I took Lily from her arms, pressing my face into my daughter’s soft, warm hair.

She stirred but didn’t wake, her tiny hand clenching the fabric of my shirt.

Dante had his assistant show Mrs. Patel to a guest suite down the hallway.

He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the rain beat against the glass.

The lights of the city stretched out below us like a tray of spilled diamonds.

“This is too much, Dante,” I said, walking over to stand near him.

“I can’t afford a place like this.”

“You aren’t paying for it,” he said, not turning around.

“It’s one of my private residences. No one knows I own it.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

He turned to face me, his expression softening just a fraction.

“I told you, Sophia. I protect what is mine.”

“I am not yours,” I said, though my voice lacked the conviction I wanted.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his body.