Chapter 15
Lucia
As I enter my favorite diner, I rub my tired eyes. I slipped out of my apartment before sunrise, a mere hour after Dante finished fucking me to oblivion. The crisp air during my long walk woke me, but it didn’t cut through the heated ache still lingering on my skin.
I shouldn’t feel this way after only one night, especially when I can’t do attachments. When Gabriele moves, I move too. That means no roots, no ties, and no hearts tangled up in things that can’t last.
Inside the diner, plates clatter and an overworked espresso machine hisses. The sounds and smells here are familiar and safe.
I sit in my usual booth before flipping through one of the worn newspapers stacked by the door. The job classifieds are sparse today, but sparse beats nothing.
“Coffee?” Not waiting for me to reply, Luna, an ex-stripper, refills my mug. Refills are free, so when I expect to stay longer than a few hours, I splurge on a ninety-nine-cent coffee. Sometimes Luna pretends I’ve already paid when I leave, and half the time I pretend she’s right.
The warmth of a freshly poured coffee seeps into my fingers as I go through the job listings. I try to keep my focus on the black ink on white pages, but my mind continually drifts back to how Dante looked at me like he wanted to keep me forever.
I can’t be kept. I know that, but the wish to belong won’t stop stirring under my skin. I wish I could forget what my past taught me, but this isn’t a fairy tale.
It’s rare for someone like me to get a Happily Ever After.
I circle an advertisement for a cage dancer at a nightclub when the bell over the door jingles. My heart thuds wildly when Camille walks in first, her smile as bright as a sparkler, with Dante following closely behind her.
I knew he’d find me, but no amount of coercion could make me alter my routine. Not all of my decision centers around my wish to see Dante again.
This stretch of Carlisle draws families.
From the boutique stores a few doors down to the parks on every corner, the sidewalks are full of family members enjoying their day.
My favorite booth faces the street. Even with my head buried in the classifieds, I take in every face that passes, hopeful to see one barely tall enough to be visible above the brickwork.
Dante and Camille don’t sit with me. They take the booth across the aisle, giving me the space I’m silently demanding.
While Dante orders enough food for an army, Camille continually glances over with big, hopeful eyes. The longer I stubbornly deny her silent pleas for me to sit with them, the wetter her eyes become.
I wave at her, hating that she’s about to cry. She waves back, but her hand’s movement is barely a blip compared to how hard her bottom lip is trembling.
When I shoot my eyes to Dante, wanting to make sure he’s aware his daughter is upset, he patiently waits, knowing I’ll eventually come to them.
And damn him—he’s right.
Before my head can talk my heart out of it, I tear out the job listings section of the paper, slip it into my pocket, then slide out of my booth. Camille beams when I move to their half of the diner, and the valve in my chest releases.
I’ve missed this. Being wanted without conditions is a drug I could become addicted to.
“Join us.” Dante slides across the booth so I can sit next to him.
“Oh… um, I’ve already eaten…” My words trail off when my stomach involuntarily grumbles.
My eyes rocket to Dante when he says, “Has anyone ever told you karma misses nothing? Every lie, even the little ones, is recorded, and every shortcut is remembered.” His following words shoot directly to my soul.
“You don’t seem the type who wants to be on the wrong side of karma. So let me ask again. Join us?”
Camille’s happy sigh is silent when I plop into the booth next to Dante, but its ripple swells my heart as much as Dante announcing that he ordered me a bacon and egg muffin with a side of hashbrowns.
“Bacon almost burned, right?”
I’m so enamored by how he remembers the smallest details that I forget stalking isn’t meant to be endearing. “Crispy. Bacon should always be crispy.”
Camille’s eyes stop bouncing between Dante and me when the waiter arrives with our order. She licks her lips hungrily when crepes drizzled with more Nutella than fresh fruit is put down in front of her.
She digs in, freeing me to inspect my breakfast like I’m accustomed to eating at Michelin restaurants. The bacon is the perfect amount of crispness, and before I can remember that greed isn’t a commodity I can hoard, I take a big bite of the muffin.
Grease dribbles down my chin, along with a generous blob of yolk from the runny egg. My face isn’t the only thing facing a massacre when Dante mops up the mess. He doesn’t use a napkin. He uses his thumb.
My knees pull inward when he pops his thumb into his mouth to lick off the residue. It’s the simplest of gestures, but my body reacts as if he’s licking something far more perverse than yolk.
“Eat,” Dante murmurs when my needy stare almost overcooks his eggs. My pulse races to the apex of my thighs when he leans in to me. “There will be ample opportunity for that later.”
When he licks the shell of my ear, I nearly combust. That’s how much sexual innuendo he exudes. He’s a god in the bedroom, and he knows it.
While we eat, Camille swings her legs to the beat of a pop song playing from the speakers above us, and Dante watches her with that protective attentiveness that makes everything feel easier than it should.
When the plates are cleared, Dante leans back and says, “We’re getting Camille a new coat this morning. You should come get one with us.”
I roll my shoulders forward to hide the holes in the front of my coat. “I don’t need a new coat. Mine is fine.”
“It’s falling apart,” he says, not unkindly, more matter-of-factly.
“And winter is approaching fast, so now is the perfect time to get a new coat.” He stands, retrieves his wallet from his pocket, and then throws too many bills on the table for what he ordered.
“The boutique is two doors down. It’ll barely take a minute of your time to help Camille pick out a coat.
” I glare at him, loathing that he keeps using his daughter as a bargaining chip, but secretly, I love how excited Camille gets at the prospect of spending time with me.
It’s the same blistering eagerness I displayed when Dante said we’d have plenty of time for that later.
“Unless you have something more important to do today?”
I get instantly defensive. I hate being pushed into things. But Camille is watching me with the same pleading expression she had earlier, and I’m too tired to pretend I don’t enjoy spending time with them both.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But I’m not buying anything.”
After a brief wave to Luna, who’s on the verge of crying about the generous tip Dante left, we exit the café. I tug my tattered coat in close when we step onto the sidewalk and a cool breeze always blows me away. Dante didn’t lie. Winter is coming fast.
A warmth fierce enough to heat the nation courses through my veins when Camille slips her hand into mine. Her joy vibrates through her palm when she does the same to Dante.
Once again, she is tethering us together.
The boutique’s window display is brimming with cozy jackets and scarves, and as we push open the door, a salesclerk welcomes us with a large smile. Camille drifts toward a rack of kids’ jackets, her sticky fingers brushing over a pink one with embroidered flowers.
She holds it up, eyes shining.
“It’s cute,” I say, joining her in the children’s half of the boutique.
Sniffing a sale, the salesclerk approaches us promptly.
“She looks just like you,” she says. “Same bone structure. It’s just hidden under her father’s dark features.
” A brutal bout of jealousy smacks into me when her eyes gleam with lust during her last sentence.
Dante isn’t wearing a ring, but even if he were, I doubt she’d care.
That’s how predatory her watch is. “Mommy’s genes might need to try harder next time. ”
I stroke my brow before mumbling out a reply. “Oh… I’m not…” I trail off when Camille’s happiness fades with only three short words. She was glowing from the clerk’s commentary that we look alike, but now, her bright eyes darken with a sadness so pure it hurts.
I can’t hurt her, so I smile before shifting the clerk’s focus back to Dante.
“Who wants to compete against those genes?” I twist my lips while dragging my eyes down Dante’s impressive body.
“Do you think Daddy needs new clothes too, Camille? His dress shirt is missing a handful of buttons, so perhaps he should go the full hog and get himself an entirely new outfit.” When the salesclerk’s mouth pops open, salivating at the thought of measuring Dante for a three-piece suit, Dante silently warns that I’ll pay restitution for my punishment later.
Oh god, I can only hope.
Disturbed by my inner monologue, I twist to face Camille. “Do you want to try it on? Daddy will be a while with the salesclerk, so we have plenty of time for a quick fashion show.”
Excitement darts through her eyes before she nods so fast her shampoo wafts into my nose.
“Okay, go pick out your favorite designs, and I’ll get the stage ready.”
Camille is halfway across the boutique before I can blink. She pauses in front of a display of colorful children’s outfits, and her eyes light up when she plucks a frilly lavender dress from the rack. When she holds it up, I nod in approval.
Two seconds later, she darts into the changing room. When she exits in her selection, her chin is raised and her hands are on her hips.
I clap and wolf-whistle. “Work it, girl!”
She beams silently, then disappears again.