Chapter 15 #2
Dante takes my cover-up from the chair and hands it to me with a tight jaw. He watches me with heat burning in his eyes as I pull the sheer fabric over my head.
He waits until I’ve tied the string in the front before he says, “Don’t prance around in front of my men like that.”
My agitation mounts. “Is this our house, or isn’t it?”
His jaw bunches. “Of course it is.”
“Then it’s for your men to respect my privacy.”
He narrows his eyes. “Did he bother you?”
If I say yes, Dante will punish Kent. Knowing my husband, there’s a good chance that Kent won’t live to see another day. I don’t want to lie or defend Kent, so I only say, “I didn’t appreciate his attitude.”
Dante tilts his head, coldness washing into his tone. “Did he put his hands on you?”
My husband’s cold fury is far more dangerous than his explosive rage.
“He didn’t touch me.”
He steps closer to me, putting our bodies flush together. “Did he make advances?”
“No.”
“Tatiana.” Dante cups my face. The gentle act belies the violence that’s like a live volcano inside him, ready to erupt. “Did he disrespect you?”
“I think he was just testing me.”
A calculated look sparks in his eyes. “Testing you how?”
“To see if I’m a worthy match for you.”
Noah returns with the ball, holding out his arm. “The thorns scratched me, and I didn’t cry.”
I expect Dante to praise him because that’s what my father always did with Leander. He constantly reminded my brother that real men don’t cry.
Instead, Dante surprises me by saying, “It’s all right to cry. That’s what kids do when it hurts.”
Noah puffs out his chest. “I’m brave.”
Dante’s lips quirk. “That, you are.”
When he looks back at me, some of the tension has left his face. “I’ll have a word with my men about your privacy.”
After kissing me on the lips, he saunters away, no doubt to confront Kent in his study. I glance at the window, almost expecting Kent to be watching us, but the blinds are closed.
When Dante is gone, I rinse off with Noah in the outdoor shower. I did put a thick layer of sunblock on both of us. My pale skin and the sun aren’t friends, and I want to protect Noah from developing skin cancer later in his life.
Once I’ve dressed him, I take him to the kitchen for a glass of water. Emily is deshelling peas at the table. An aroma of lamb roast with rosemary and thyme hangs in the air, Dante’s favorite.
I hang our pool towels over the drying rack in the scullery before grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl. “Do you need a hand?”
Emily waves me away. “You should rest. This is my job.”
I peel the banana and give it to Noah. “I have time.”
“Maybe another day.” She eyes me uncertainly. “I suppose I’ll return to the condo soon, so you should make use of me while you can.”
“I wanted to ask you about that. You answered when I called. I assumed that meant you’re still working at the condo, but why? Dante told me when Leander moved out and it came onto the market, he bought the property. But why stay on if no one lives there?”
She clears her throat. “I’m taking care of the upkeep.”
“I wonder why he bought it?” I mumble to myself.
“Maybe for investment purposes.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Dante didn’t tell me why he’s keeping it. He probably did, and I don’t remember. I meant to question him about it, but so much has happened since… you know.”
Appearing uncomfortable, she focuses on her hands as she deftly pushes the peas from their shells. “Since your accident.”
Noah hands me his empty glass. After putting it in the dishwasher, Noah and I head for the playroom.
Jazz passes us in the hallway, her face flushed with excitement.
I pause. “Good news?”
Shrieking, she jumps up and down. “They want me to audition for a leading role in Chicago.”
“Oh, Jazz, that’s wonderful.”
“The director saw me at the audition for Arabian Nights. He asked for me by name. Can you believe it?” Her brow pleats. “Actually, it didn’t go that well at that audition.”
“That’s good, right?”
She makes a show of biting her nails. “It’s the opportunity of my life.”
Giggling, Noah points at her animated expression. “Your face looks funny.”
She bends down to his level and makes big eyes while asking in her monster voice, “Am I good?”
He laughs louder. “Stop it, Jazz. You’re making my tummy hurt.”
“We have to celebrate.” Jazz has been trying for a big part ever since she graduated from the performing arts academy.
She straightens and holds up a finger. “Shit, no.” Slamming a hand over her mouth, she says, “Sorry, Noah. If you repeat that your mom will have to wash your mouth out with soap.” She drops her hand. “No celebrating until I actually get the part. You don’t want to jinx me.”
“You’re not superstitious. Being invited for a private audition is a big deal.
We’re celebrating it whether you get the part or not.
Remember what we used to say, that every achievement deserves to be celebrated, no matter the outcome in the end?
I’m buying champagne and putting it on ice, and that’s that. ”
She does her crazy dance, uttering another shriek. “I guess I should practice. Okay. Bye.” She rushes for the stairs. “Catch you later.”
“Let me know if you need an audience,” I call after her.
When Noah is installed in the playroom where he’s building a Lego plane, I decide to go on a tour of the house. I know the layout because I’ve been in all the rooms, but I haven’t really inspected them.
I leave the door of the playroom open so that I’ll hear Noah if he calls for me. Then I take my time wandering through the lounge and dining room and taking in the views.
Did Dante and I choose the house together? The contemporary architectural style is inarguably beautiful, but it doesn’t seem like something I would’ve chosen. It’s a stunning home. I’m not complaining. It just doesn’t feel like mine.
Walking around the rooms, I look for personal touches or photos, maybe something that will spark a memory, but there’s nothing that hints at our family history. The style is excessively minimalistic, which is definitely not me.
I go down the hallway and stop in front of Dante’s study. Just as I’m about to knock, the door opens in my face and Kent exits.
I reel, taking in the bloodied napkin he holds under his nose as well as the bruises on his jaw.
He gives me a stiff nod, not looking me in the eyes. “Mrs. Morici, I owe you an apology. I overstepped my boundaries by invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
Keeping his head down, he walks to the front door.
Shock followed by unease spreads through me as I watch him leave.
He made it obvious that he doesn’t like or respect me.
He didn’t apologize because he wanted to but because Dante no doubt ordered him to.
Yes, I didn’t appreciate his attitude, but that doesn’t mean I wanted Dante to beat him up about it.
I peer around the door frame. Dante sits behind his desk, staring at the screen of his laptop with a deep line running between his eyebrows. He too has a bruised jaw.
He looks up when I knock.
I motion at his face. “It looks as if the two of you got into a fight.”
His tone is hard. “He had to be put back into his place.”
Guilt assaults me. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
His nostrils flare. “You didn’t. He had no business standing so close or looking at you.”
“Did that justify a fist fight?”
He’s dead serious when he says, “He can be glad he didn’t lay a finger on you, or his body would’ve been carried out of here right now.”
The sinister promise makes me shiver. “You do realize you’re overreacting, right?”
The darkness I sometimes glimpse in his eyes makes those golden depths appear like a simmering inferno. “When it comes to you?” His reply is simultaneously soft and harsh. “Never. No one touches what’s mine.”
Dante has always been possessive. No matter what I say, he’s not going to change.
Deciding to let it go, I ask, “May I come in?”
“You don’t have to ask.” He closes his laptop. “I’m sorry that work got in the way. I was planning on spending time with you and Noah.”
I go inside. “Is there anything I can do?”
He leans back in his chair. “I should be asking you that question.”
I scoff. “I’m not fragile.” I walk around the room, trailing my finger over the back of the sofa before stopping in front of the built-in bookshelves. “I’ve just lost my memory.”
He doesn’t reply.
Tilting my head, I read the titles of the books. Dante has always been hungry for knowledge and curious about everything. The eclectic collection includes subjects ranging from business strategies to software coding. Yet there are none of the books I usually read, which is mostly fiction.
I turn around. “Can I see our wedding photos?”
For a second, he seems surprised, but he’s quick to wipe the look from his face. “Of course.”
He gets up and goes to the seating area. His manner is reserved when he takes an elegant white photo album from the coffee table and hands it to me.
I flip over the cover, and then it’s my turn to be surprised.
I’m wearing a beautiful dress. Dante looks more handsome than ever in his dark suit.
What catches me off guard is Noah who stands next to us dressed in a miniature version of Dante’s tux.
Our son is the same age in the photo than he is now.
I search Dante’s eyes. “Our wedding happened recently.” Which explains the absence of a wife’s touch in Dante’s model home.
His answer is gruff. “Yes.”
My pulse quickens, and it’s not in a good way. “How long ago?”
“Two weeks,” he says roughly.
My breath catches. “Why?”
Shutting down his emotions, he shoves a hand in his pocket and watches me with a stoic expression. “Why what?”
“Why did we wait so long?”
He works his jaw from side to side. “We were separated for a while.”
The impact of his answer is like a physical blow. I can’t imagine not being with Dante.
“Why?” I ask again, stunned.
He watches me unblinkingly. “We had trust issues.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate on his cryptic answer.
He’s hiding something.
My pulse picks up even more, my throat constricting. “Does that mean we got through our problems?”
His eyes tighten with something close to regret. “We’re working on them.”
A million scenarios run through my head. I can think of hundreds of reasons that would make us lose faith in each other, but none of them makes sense.
We won’t be the first couple to have problems. I just never thought it would happen to us.
The connection between us has always been too strong.
What we share is special. That feeling has become my religion, the solid rock on which I built my entire life.
To have the only thing I’ve ever truly believed in ripped away is too much. I don’t think I can bear it.
Feeling a panic attack coming on, I shut the album and put it back on the table. I should question Dante more, but I’m too scared of the answers. I’m not ready.
I nod, managing to give him a tremulous smile. He doesn’t offer more information, which both terrifies and fills me with relief.
He comes closer. “If it’s any consolation, we would’ve ended up together, no matter what.”
At last, there’s a truth I recognize. Then why does it feel as if my heart is being fed through a blender and left in a pulp?
He goes back to his desk and takes a phone from a drawer that he holds out to me.
Moving on autopilot, I go over and take the phone. “Is it mine?”
His mouth lifts in one corner, but the effort it costs him shows. “It was time for an upgrade.”
I stare at the brand-new phone lying on my palm.
“I already set it up,” he says as if that should make me feel better.
I look up, my lips stiff from the smile I try to keep plastered there. “Thank you.”
“My number is programmed. I want you to call me if you need me.” He grips my chin and caresses the line of my jaw with his thumb. “Any time of the night or day. Understand?”
I can only nod again.
“Good girl,” he says in a husky voice, bending down to kiss me.