They say forget-me-nots grew from the tears of a knight who drowned beneath the weight of his own love, whispering his last plea to the woman who would never see him again.
Remember me. That legend clings to me now, curling like vines around a memory I cannot touch.
When Dante looks at me, there is madness in his eyes. He sees a woman who once belonged to him, a lover who carved herself into his bones. But I don't remember the man who claims my heart was his. I only see the king of shadows, a rival who built his empire on ruin and lies. His obsession feels less like love and more like possession, and it makes my blood burn with the need to destroy him.
But hatred comes easily. He is my family's rival, the man who should have never touched me, the man whose wife's blood is already on my hands. If I cannot give him the memory he craves, then I'll give him the war he deserves.
Forget-me-nots are meant to be eternal. Yet with Dante, eternity feels less like love and more like damnation. He may hate me, but every time he comes, he leaves a bouquet of those cursed flowers at my door, as if they could force memory back into my veins.
Perhaps I was never meant to remember him. Perhaps I was only meant to finish what fate began.
(This book is a dark billionaire romance and book 2, in an interconnected standalone, the Spanish Nights Trilogy. Please check the trigger warnings before reading.) 
