21. Melody #2
"Shame," he grumbles. "By the way, new phones." He produces a smartphone—thank god—from his pocket and tosses it to me.
"Oh, sweet merciful god, thank you." I snatch it out of the air and power it on. It's got all of my contacts and music and apps and… something new. "What the hell is GP360?"
"Please, love. I'll tell you in the car—we need to go." He looks more nervous than I've ever seen him, which doesn't exactly bode well for the evening. But I follow him anyway with a grouchy grumble as I tap on the app.
It doesn't open anything, though. I can't remove it. I can't uninstall it. I'm still messing with the phone settings to see what the hell this thing is when I plop down into the passenger seat. "Can you tell me now?"
"It's a tracker, love. Please believe me that it's only for emergency usage.
I don't care if you run wild all over the city and spend a small—or large—fortune, I just want to be able to find you if something goes wrong.
But please, could you give it a rest while we're at my mother's house?
She's a little… particular about phone etiquette.
" His jaw ticks as he turns onto the highway on-ramp, and his tone is clipped and short.
It's a bit like how he used to be, right after he first kidnapped and forcibly married me.
Which is an incredibly weird sentence to think to myself, but here I am.
"Oh, yeah, of course. Um, sorry." I chew on my lip. "Is everything okay? Are you… like, good?"
Dante flares his nostrils in an exhale. "I just…
have complicated thoughts about my mother.
When my father was in the hospital, being kept alive solely by medical intervention—no chance of miraculous recovery, and believe me, they tried—she prolonged his suffering.
She disrespected him. She kept him an empty shell rotting in that bed, full of tubes and wires. It was disgusting."
I watch his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel tighter and tighter with every word. An uncharacteristic flush stains his cheeks, and I want to reach out and rub his shoulders.
"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't know." I think for a beat. "I don't… I don't ever want to be like that."
"I don't either. Not that I like to think about my own mortality, but Melody?" He faces me, flicking his eyes between me and the road. "Don't ever do that to me. Promise me."
"I promise as long as you do."
"On that, we agree." He cracks a half-smile. "Honestly, love, we agree on lots of things. And… thank you for coming with me."
Vulnerable Dante is hotter than dominant, fucking-me-into-the-floor Dante. Hotter than "good boy" Dante. Hotter than aloof Dante. Fuck me, I think I've got it bad.
"My boy! Wonderful to see you, my darling boy!
" An incredibly well-dressed woman bounces from the front porch of a palatial home on the Main Line.
Her grey hair is perfectly coiffed, not a flyaway to be found.
She pulls Dante in for a gentle hug, and a massive rock on her ring finger glints in the flickering light of the gas lamps lining her driveway.
"Mother," he says, stepping back. "This is my wife, Melody. Melody, my mother. Flora."
"Wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Lyons," I smile and say with all the grace I can muster. She sweeps her eyes up and down my figure before plastering on a smile.
"And lovely to meet you , Mrs. Lyons! Come in, come in. Dinner is nearly ready." The other Mrs. Lyons turns around and motions for us to follow.
Her heels clack on the hardwood floors, echoing around the airy, open-concept home.
It's enormous—not to mention immaculate.
Where Dante's house is classic goth, mahogany and ebony, his mother's is the polar opposite.
Modern sweeping windows with avant-garde art hanging from the white walls, complemented by white ash wood trim and a perfectly polished floor. I feel… entirely out of place.
Awkwardly, I follow Flora and Dante through to an asymmetric table covered in crisp white linens with three place settings.
Flora turns to me and smiles. She directs us to our seats, and we settle in, with me across the table from them both.
I'm sure she doesn't mean anything by it; of course, she wants to sit by her only son.
But it does feel a bit like I've been called into the very posh principal's office.
Dante reaches across the table and strokes my hand with a tiny smile. The tiny gesture puts me somewhat at ease, and I roll my shoulders back, sitting tall. I can do this.
"So wonderful of you to visit, my dear boy.
And with your wife! What a beautiful blessing.
Thank you for joining us, Melody." Flora scrunches her face into what I assume is supposed to be a smile, but she didn't quite get it right.
Maybe Botox? I don't know. But I swallow my discomfort, and smile back with whispered thanks.
A tall, slim woman in black wheels a cart up to the table and silently unloads plates while Flora barely gives her a sideways glance. Instead, she focuses all of her attention on Dante. She runs her fingers through loose strands of his hair and pats his cheek before turning to the table.
"Perfect timing! Dinner is served." Flora spoons a tiny helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate along with the world's smallest hunk of steak. The silent woman quickly exits the room.
Dante motions for me to serve myself. "I'll go after you, love."
" Love . How sweet, these little pet names after such a short amount of time," Flora simpers.
"Don't play coy, Mother. You and my father had a bit of a shotgun wedding yourselves. If you have something to say, say it," Dante snaps.
I stuff my face with food to avoid the possibility of joining the conversation.
"I just think it's a bit odd that I've never met your wife before this very moment.
Why, of course I saw her at the wedding—if you could call it that.
But you never introduced us in all this time?
Why ever not? Are you ashamed of me, son?
" Flora throws down her napkin as tears gather in the corner of her eyes.
"Not ashamed. Just busy. Someone has to take care of business in the absence of my father.
" Dante stabs a steak with his fork and plops it onto his plate.
I know that kind of stab. That's the stab of a man who desperately wants to murder someone.
It's… exhilarating to watch. I shift in my seat and pray that these expensive-ass chairs don't squeak. Thankfully, they don't.
"My own son doesn't visit me! I'm all alone in this house, no husband, no son— "
"You're being dramatic. You have an endless string of friends coming in and out of this house. Don't think I don't keep tabs, Mother. By the way, you seem to be getting very cozy with your trainer. Mark, is it?"
Flora seems to be stunned. "He's a very good trainer, Dante."
"I'm sure he is," he flippantly replies.
Family dynamics are weird. Some people have picture-perfect relationships, while others might have an all-out drunken brawl at the drop of a hat.
I murdered my own stepfather, so it's pretty clear which camp I'm in.
But this feels like something in between.
A gray area. Subtle digs and snide comments make my stomach churn, and I gently put down my fork, watching the show play out with unease.
"Can you blame me for seeking companionship? You've obviously done the same thing, son." Flora whips her head around to stare at me, daggers behind her eyes.
"Leave her out of this," Dante says coolly. "Honestly, Mother? I'm happy for you. Maybe we'll have another dinner soon. Invite Mark."
We're both stunned. Flora's mouth flops open, which is the least dignified I've seen her all evening. I'm sure I don't look any better, but this is… quite a turnaround.
"Well. Thank you, Dante. I'm sure he'd like that." His mother turns back to her minuscule steak and saws off a microscopic bite. "Have you considered children yet?"
"That's just about all I consider." Dante looks over at me with an incredibly unholy look. My cheeks flush a firetruck red, and I can't stifle the giggle that bubbles out of me.
"Oh, my! Well, I'm sure it'll be any day now. The ladies and I can throw you both a delightful baby shower, and Marlene—you remember Marlene, right? She handcrafts these darling little quilts—I'm sure she'd be overjoyed to make one for the baby… or babies."
I'm happy to fall into the background of their conversation, just watching them interact.
The longer we're here, the more it seems Dante lets his guard down.
I don't blame him for having complicated feelings.
Yes, what she did to his father was disgusting.
But she's his mom. And she really does seem to care about him, to love him, in this weird, emotionally distant way.
But I don't want us to be like that. I don't want to be like that with our baby. I can't just walk away with an obscene amount of money after all is said and done. No, I think I'm in this for the long haul.