Chapter 7 - Dante
I watched her walk away with a heavy heart.
For all her tough talk, I’d seen the flash of hurt in her eyes when I pulled back from that almost-there kiss.
Alisa had always been terrible at hiding her feelings.
I remembered that from our time together.
Her face had always been an open book. This one time, when we’d been dating for around four months, I told her in passing that I’d take her out to dinner next weekend.
Something came up with my brother Achille, and all those plans for dinner had just slipped my mind.
When I met her the next time around, I instantly knew I’d fucked up. She had smiled, alright, kept her polite face on. But she wore her disappointment in her eyes.
Today, once again, I knew I let her down. The way she fluttered her eyes closed and gasped out those little breaths—she wanted me just as bad as I’d wanted her.
God, that made me want to chase after her, but I stayed rooted to my spot. Because the truth was that I wanted that kiss more than my next breath, but I wouldn’t be that guy who makes her trade affection for freedom.
I sat back in my chair and groaned. What the hell was I thinking? One minute I was teasing her about snooping, the next I was practically begging for a kiss, and then—I’d rejected her?
I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
When I’d suggested that kiss, I meant it.
I wanted to taste her again, to feel those soft lips against mine, to lose myself in her the way I used to.
But when she’d actually leaned in, something in me rebelled.
She was only doing it for a night out by herself because I’d backed her into a corner.
What kind of an asshole does that? Making deals for kisses like some playground bully?
I’d rather have her kiss me because she wanted to, not because she felt she had to. And even if by the end of it, she wanted that kiss, she didn’t lean in with that intention from the start.
So what other choice did I have than to stop before I did something that would have gnawed at my consciousness?
***
The next morning, I waited in the dining room, without touching any of the food laid out. Maria, my housekeeper, kept giving me curious looks as she arranged the place settings for two.
“Will there be anything else, Sir?” she asked.
“Would you please ask Mrs. Lebedev to join me for breakfast?” I requested.
Maria nodded and disappeared upstairs.
Ten minutes later, I heard Alisa’s annoyed voice drawing closer and smiled.
“This is ridiculous. I’m not a child who needs to be fetched for breakfast,” she was saying as Maria escorted her into the dining room.
She stopped short when she saw me. Today she wore loose pajama pants and a tank top, her hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders. She had no makeup and looked like she was still half-asleep.
She looked exactly like the Alisa from years ago, who used to nestle into me and mutter nonsense in her sleep.
“Yes, your highness?” she demanded, crossing her arms.
I gestured to the chair across from me. “Come. Take a seat. Sorry to bother you this early, but I had a busy day ahead and needed to talk before I left for work.”
“Seriously?” she hissed. “You needed to talk at the crack of dawn?”
“It’s seven-thirty,” I pointed out.
“Like I said. Crack of dawn.”
“Still not a morning person, huh?” I grinned. Back when we were together, I’d learned to let her sleep in on weekends if I didn’t want to have my head bit off, bringing coffee to her bedside as a peace offering when I had to wake her.
“Still trying to scam me into a meal?” she snapped back, finally taking a seat.
“You refuse to have meals with me,” I explained. “So I was reduced to… alternative tactics.”
“By kidnapping me from my room?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
“Maria hardly kidnapped you. She invited you down.”
“An invitation allows the other person to say no.” She reached for the coffee first, pouring herself a cup and adding cream and sugar, just the way she used to take it.
“I won’t take much of your time,” I told her as she sipped her coffee. “I just wanted to give you something.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my black Amex, sliding it across the table toward her. “This is for you to use whenever you want to go out.”
She stared at the card, then at me. “Go out?”
“Yes. You said you needed some more freedom, didn’t you? If going out is what it takes to stop you from snooping around my office, then it’s a deal well earned.”
She blushed at that, but quickly grabbed the card, staring at it like it was a fragment of her imagination. Then, she looked up at me, all wide-eyed, her honey-brown eyes warm with excitement. “You’re saying I can go anywhere I want?”
“Well, mostly,” I explained quickly. “And a bodyguard will accompany you for your safety.”
“Of course,” she said dryly. “You wouldn’t want your property wandering around unprotected.”
I winced at the word ‘property.’ “That’s not what this is about, Alisa. I have enemies out there… and so do you.”
She looked like she was getting ready to fight me, but then she sighed and nodded. “I know,” she said, softly, smiling at me. “Thank you.”
The look on her face when I pulled away from that kiss had haunted me all night. The look she was giving me now—grateful, kind—it made me even angrier at having wasted all this time making her life more difficult than it needed to be.
“You’re not a prisoner,” I added quietly. “I never meant for you to feel that way.”
She studied me, and whatever she saw must have convinced her, for she waved the card in the air and squealed.
“So I can go shopping? See a movie? Get my nails done?”
“Anything you want,” I confirmed. “Consider it an unlimited expense account.”
She now twirled the card between her fingers. “So, what’s the limit on the card?”
“Technically?” I leaned back in my chair. “There isn’t one.”
Her eyes sparkled with mock villainy. “That sounds very generous.”
“I meant it as a gesture of goodwill,” I replied, eyeing her cautiously. “Not an invitation to bankrupt me.”
“Too late. I’ve already mentally bought a villa in Positano,” she said, before abruptly reaching forward and grabbing a croissant from the basket. She took a dramatic bite, chewed, and raised her eyebrows in mock awe. “Wow. I almost forgot what joy tastes like.”
I couldn’t help the low laugh that escaped me. Watching her tease, laugh, and eat—it was enough for me to know that I’d made the right choice.
***
When Alisa returned that evening, I noticed the difference immediately. She walked through the front door with shopping bags dangling from her arms, her cheeks flushed pink with life. She looked lighter, brighter.
She caught me watching her as I exited the living room with an apple in hand and, for once—surprise, surprise—she didn’t scowl.
“So, what did you get up to tonight?” I leaned against the door and took a bite.
“I went shopping,” she sighed with bliss. “And had lunch at that little Italian place on Fifth.”
“Gianni’s?” I asked, remembering she’d loved their fettuccine.
“You remember.” She sounded surprised.
I remembered everything about her. But I just nodded. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did.” She shifted her bags to her other arm. “Thank you for today.”
It was the first time she’d thanked me for anything since I’d bought her at that auction, and fuck me, it felt good.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
She headed upstairs, and I found myself staring after her long after she disappeared.
***
A week later, I was working in my office when I heard something I thought I must have been imagining.
Could it be that Alisa was … singing?
Her voice was soft and sweet, floating through the open door.
Did the sun rise the wrong way or what?
Simply out of curiosity, I stepped out of my office and followed her voice, only to find her in the library, humming while she browsed the bookshelves.
“Who knew you sang so well?” I grinned without thinking.
She spun around, startled. “Jesus! Make some noise when you walk, will you?”
“Sorry,” I shrugged. “The song. Don’t you remember?”
Her eyes widened slightly. “What?”
“That song you were humming—we used to listen to it the whole time we spent that summer in the Hamptons. You played it so many times, I thought I’d go insane. I can’t believe you’re still singing it.”
She blushed, and I saw her close her eyes a second too long before she met my gaze again. This time softer. “Oh. Right.”
“You used to dance to it in the kitchen.”
“I… did.” She cleared her throat. Her cheeks flushed, and she turned back to the bookshelf.
Just then, I realized what an idiot I was being. I had no right bringing back those memories around her because while those were some of the happiest days of my life, I knew what followed must have been dark for us both.
I shouldn’t have been this honest when it’s clear she’d been trying to maintain a careful distance.
“So, how was your day out?” I asked, changing the subject.
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Good. I got a massage. And my nails done.” She turned and wiggled her fingers at me, now painted a deep red. “See?”
“Get those claws out of my face,” I pretended to groan.
She rolled her eyes and laughed.
“The massage lady said I was carrying all my tension in my shoulders,” she snapped back. “I told her she should try living with you.”
“Oh yeah?” I smirked. “Wait till she gets a feel of my shoulders. She’ll send you a sympathy card.”
She rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.” She brushed past me, heading for the door. “I’m going to change for dinner. My clothes smell like spa oil.”
I watched her go, noting the relaxed set of her shoulders, the easy swing of her hips. These outings were good for her. She came back each day a little more like herself and a little less like the wary, angry woman I’d brought home from that auction.
***