I force myself instead to think of the pain - of that night when everything fell apart. The years have done little to dull the hurt, to make me forget.

"Ash," Dante says, the rumble of his voice drawing me back into the present. He's still touching me - in fact, his hand has curled around the side of my face, and his eyes have softened just enough to make my insides go weak.

I turn my face away from him.

"I don't know what you want," I say, "but I have ...