“You’re the one with years and years of higher learning,” he pointed out, looking extremely pleased with himself. “You tell me.”

I held it up, gauging its height. It looked just about perfect. “It’s gorgeous. What’s the occasion?”

“I was tired of hearing you bitch about that ratty one you’ve got. And tired of seeing it, to be honest.” He ignored my glare. “Besides, you’ve had a, uh, difficult time lately. Even for you.”

I thought back to other things, like the flowers and breakfast. All the attempts at dinners. “Dante—”

He pressed a finger to my lips. “Look, be quiet a second. I’m not blind. I can tell how much all of this is stressing you out. And fuck, if I could get my hands on that bitch demon . . .” Anger glinted in his eyes, and he took a moment to shake it off. “Anyway, you can keep making your jokes or whatever and keep doggedly doing your best to sleuth away and find Jerome, but you’re running yourself into the ground. You’re depressed. You’re distracted. When we talk, it’s like your mind’s somewhere else. Same with our sex life.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I wasn’t sure what to say. He was right. I had been distracted, but a good part of that—particularly during intimate activities—hadn’t had anything to do with Jerome. It had been Seth on my mind. Dante kept speaking before I could get a word out.

“See, now, you’re going to apologize. Because that’s what you do—but there’s no need, succubus. If anyone gets some selfish time right now, it’s you. In another week or so, things’ll be back to normal, and I’ll be the selfish one.”

Something in my heart twisted. Everyone said he was scum, but in the end, it turned out I was the untrustworthy one. I averted my eyes.

“So where’s the robe fit in?”

“Something to cheer you up. Since your wardrobe’s been trimmed.”

“Dante, you’ve been getting me a lot of stuff lately. You don’t have to throw money at me—money you don’t have—to make me feel better.”

“If I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t ‘throw’ it,” he remarked dryly. “And anyway . . . I’m not really the kind of guy who does, like . . . the candles or the moonlit beaches or recites poetry.”

I grimaced. “I don’t mind staying away from beaches for a while.”

“But,” he continued, “I know you well enough to know that mochas and silk make you smile, and that, at least, is something I can do.”