, Dante mentioned you'd been in an accident. How are you feeling? You look radiant."

"Thank you," I managed. "I'm much better now. The doctors say I'm making excellent progress."

This is her, I thought, studying Victoria's features. This is the woman he deemed "suitable" for marriage. Everything about her screamed propriety—pearl earrings, expensive dress, refined mannerisms. She was exactly what Dante's world expected.

Unlike me, who had apparently only ever been "fun."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The auction will begin momentarily."

We settled into our chairs—Luca and I in one row, Dante and Victoria in front. I tried to focus on the auctioneer, but my attention drifted to Dante's head, to Victoria's hand on his arm.

The first lots passed in a blur until the auctioneer's voice cut through my misery.

"Lot 47: An exquisite Art Deco diamond necklace, circa 1925, featuring a central emerald-cut diamond of approximately fifteen carats..."

My breath caught. I could see the necklace on its velvet stand, diamonds catching the light. It was the necklace. The one I'd fallen in love with years ago, pointing it out to Dante in a magazine.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I'd whispered, tracing my finger over the photograph. "Imagine wearing something like that."

Dante had barely glanced at the page. "It's a necklace, Eleanor. They all look the same to me."

The dismissal had stung. Another reminder that my dreams meant nothing to him.

The bidding started at fifty thousand and climbed rapidly. I watched the paddles rise and fall, hands clenched in my lap.

Then Dante's paddle went up.

I stared in shock. He remembered. After dismissing it so casually, he actually remembered the necklace I'd loved.

"Two hundred thousand," the auctioneer called.

Another bidder jumped in. "Two fifty."

Dante's paddle rose again. "Three hundred."

"Do you know that piece?" Luca whispered, noticing my tension.

"I... no, I don't think so," I lied. "It's just beautiful."

The bidding continued, prices climbing higher. But Dante was relentless, matching every bid. Finally, at four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the other bidders dropped out.

"Sold to paddle 23 for four hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

The gavel sounded like a funeral bell in my chest.

Victoria turned to beam at Dante. "Darling, it's gorgeous! Is this my engagement present?"

"Something like that," Dante replied distantly.

Something cracked inside my chest. He'd remembered my dream, and now he was giving it to another woman. The woman he'd chosen to marry.

"I need some air," I whispered to Luca, standing abruptly.

"Of course. I'll come with you."

"No, please. Just give me a moment."

I made my way toward the restrooms. In the powder room, I gripped the marble sink and stared at my reflection. My face was pale, eyes too bright. I looked like a woman on the verge of breaking.

Pull yourself together, I commanded. You knew he was getting married. You knew he never loved you. This changes nothing.

But it did change everything. For one moment, seeing him bid on that necklace, I'd allowed myself to hope that maybe I'd meant something to him.

I splashed cold water on my wrists, reapplied my lipstick with shaking hands, and forced my spine straight. When I emerged, I nearly collided with a familiar figure leaning against the wall.

Dante stood in the hallway, a small velvet box in his hands.

Our eyes met. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

"This was meant for you," he said quietly, holding up the box. "Years ago. I bought it the week after you showed it to me."

My walls began to crumble. "Mr. Marcello, I really don't know what you're talking about—"

"Eleanor." My name on his lips was a warning, a plea, an accusation. "How long are you going to keep this up?"

'Forever,' I wanted to say. 'Until it stops hurting. Until I can look at you and feel nothing.'

Instead, I lifted my chin and met his gaze. "I'm sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else. Now, if you'll excuse me, my fiancé is waiting."