He Chose Another Heir Now He Wants Me Back Chapter 35
At seven-fifty the next morning, I was standing outside the hotel in a dark coat.
Dante pulled up in an unremarkable black van. The windows were deeply tinted, and a thermal bag sat on the passenger seat.
“Breakfast. It’s a bit of a drive.”
Inside were sandwiches and hot coffee. The crusts had been cut off the sandwiches, which were filled with fried egg and ham and only a thin layer of sauce—exactly like the ones I’d eaten for three years straight in Paris.
“Since when do you know how to make these?”
“The hotel kitchen made them.” He started the engine. “You bought the same kind every day. I figured you liked them.”
I lowered my head and took a bite. My throat tightened for reasons I didn’t want to name.
We drove over the bridge spanning the river. Skyscrapers gave way to factory buildings, which in turn gave way to broad stretches of reeds.
Forty minutes later, Dante pulled up in front of a row of old wooden houses.