Chapter 9 #2
I tap my foot as I glance at the floor numbers lighting up on the panel. Why must the elevator be so slow? “Why’s that?”
“Dante won’t like it.”
I shut my mouth, because what he’s really saying is that Dante will punish him for speaking to me even if I initiated the conversation.
We ride the rest of the way down in silence. He goes ahead of me when we get out on the ground level, scouring the surroundings with his hand on the gun in his holster under his jacket.
We follow a narrow hallway from a service door.
A clanking of pots and pans comes from behind the swing doors at the end of it.
My heart beats harder with every step I take.
Dante told me he won’t take Noah away from me, and I don’t think he will.
I’ve seen how attentive he is with Noah.
I do believe Dante has his son’s best interests at heart.
Dante once told me he had good parents and that they were close.
I never met them because they’d passed away before Dante first came to work for my father.
They’d had Dante and his brother late in their lives, much older than my parents had been when I was born.
Dante mentioned how important his mother had been to him.
So he’ll know better than anyone what it will to do Noah if he separates us.
In this regard, at least, I don’t think I have reason to worry.
That doesn’t mean I like it when Noah isn’t in my sight.
Ulysses holds one of the doors open for me. When I step through it, I stop dead at the sight that greets me.
Dante stands behind one of the industrial stoves, dressed in dark pants and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, flipping pancakes.
His tall, imposing figure dominates the large space.
He stands out not only because he’s the only person wearing black among the staff in their white uniforms but also because he emits a lethal authority that demands complete obedience and total respect.
Noah sits on a high stool at the stainless steel counter with a big bowl in front of him, his face scrunched up in concentration as he clutches the bowl with one arm to his chest while stirring the content with a wooden spoon.
He’s dressed in yesterday’s clothes, which he put on in a hurry because the T-shirt is inside out.
His curls are unbrushed and messy. Although Dante’s hair has a similar look, his is styled to look messy.
Once again, the similarity between them hits me like a bullet in the heart.
Flour dusts the counter and the floor. Broken eggshells lie on a plate. A jar of chocolate chips stands open on the side. In a nearby corner, a tall man watches them with a scowl and enormous arms crossed over his chest. From the white hat on his head, he must be the chef or maybe the sous-chef.
Around them, staff are scurrying around, cooking breakfast and scrubbing dishes.
Dante turns around with the pan in his hand and slides a perfectly fluffy pancake onto a mountain of them already stacked in a plate. “I think this should do it.”
Noah takes the spoon from the bowl, dripping batter over the counter as he tilts the bowl for Dante to see inside. “There’s still this much left.”
Dante winks. “It’ll be a shame to waste it.”
“Can I try?” Noah asks with a sparkle in his eyes. “Please?”
“Sure.”
Dante sets the pan on the stove and lifts Noah to the floor. He pulls a small stepladder closer and gives Noah a hand to help him up. “Don’t touch the pan. It’s hot. Only the handle.”
Noah nods with a serious expression. “Okay.”
“Here.” Dante takes a spoon and ladles batter into the pan. “Like this.”
He hands Noah the spoon. Noah spills a bit of the batter, but Dante’s praise is encouraging.
“That’s it. Keep it steady. You’re doing it like a pro.”
“Wow.” Noah peers into the pan. “That’s going to be big pancake.”
Ulysses speaks, pulling me from my frozen state. “Will that be all, Miss Teszner?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t budge until I walk over to Dante and Noah. When Dante indicates that he’s noticed me with a nod in Ulysses’s direction, the latter leaves and lets the door swing shut behind him.
“Hey.” My voice sounds small. I’m not sure I’ll be welcome. This was obviously a moment meant for Dante and Noah, but Dante’s gaze has already homed in on me, following my progress across the floor. I keep my tone upbeat, not wanting Noah to sense that something is wrong. “What are you guys doing?”
As soon as I’ve asked the stupid question, I want to bite off my tongue. Anyone can see what they’re up to.
Noah’s little face glows. “Look, Mommy.” He points at the pan. “Dante and I are making breakfast.”
I force a smile, suppressing the untimely feelings that suddenly make me emotional at the sight of the endearing scene. “That looks delicious.”
“We haven’t tried them yet.” Noah turns around on the stepladder, almost tripping in his excitement, but Dante is ready and quick to steady him. “We first have to finish cooking all the batter.”
Dante holds him fast, testing Noah’s balance before letting him go. “Easy now.” Keeping one eye on Noah, he still manages to peruse me with the attention of a hawk stalking a mouse. “We were going to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but you’re welcome to join us here.”
Noah pokes Dante on the arm. “My pancake is going to burn. I think we should turn it over.”
Dante takes a spatula from a spoon rest and hands it to Noah. Wrapping his big hand around Noah’s small one, he shows him how to flip the pancake.
Seeing them together like this breaks my heart. There are so many things wrong with this scene, but it’s only wrong for me.
For Noah, it’s right. He needs this. He’s only known Dante for a few days, and he’s already doting on him.
My son has blossomed under his father’s attention like never before.
With me, he always had to move from one crappy room to the next and, when we were running low on money, eat oatmeal for breakfast.
I watch them as they finish cooking the batter, drinking in their interaction with bittersweet sadness jabbing like needles into my skin.
Noah has a bit of flour on his cheek, and Dante has a smear on the leg of his dark pants.
Resisting the urge to wipe the flour from Noah’s face, I keep my hands at my sides, letting Noah and Dante have this time even though it kills me inside.
I want this for Noah. Dante is good for him.
I’ll just have to swallow the feelings tearing me apart and ignore the old pain that refuses to heal.
Even fucking Dante in the most degrading way possible didn’t help.
Far from it. Instead of erasing the beautiful moments we shared, the dirty and carnal pleasure he wrenches from me now only serves as a contrast that reminds me even more of the past.
Dante switches off the gas and puts the pan on the back burner before lifting Noah from the stepladder onto the stool.
He pulls out a stool for me next to Noah. “Have a seat.”
I sit mechanically, my actions robotic because everything hurts. And I don’t mean the welts on my sex or the ache between my legs.
The chef glares at us from his corner as Dante fits an oven glove and takes a plate with crispy bacon from the warming drawer. He serves me first and then Noah.
If my statement sounds a little accusing, it’s because it feels like another betrayal that Dante never told me this. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
He pushes the maple syrup toward me. “I don’t, but it’s not difficult to follow a recipe.
Pancakes is one of the few things I learned to make.
I acquired a few basic skills after moving into an apartment on my own.
” From his relaxed and easy banter, you’d never say there’s a ton of bad history between us. “When I still had the luxury of time.”
Noah digs in, cutting a chunk of pancake off with a fork and shoving the big bite into his mouth.
I study Dante. “Do you have time now?”
“I wanted to have breakfast with Noah.”
And he just hijacked the hotel kitchen to do so. Surely, making pancakes could’ve waited until he got home.
Who am I kidding?
Dante has never waited for anything. If he wants something, he simply takes it.
Except for me, a voice says in the back of my head. For me, he waited. He waited until I was ready.
Ignoring those thoughts, I look at the chef. “How did you manage to arrange this? He doesn’t look happy.”
“I spoke to the hotel owner.”
The reach of his power still makes my head spin. “Just like that.”
He meets my gaze head-on. “Just like that.”
Unable to hold the intense look in his eyes, I lower mine, pretending to be occupied with eating.
It’s only when I’ve swallowed the first bite that I realize he’s still staring at me.
“What?” I wipe a finger over my lips. “Do I have something on my mouth?”
“No.” He follows the action of my finger with emotionless eyes, yet the amber color darkens to deep gold. “How’s the pancake?”
“Good,” I admit, smiling at Noah. “The two of you did a great job.”
Noah swallows with a bob of his head. “Yum. We did, Dante. They’re even better than the pancakes at the Pancake Stack.”
I frown at Dante, who’s not breaking eye contact with me.
“What?” I ask again. He’s making me even more uncomfortable than I already am.
He motions at the pancake on my plate. “You ate it.”
That’s when it hits me. He deceived me. Again. This was a ploy to get me to eat the food he’s made. It’s not as much about showing me that he won’t drug my drinks or meals than proving a point, which is that he’ll win again and again.
My appetite suddenly gone, I put down my fork.
“The pancakes are good.” Dante’s words hold a challenge. “You said so yourself. Go on and finish your breakfast. If you’re planning on working like yesterday, you’re going to need the energy.”