25. Chapter Twenty-Five Jade
Chapter Twenty-Five: Jade
I was so fucking nervous.
I lingered outside Rothko’s, a Chinese fusion bistro-style restaurant Dante had recommended, my fingers threading through my dark hair in a futile attempt at calm. The city buzzed, its nightly symphony of horns and chatter wrapping around me. With a steadying breath that did little to ease the tightness in my chest, I pushed open the mahogany doors.
The place was a swath of lowlights and soft murmurs. A cocktail of charred meat and aged wine hit me as I scanned the room. There, in a shadowed corner, sat Dante, waving me over. Unruffled, he raised his bourbon to me, an unspoken welcome from across the room.
“Hey, you,” I managed, my voice betraying none of the chaos brewing beneath the surface. His smile didn’t reach those guarded eyes as I settled into the chair opposite him, the leather cool against my back.
He greeted me warmly, getting up to slide a chair away from the table for me. Soon, the waiter came to take our orders, which was the perfect distraction, since I needed to steel myself for what was about to come next.
The waiter had barely left our table when Dante leaned back, swirling the liquid amber in his glass. “You alright? You’ve been distant,” he said, the furrow of his brow betraying concern beneath the sheen of confidence.
“Just slammed at the lab,” I murmured, my voice steadier than I felt. It wasn’t entirely a lie; the lab was my life, after all. But tonight, it was a convenient shield.
I had to tell him, but…he was a complicated man, and if he wasn’t committed, then maybe I didn’t have to drag him into this at all. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
We talked about the food and our days as we ate. It was nice. This, I could get used to. If only I could figure out everything else.
But soon we were done…and it was clear that the thing I had been so nervous about had to happen, whether I wanted it to or not.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” the waiter asked as he slipped our check onto the table alongside two fortune cookies.
“Perfect, thank you,” Dante replied with a nod, his attention never leaving me.
I cracked open my fortune cookie.
The slip inside said ‘Fortune favors the bold.’ How fitting. I tossed it aside, my gaze returning to Dante.
“Something wrong?” He asked, studying me with those piercing eyes that seemed to see every lie I’d ever told.
I took a shaky breath. “Dante...we need to talk.”
He raised his eyebrows.
My breath came out in a shaky exhale. I should have probably told him I was pregnant right then and there, but he wasn’t even my boyfriend. I needed to firm up some details before sharing. I looked into his eyes when I spoke. “When am I going to meet your family?”
Dante’s face hardened, the joviality that had danced in his eyes moments ago replaced by a cold edge. His jaw tightened as his fingers began to drum on the table, a rhythmic tap that was more a threat than a tune. “Why would you want to meet my family? I thought you wanted to keep things casual.”
I had never fucking said that. But it was not the time to call him out on it.
My heart clenched, the weight of the secret I harbored felt like an anchor pulling me down. I willed myself to maintain eye contact, to not look away and show weakness. “Maybe we need to define what ‘casual’ means,” my voice wavered despite my effort.
His annoyance was a tangible thing, a shadow that passed over his face like a cloud obscuring the sun. “Why the sudden need to meet them? Are you not happy with what we have?” he prodded, his tone sharp.
I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. My mind screamed to just come out with it, tell him about the baby, but fear rooted me to silence. “Because...things change,” I murmured instead, my eyes pleading for him to understand without having to spell it out loud.
Dante leaned back in his chair, the lines of his suit stretching across broad shoulders. There was a battle playing out behind his eyes, one I wasn’t sure which side he favored. He studied me, as if looking for an answer written on my face, but whatever he sought remained hidden beneath my carefully constructed facade.
“Jade,” he started, his voice a low rumble that filled the space between us. “I don’t know if you know this, but my life is extremely complicated.”
“I do,” I managed to get out, feeling the walls close in around us. The bistro with its soft lighting and hushed conversations seemed suddenly suffocating.
“Then you should understand why this isn’t simple,” he said, his gaze finally breaking away from mine to stare at something only he could see.
I sat there, unsure of how to navigate through the minefield of our conversation. The connection between us, once electric, now felt like a frayed wire, dangerous and unpredictable. Dante reached for his suit jacket draped over the chair, his movements slow and deliberate.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, standing up and throwing a couple of bills onto the table. “We’ll talk about this...somewhere more private.”
“Talk about it somewhere more private?” I threw the words back at him, my voice rising despite my attempt to keep it steady. “No, Dante. We do this now, here.” My hand slammed onto the table, causing the silverware to clatter and a few heads to turn in our direction.
Now I had no idea where that had come from…and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I put my hands on my lap, telling myself to calm down.
Dante’s eyes narrowed as he sat back down, the authority he normally wielded seemed momentarily shaken. “I don’t want to drag you into my family mess. It’s not because I don’t like you, Jade. Believe me, I really like you.”
The honesty in his voice was almost enough to derail me, but the ache in my chest demanded answers. I looked away, blinking rapidly against the sting of tears. When I finally spoke, my voice was thick with emotion. “Then what am I supposed to be to you?”
There was a pause where the world seemed to hold its breath. His face softened, but the vulnerability vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving a cold mask in its place.
“Maybe we shouldn’t even do this,” I found myself saying, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “Maybe we shouldn’t even fuck anymore.”
The silence that followed was deafening. The clinking of a wine glass from a nearby table sliced through the tension, a stark reminder of the ordinary life that buzzed around us, oblivious to the storm brewing in our little corner.
Dante ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration that was so uncharacteristically him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he just looked at me, and in his gaze, I saw something that resembled fear.
He reached across the table, his hand enveloping mine, warm and insistent. “That’s not what I want. I need time, Jade. My family is...complicated.” His thumb brushed against my skin, a silent plea etched in the motion.
I stared at our joined hands, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse against my fingers. The gesture was meant to comfort, but it gnawed at me instead—how could such a simple touch speak of both solace and sorrow?
“And what about us? What about how I feel?” The words tumbled out, a turbulent rush of confusion and longing. I needed him to understand that this wasn’t just about stolen moments and muffled moans in the dark. This was about more than that.
This was about another fucking human being.
His eyes held mine. But he offered no answers, no solutions—just the quiet acknowledgment of a truth too heavy to bear alone. And in that silence, the reality of our situation settled like dust upon the wreckage of my resolve.
I withdrew my hand, the absence of his touch like a sudden chill. “I can’t keep playing this game, Dante. I need more.” My voice wavered, betraying the turmoil that writhed inside me—a knot of fear, hope, and a desperate craving for something more than whispered secrets and shadows.
Dante’s face hardened, the softness in his eyes vanishing. The air between us grew thick with tension, a tangible force that seemed to push us further apart even as we sat mere inches from each other.
I opened my mouth, the words teetering on the brink of revelation. I wanted to tell him about the life growing inside me, our unintended creation that had already begun to anchor me to this world in a way I never thought possible. But the confession lodged in my throat, a silent scream that refused to break free.
His gaze searched mine, looking for an answer or perhaps an escape. But there was none to be found—not in the dim warmth of the restaurant, nor in the cold streets that awaited outside.
“Jade, I’m serious about how I…feel about you,” he said. “I just need a second to think.”
I watched him, his face a mask of conflict as he wrestled with his words. It was disarming to see Dante Moretti—suave, articulate, intimidating—struggling to express himself.
“How much time do you need, Dante?” It was a question meant to be rhetorical, but spoken aloud it seemed to hang in the air between us like a challenge.
He looked at me, not with his usual confidence but something else, something bordering on desperation. “I wish I knew,” he admitted softly, reaching for my hand again.
“Well,” I said, standing up and trying to fight the tears in my eyes. “Now you have all the time in the world.”