Caroline stood at the doorway, frozen.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she took one step forward, then stopped again. Dante's dark eyes flicked toward her—sharp, unreadable—but she met them with her usual dramatic flair. Her manicured fingers clutched the handle of the door. Then, with a sharp pivot, she turned and walked away without a word, the silk of her bikini whispering against her skin.
She didn't understand. Dante Montgomery the same man who had always been cold, distant, and borderline dismissive toward Anastasia, was now holding her like she was made of glass. With a tenderness that didn't make sense. Her glossy pink lips parted, and she whispered to herself, almost like a vow, "I'll talk to Stassi ."
