28. Dante
28
DANTE
A few months later…
I’m supposed to be answering emails, but I can’t help but stare at my wife, who is glowering at the notepad in front of her as if it has personally done her wrong. She’s hunched over her textbooks, frustration evident on her face as she pores over notes and diagrams and taps the end of her pencil against the stack of papers. The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm light over her determined expression.
She’s so close to her graduation day, but the stress of studying for her last final is radiating off her. I can see the pressure she’s placing on herself, and I feel helpless to make her see reason.
I’ve told her a million times to stop worrying, that she is fully ready to succeed, but she only ever responds with a scowl before returning to her studying.
The woman is stunning when she’s pissed.
And I’ve certainly been able to experience her fiery moods since we moved into our penthouse apartment in November. I want her—need her—in my sights at all times. I’ve taken over the cooking for her to make sure she eats regular meals since she’s been so busy with her overloaded course schedule at Graham. And, when she resists going to bed at an appropriate time, I happily fuck her to sleep.
I’ve honestly been regretting my purchase of the bakery, since it seems to have become a source of additional stress rather than joy. I've never seen her so tense. The strain of her classes combined with planning the opening of her bakery is taking its toll. I worry the dream I bought for her is turning into a nightmare.
I push off from the wall and approach her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Princess, you've been at this for hours. Take a break.”
Her eyes meet mine, exhaustion floating in them. "Dante, I can't. This exam is critical, and I need to get everything right if I’m going to pass."
I squat down beside her, my fingers tracing circles on one of her knees. "You're brilliant, Victoria. You've got this. But I'm worried. You've been obsessing to the point that I’m sure you could recite your textbooks from memory. You’re not sleeping.”
She runs a hand through her hair. "I just want things to be perfect. The bakery means everything to me, and I don't want to mess it up. You bought it for me. I don’t want to let you down when you’ve taken such a risk?—”
“Stop. You're not going to mess anything up. We're in this together, remember? I bought the bakery for you because I believe in you. But I didn't do it to put pressure on you. I did it because I know you will make it a success. I don’t throw money away on losing bets.”
Victoria looks away, but I still see a hint of doubt in her eyes. "What if people don't like the pastries I make? What if I'm not good enough?"
I tilt her chin up, making her meet my gaze. "You're more than good enough, Victoria. And as for your pastries, I've tasted them. With you, on you… Trust me, people will love them. We'll face challenges, sure, but we'll overcome them together. I believe in us.”
“I know you do. I just…the renovations, the recipes, the expectations…I want everything to be magnificent.”
“Well, we can’t get to magnificent if you run yourself ragged before we even get to Paris.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s not entirely my fault. It’s Mr. Tafton and the stupid outline for his final that’ll be the death of me. He has things on here that he barely touched on this semester.”
“Alright,” I say, rising to standing and pulling at Victoria’s arm to bring her with me, “break time, princess.”
She doesn’t budge. “I can’t.”
“I’ll buy you the lasagna you like from down the street.”
She shakes her head, still caught up in her rant. “He really is a piece of work. I bet Tafton gets off doing this shit to us.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Old asshole,” she grouses, picking up a few pieces of paper. “This practice test is seven pages, Dante. Seven .”
“You’re obsessing.”
“Yeah, well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
It’s obvious she’s referring to my obsession with her body, but I don’t care that she’s just called me out. I seriously want to fuck her every chance I get. I’m not afraid to admit that I get hard just looking at her across a room.
“Cute clap back,” I reply. “If lasagna won’t get your ass up, what about sushi? You love a good spicy shrimp roll.”
“I bet he’s going to give us an essay question,” she mutters with a huff, tossing the practice exam to the table. “That’ll take at least forty-five minutes of the exam period.”
“Victoria.”
She waves me off distractedly, still caught up in her tirade. "I can't just give up. I need to be prepared for anything. What if there's a surprise topic he left off his study guide?”
Taking a deep breath, I decide to take a more direct approach. Without warning, I lift her out of her chair, not bothering to be graceful, and she focuses her little temper tantrum on me.
"Dante, what the hell are you doing? I’m in the middle of studying!"
I carry her to the bedroom, ignoring her protests. "You've been at it for hours. It's time for a break. And you’re ignoring me.”
“I need to focus.”
“How does bitching about Mr. Tafton count as focusing?” I ask, genuinely curious as I toss her to the bed. Her tits give the most delicious bounce as she lands on the mattress. They call to me, and I can’t help following her and caging her under me.
She smacks at my chest. “I’m not going to give that man an excuse to fail me.”
“He won’t.”
“He might. He has a freaking PhD in misogyny and?—”
“I will shove my whole dick down your throat if that’s what it will take to shut you up, princess. You need to take care of yourself. Studying for all eternity won't keep you healthy. Now, let's forget about your exam for a moment. Do you want pizza for dinner?"
She crosses her arms, still pouting. "I'm not hungry."
I smirk. “That’s a damn shame.”
“Do you only ever think with your dick, Dante Moretti?”
“When you’re in the picture? Absolutely, Victoria Moretti.” I love that she finally changed her last name. For me. She wrapped her new license up and gave it to me as a birthday present a few weeks back. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.
Ellie moved to Paris in January, happily transferring to the Paris College of Art in anticipation of our move. Having her best friend so far away has been hard on Victoria, but she’s been my eyes and ears on the ground during the renovations and updates to the bakery. And the wait will be worth it once the girls are reunited with no bitchy in-laws in sight.
According to Ellie, the buzz surrounding the bakery has been overwhelmingly positive. She sent pictures earlier today to show me the finished floors. The white marble glistened beneath the soft glow of the iron sconces, providing an elegant contrast to the warm wood counters and molding along the walls. I chose every inch of the décor with care, selecting high-end furnishings to create a cozy and inviting space for our future customers.
Ellie even hung a “coming soon” sign on the front door and reached out to a few local food bloggers to build anticipation.
I don’t mention any of this to Victoria.
Not now.
She’s lost in her own world, one filled with endless stress and academic shit.
"Victoria," I chide gently, “be with me tonight. I promise you’ll pass your damn exam.”
She finally nods, moving her hands to gently frame my face. “Fine,” she sighs.
I resist the need to share the latest bakery updates from Ellie. Instead, I offer a different distraction that I know she’ll be unable to ignore.
"I found us a small house just outside the city," I reveal. "It's charming, with a massive kitchen and a beautiful garden. You’ll love it."
She blinks in surprise, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes. "A house?”
“A house.”
She goes from shocked right back to stressed in seconds. “Are you crazy ? How in the world are we going to move into an entire house and still have time to open a bakery?”
“Where did you want to live?”
She ponders that for a few seconds before finally relaxing back against the pillows. “Dante, if you don’t stop buying us shit, I think I might go insane.”
“I just want to give you a place to unwind. I need my wife to be able to relax. I promise, it's not too far from the bakery. I’m told it gets plenty of natural light, what with the large windows and all.”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Uh-huh. You really put a lot of thought into this, didn't you?"
I nod. “I want everything to be perfect for us. Now, let's focus on one thing at a time. The bakery is coming together beautifully, and our new home is waiting for us. And once this last exam is over, we'll have all the time in the world to enjoy our life."
“Look at you being all optimistic.”
“I always get what I want, princess. Now, I want you to tell me what you want for dinner before I make the choice for you.”
She huffs, then smirks as she stares me down. “Mozzarella sticks, a cheeseburger, waffle fries, and a chocolate milkshake.” I open my mouth to tell her to consider it done when she continues, “And wings. Oh, and can I get one of those red velvet cheesecakes they have at the supermarket?”
“And how many places am I supposed to go to find all this, sweetheart?”
She bats her long eyelashes at me and sticks out her tongue playfully. “That’s on you to figure out, husband. I’m supposed to be taking a break from thinking.”
Brat.