Chapter 11

How had he ever managed to date someone like Rhys Elliott?

The next day, sitting in the back of an Uber heading toward JFK Airport, Dante stared blankly out the window, sinking deep into thought. Originally, Dante was the type of person who handled stress by hitting the pool or going for a grueling run instead of sitting around brooding. Deep contemplation simply didn’t suit his personality. He disliked sinking into stray thoughts so much that he barely read books, and he vastly preferred video games over movies.

Which meant there was absolutely no way Rhys had felt any kind of intellectual attraction toward him. In that case, it must have been his appearance. Dante could admit that much. Objectively, he was a handsome, masculine man. But if asked whether his looks were extraordinary enough to captivate someone of Rhys’s caliber, he truly wasn’t sure.

Ordinarily, Dante possessed a fair amount of self-confidence. He liked the work he did for a living, and helping people as an EMT gave him a profound sense of meaning. The satisfaction that came from his job made his days feel worthwhile, and thanks to his sharp looks, people tended to like him wherever he went. He was good at casual conversation and possessed decent manners. Because of that, Dante did not think of himself as lacking.

But the moment romance got involved, the math changed completely.

The self he had thought perfectly fine suddenly became an insufficient boyfriend to someone else, and partners who seemed to have no particular complaints about him would secretly meet other men behind his back. Had he failed to satisfy them in bed? That didn’t seem right, given that his last girlfriend had been explicitly satisfied with their intimacy.

Because his judgment became an absolute mess the moment dating entered the equation, Dante had, at some point, begun to believe there was no way a person he genuinely liked could be entirely normal. He believed they either harbored some hidden, dark motive, or would quickly grow tired of him. Rhys Elliott, appearing out of nowhere in the middle of that cynical worldview, had truly been someone “too good” for him.

In fact, he really had been too good for him.

Dante had grown up a perfectly normal, middle-class citizen from Brooklyn under parents who ran a modest restaurant and raised three children. Rhys, conversely, had been born in Manhattan and raised in absolute comfort by a mother who worked in high finance. Their individual earnings were worlds apart, too. Dante didn’t make bad money, but Rhys was a famous sculptor whose individual works sold for astronomical prices, and he frequently took private commissions from upper-class clients. There was never a day when the money stopped rolling in.

Most of all, Rhys’s personality had been too good for Dante. What on earth had Rhys liked so much about an older man who couldn’t act his age that he had put up with him for four long years? And why, after all that time, had he suddenly decided he no longer wanted to put up with it?

There was no way to know. No matter how hard one tried, it was impossible to know another person’s thoughts with absolute precision. Dante had once tried to pick up clues from Rhys’s words and actions, but none of them had allowed him to predict the impending crash.

It would be wonderful if a person’s affection appeared in a clear, tangible form, like a distinct smell or a visible sight. As he entertained that absurd thought, the Uber crossed onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Watching the Manhattan skyline recede farther and farther away into the distance, Dante thought of Rhys, who must have remained there.

He must have canceled his plane ticket ages ago, right?

Rhys had only told him the flight number and time, so Dante had no way to look up the reservation details. But surely, he had canceled it. Thinking back to the dry, detached gaze he had received at the café, and the calm, unbothered voice that had admitted their breakup, Dante was utterly convinced Rhys must have neatly erased everything related to him long ago.

Even while firmly believing that, Dante had still arrived at the airport according to the flight time they had originally reserved together instead of booking a ticket with another airline. The carrier was Air France. He remembered Rhys excitedly showing him in advance that its recently launched business class was top-tier.

Because he was both intimidated by and excited for his first-ever business-class flight, Dante had looked up reviews whenever he had free time during his shifts. Apparently, if you flew business class, there was a luxury lounge you could use for free—the kind of exclusive place that looked like it belonged solely to suited businessmen traveling for high-stakes corporate work.

Besides that, he had heard the in-flight service was divided into detailed, multi-course menus like a five-star restaurant, that expensive designer amenity kits were provided, and even that the restrooms were completely different. Dante had internally raged against the vile, disparate workings of capitalism while still secretly looking forward to that day.

In the end, he wouldn’t even be allowed near the business-class aisle; he had only managed to scrape together enough to buy the cheapest economy seat available. If he had more time, he would have taken a cheaper connecting flight, but since his vacation days were strictly limited, he had chosen a direct route. In truth, that was merely an excuse. He had pushed his finances a little because he desperately wanted to be on the exact same aircraft Rhys had booked.

Dragging a light suitcase that contained nothing but underwear and three or four shirts, Dante entered the airport, the wheels clattering loudly behind him. The entrance to the departure hall was a hectic, suffocating tangle of yellow cabs, Ubers, and private cars. To control the vehicles stopping illegally in undesignated areas, airport attendants shouted in voices close to primal screams, and car horns blared together like some awful, discordant orchestra.

Leaving behind the ear-piercing noise and the thick cigarette smoke drifting from the designated smoking area, he finally stepped inside the terminal, only to be instantly struck by the sheer mass of the crowd. It wasn’t even peak summer vacation season, so how were there this many people trying to escape travel?

Suddenly, a wave of regret washed over him, and he wanted to turn right back around and go home. Everyone in the airport looked happy, radiant, and excited, while he alone felt thoroughly miserable. After letting out several heavy sighs in a row, Dante shook his head to clear his thoughts and trudged toward the Air France check-in area.

When he arrived at the Air France counter, Dante stopped to study the lines. The rich people went left. The ordinary citizens like Dante went right. He was naturally about to join the sprawling line on the right when he spotted a certain broad back heading toward the left, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

…Rhys?

That could not possibly be true, yet the back of the man walking toward the premium business check-in counter resembled Dante’s ex-lover to a chilling degree. Dante narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man from head to toe with his excellent, 20/10 vision.

The towering height, somewhere around six foot three, and the perfectly straight spread of the shoulders were identical. The thin, tailored brown coat forming a flawless silhouette along his curved back and waist looked exactly like the expensive cashmere coat Rhys frequently wore. On top of that, there was the hair—a deep, vivid blond. Gold that clear down to the roots was never dyed; it was the natural, striking blond a beautiful man like Rhys possessed.

After staring holes into the man’s back for a long moment, Dante let out a self-deprecating laugh. The resemblance was almost excessive, but it made no sense. Why on earth would Rhys actually be here?

Even while his logical mind insisted it couldn’t possibly be him, Dante’s feet were already moving, following behind the figure as if completely bewitched. By the time he broke out of his daze, he realized he was standing directly in the premium business check-in line. A family of three stood between Dante and the man who looked like Rhys.

Dante needlessly stretched his neck, shifting left and right to study the man’s profile, only straightening up when a little girl in front of him looked up at him as if he were a strange, suspicious person. His patience, however, didn’t last ten seconds. The curiosity was driving him insane. He had to confirm right here and now whether that truly was Rhys.

And at that exact moment, the man turned around.

The instant he did, Dante’s eyes locked onto a pair of distinctly shining, crystal-blue eyes. The moment he saw those unique, breathtaking irises—resembling faint blue ink poured into transparent crystal—he knew with absolute certainty. His ex-lover was standing right here, heading for the exact same destination.

The moment Rhys registered Dante’s shock laid bare across his face, he deliberately turned away. Then, when his turn came, he walked forward to the agent counter alone with an air of merciless indifference.

No… wait…!

What the hell are you doing here?

A soundless, chaotic scream echoed through Dante’s heart. He couldn’t even tell whether it was a scream of pure joy or utter horror. For a fleeting second, a wave of deep shame washed over him; Rhys had caught him in the miserable, pathetic act of actually showing up for an anniversary trip after they had broken up. Then, his attention snapped right back to the glaring fact that Rhys was here.

No way… did he still not get over me?

That was the intoxicating thought that struck him all at once. It couldn’t be helped. Even if several massive coincidences had overlapped, there seemed to be absolutely no logical reason for Rhys to fly to Europe on the exact same date as their anniversary. The moment he made that assumption, his heart rate shot into overdrive. His dark mood abruptly brightened, and he was flooded with a baseless, soaring feeling that everything would somehow work out.

Following that sudden surge of hope, Dante stared at Rhys’s back with fierce desperation. If he could, he would have gladly volunteered himself as Rhys’s travel companion, walked right up to his side, and checked in with him. But because he couldn’t bring himself to commit the social atrocity of cutting in front of the family waiting properly ahead of him, he forced his feet to stay glued to the floor.

At last, the family ahead was called to another counter. Now, Dante could admire Rhys’s back from the very front of the queue without any obstacles in his view. He couldn’t hear the words being exchanged, but the atmosphere at the business desk was visibly warm. The moment Rhys lifted his sleek suitcase onto the conveyor belt, the airline employee’s face blossomed into a radiant smile. With every slight movement Rhys made, the woman kept laughing softly, clearly charmed.

Dante knew exactly how that felt. He found himself sympathizing with the agent, only to grow intensely anxious as the cheerful interaction stretched on. Why the hell was a standard check-in taking that long? Didn’t you just weigh the bag, flash your passport, and print the ticket? In reality, even after all those standard steps were completed, the employee continued explaining something to Rhys in meticulous detail.

With his arms crossed tightly over his chest, Dante openly glared at the two of them, his broad, angular jaw hardening. The slightly tensed muscle ticking in his jaw and the faint, deep furrow between his brows made his intense irritation clear to anyone who bothered to look.

Perhaps feeling the heavy weight of that gaze, Rhys, who hadn’t seemed inclined to turn around at all, briefly glanced back in his direction.

Seeing Dante’s dark, possessive expression, Rhys frowned slightly, then sharply turned his face away. It had been a fleeting, unreadable expression, too fast for Dante to interpret precisely. He wanted to look at his face just a little longer, but as if Rhys had sensed that desperate desire, he abruptly cut off the employee’s explanation, turned on his heel, and strode away from the counter. He did not wait for Dante.

“Rh—!”

Before Dante could even finish calling his name aloud, that disappearing back vanished into the crowd. As Dante watched the empty space where Rhys had been with hollow, stunned eyes, the counter agent gestured for him to step forward. Dante looked toward the security gate where Rhys had disappeared, his eyes full of acute regret, then hurried up to the counter. He had gotten thoroughly used to being ignored via text message over the last few weeks, but seeing it happen in the flesh and watching him walk away like that was still a painfully unfamiliar sting. After a brief moment of shock, Dante quickly forced himself to think as positively as possible.