Chapter 1 #2
Convincing the others I was the right choice was simple. It only took a few songs, and they were happy, but Dante was not so easily swayed. He was twenty-eight at the time, and didn’t hold back about his doubts.
He was half prepared to send me on my way, but my entire soul had been rearranged to make room for him. Every single cell in my body shifted, making a Dante-sized space in my heart that only he could ever fill.
The arguments he voiced to the others were plentiful.
I was too young.
Too inexperienced.
Too adorable.
Fine, the last one might never have been stated out loud, but there’s a good chance it was true.
Dante is notoriously closed off, and it has taken me years of patience and persistence to break through his emotional barriers.
He’s deep behind his self-constructed wall most of the time, never giving much of himself away and hiding behind an unwavering need for control.
Earning his confidence hasn’t been easy, but I’ve wormed my way into his heart, one corny pickup line and ridiculous innuendo at a time.
The others start to assemble their instruments, so I saunter over and place my hand on his solid chest, savoring the slight hitch of his breath as I tilt my head up toward him. He’s never been able to hide his emotions from me, and an audible swallow works his throat as he meets my eyes.
“Why do I feel like you were joking about giving me the chance to fix my makeup?” I tease.
His lips relax into another sweet smile. “How many times have I told you that you’re pretty enough without it?” His words are so soft, they almost get lost in the background noise, but I catch them and soak up the compliment.
I return his smile, drinking it in while I can. “Who needs blush when I’ve got you to flush my cheeks with all that sweetness?”
“You’re the only one who’s ever called me sweet,” he teases.
“Maybe I’m the only one who gets to see it.”
He leans into the gentle pressure of my palm against his chest, only daring to scoot closer by an inch. “Maybe,” he murmurs.
My smile stutters for a second at the guarded expression on his face. I toss him a wink, trying to loosen the sudden tension surrounding us.
“Don’t worry, secret’s safe with me.” It’s clear he’s seconds away from retreating into his shell, so I let my sass take front and center to distract from the seriousness between us.
“Of course, other parts of my body could use some attention if we’re having this discussion again. You could turn them pink all you want.”
“Theo,” he groans, looking up at the ceiling as my hand slides down his chest.
“Want me to list them?”
“Unnecessary,” he mutters, his cheeks growing darker.
“You could smack my ass.” There’s another quiet grumble as he keeps staring upward. “Give me a nice hand necklace, or wrap those meaty fingers of yours around my—”
“Okay, time for practice,” he shouts with such force that every head snaps in his direction.
A manic smile takes over my face as he turns and walks away, and for a moment I simply stand there, appreciating the view.
Dante is far from the most conventionally attractive man in the room.
He’s the same height as Eric at around six feet, with a solid, hefty build.
Eric’s body is more sculpted, still softened by that adorable layer of baby fat even as he nears thirty, while Dante is built solidly from head to toe.
Something tells me he’s the strongest one here.
He shaves his head every morning and keeps his facial hair impeccably neat across his jaw and upper lip, barely longer than stubble.
His warm brown skin is a beautiful blend of his heritage, and his bottom lip is noticeably fuller than the top.
When he smiles those rare, open smiles, his entire face transforms. The hard edges soften long enough to let me see past.
We’re an odd pairing at first glance. Me, the optimistic jokester who can’t resist a quip, and him, serious and stony-faced most of the time. Some might say we don’t make sense.
I’d argue we make perfect sense.
From the first time I looked into Dante’s eyes, I recognized the story hiding behind them.
He’s quiet, watchful, and extremely intelligent, but there’s a weariness there that speaks of someone who’s seen the worst humanity has to offer.
The way he holds himself—cautious but never cowering—tells you he isn’t afraid, but gaining his trust will be gradual.
It requires time and effort, and he can’t be rushed.
Patience has never been my strong suit, but for him I wait—for him to approach first, to say the first words.
I wait for him to realize he holds the power here, that I would never hurt him the way the world already has.
It’s taken years of reaching out and taking those tiny, deliberate steps forward.
I’m still waiting for the day he finally lets me in, because I’m certain I can offer him the love he deserves.
I’m patient because he needs time, because he’s worth it, and honestly?
The slow burn’s half the fun.