The hotel suite was on the top floor.
Elena stood in the middle of the living room, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Central Park, the city lights stretching out like stars below them.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Would you like a drink?” Dante asked from behind her. He’d removed his mask, and Elena caught his reflection in the window, dark hair, strong features, those storm-gray eyes watching her carefully.
“I should go.” The words came out automatically, five years of being a good wife overriding everything else.
“You should do whatever you want.” Dante moved to the bar, poured two glasses of something amber. “But you don’t have to leave unless you want to. We can just talk, Elena. That’s all this has
