Lily's POV
I tried to steady my breathing as we stepped into the restaurant, the low hum of conversation and soft clinking of cutlery washing over me like a wave I wasn’t quite prepared for. The place was beautiful in an effortless, curated way—warm lighting, pale wood tables, greenery draped along the walls. It looked like the kind of place people came to be seen without trying too hard. Dante’s mother had impeccable taste, apparently, and her friends looked exactly how I imagined they would: elegant, confident women who laughed easily and took up space as if the world had always made room for them.
I was painfully aware of Dante at my side. Not because he was doing anything obvious—he wasn’t—but because I could still feel the echo of the morning clinging to me like static. Every small
