WHAT IS THIS?
“ S o, is this our second date?” I ask, sitting onto the tablecloth spread over the grass.
Dante brought us to a secluded meadow. There’s no one else in sight, and I’m grateful for the isolation. The tablecloth and food were already set when we arrived. I don’t know if he had someone prepare it or arranged it himself before coming to my house. Either way, I like it.
All I can hear are the rustling leaves, and the soft howling of the wind. No gunshots. No screaming. No crying. Just us. It’s perfect.
“More like an escape—or a distraction,” he replies, sitting beside me. “I’m kidnapping you for tonight.”
“Should I be worried?”
He smiles, lighting a small lamp in the middle of the setup. The glow casts warm, flickering shadows across his face. “I’ll bring you back in the morning. I promise.”
I huff and shake my head.
Dante slides the plates closer to me. I don’t recognise much of the food—just that it includes meat, rice, a salad, and a dessert.
As we eat, he talks about his childhood, his mother, and how he took over his father’s work at twenty.
Although he doesn’t go into much detail, his expression turns slightly gloomy.
To lighten the mood, I share pieces of my own past. I talk about the good moments— like how my mother taught me to cook, clean, and take care of the house. How Tara’s nanny played with us, and how Tara was always there to help me with whatever I needed. I stick to the memories that don’t hurt.
Dante picks up where he left off, telling me about the time he used to gamble. He grins as he pulls out a deck of cards and shows me a few magic tricks.
It’s embarrasing that I know so little when he seems so educated. He has aspirations and dreams; he thinks about the future, while I want to avoid it at all costs because, for me, future only brings self-destruction.
I’ve never been allowed to think for myself or wish for anything.
I just want to be free, though I’m not sure if he can give me that.
I’ve always been something to admire or use.
I was raised to serve. The prince charming I dreamed of never came, nor did the freedom I craved.
My father and brothers made sure to extinguish any flame of hope within me.
I can’t even cut my own hair, no matter how much I hate it.
My sister, on the other hand, was my father’s little girl. In her early years, she cried almost daily. I begged him to leave her alone, and for a while, he did. But his attention shifted to me.
Some nights, when she was out, he would sneak into my room, telling me I had to be good to keep him from hurting her the next day, and he kept his word. Seeing her happy meant everything to me, and I would have given anything to protect her.
When I stop eating, I feel exhausted. My whole body aches. I’m sure I already have bruises, but I made sure to cover them with my clothes. I even wrapped a scarf around my neck so Dante wouldn’t see the marks from my father’s choking.
“We should go back,” I say quietly.
“Do you want to go back?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’m tired.”
He smiles and pats his legs. “Come here; I’ll sing you to sleep.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, but I obey. I rest my head on his lap, and Dante strokes my face, my hair, and my arms as he sings softly in Italian.
My mum used to do this when I was a child. She sang something about leaving home… I can’t remember the lyrics, but I remember how I loved her singing.
My father took that away from us too.
Tears stream down my cheeks, and I surrender to his voice.
It’s been a long time since someone treated me like I’m something fragile, and I realise how much I needed that.
I can’t act like I’m strong forever.
I wake up, disoriented. The sun hits my face. Since when does my room get sunlight this early?
Someone is singing softly, and a hand gently strokes my arm.
I open my eyes. Dante’s face hovers above me, though his gaze is turned away.
As if he senses I’ve woken, he looks down, a smile spreading across his lips—a smile that melts me instantly.
“Buongiorno, ragnetta,” 7 he murmurs.
I really love how he speaks Italian, but I’ll never admit it to him.
“What time is it?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes.
“Six in the morning. Don’t worry; your father left the house at five. He didn’t even check your room.”
“How do you know?”
He grins. “I have my ways.”
I sit up, pulling off my scarf and cardigan. The sun feels unbearable at this hour. I sigh, rubbing my eyes again. I must look like a complete mess.
As I stretch and yawn, Dante yanks my hand down. His grip is strong—too strong—and it startles me. A sharp bolt of fear shoots through my chest.
He’s going to hit me.
He’s got that dark, twisted look—one that reminds me of my father every time he’s about to lash out. His tense jaw tightens further as his gaze moves up and down my body, finally locking onto mine. I swear my soul abandons me.
We’re alone here. He could hurt me—beat me so hard I’d die—and no one would ever know.
I could die today.
“Who did that to you?”
My stomach sinks. My face drops.
Damn it, there’s light.
I glance down at my arms, the bruises giving me away. My fingers brush against my neck, and the ache is still there. My father’s handprint must be blooming in purple on my skin. My body has always been so sensitive; I’ve been taking hits since I was a child, yet I still haven’t hardened to it.
“Dante, I—”
“Your father did this?”
“N-no. It’s nothing, really. It w-was my f-fault. You don’t have to—”
“I’ll kill him,” he growls, getting up. I grab his arm, trying to pull him back down. “I swear I’ll—”
“No.”
Desperation surges through me, and I act before I think. I throw myself at him, pressing my lips to his. He stumbles backward, falling onto his back with a grunt as we crash into a basket, tipping it over.
Straddling him, I pull away, my hand pressing firmly against his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath my palm, wild and erratic. If I thought it was fast before, it’s nothing compared to this.
I must admit, I’m breathing hard too.
I pant, waiting for the sadness to overcome me, but I’m just feeling good. Too good.
He’s not touching me, though I want him to. Why? What is this?
I lean into him again. His kisses are more passionate than mine. I don’t know how to do this, so I let him take the lead.
His lips are so soft and warm. His tongue grazes my lower lip before brushing against mine, sending a shiver down my spine.
His hands move to my hips, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my jeans with desperation, yet carefully.
A quiet moan escapes me when he tightens his grip, pulling me closer… and it’s not close enough.
How can you go from wanting to live inside a bubble to craving the feeling of being under someone else’s skin? Will I become like the men who wronged me if I can’t get enough of him?
He grabs me by my waist. I instinctively tilt my hips forward, and something flickers inside me.
His lips mould perfectly to mine, as if we were made for this. He knows exactly where to touch and how, I don’t feel ashamed for wanting to run my fingers through his hair or deepen the kiss. What is happening to me?
He starts sitting up, one hand holding my back. I stroke his hair, yanking a little while his hands slide underneath my shirt. I trace the line of his sharp jaw, the stubble from his shaved beard lightly prickling against my fingertips. It’s rough and smooth at the same time.
He’s the one who pulls away from me, and we stare at each other, trying to catch our breath. I press my forehead against his, closing my eyes.
“Please, don’t hurt him,” I whisper. “It’s not worth it.”
“ Amore …”
“I’m begging you. Let it go.”
He sighs, his fingers gently trailing over the nape of my neck. “What else did he do? Why? Was it because of me? Because I didn’t get you in time? Don’t lie.”
Tears well up in my eyes.
“He… He ripped the cardigan. Then he choked me, and I—he hit me because… he doesn’t…”
“He doesn’t…?”
“He doesn’t… want a bastard .”
He rolls his eyes. I don’t understand why that bothers my father either. I can’t get pregnant unless I get married. Maybe it’s just the idea of me being used, as he would say.
Dante takes my hair away from my neck. His fingers graze over my marked skin as he leans to kiss it, sending a shiver down my spine. “I can’t let this go, sweetheart.”
“Please…” My voice is barely a whisper. “I haven’t slept this well in months. With you, I-I feel safe. If you say something to him, he’ll break the engagement. I’m not supposed to talk about anything that goes on inside the house.”
His eyes soften before he wraps his arms around me. I do the same, burying my face against his neck and closing my eyes.
“I don’t want to use you, but you’re my only hope to escape that hell. You promised me.”
“Use me as you please, sweetheart. I’m taking you anyway.”
A faint smile tugs at my lips. “Just don’t be worse than him. Please.”
He kisses my neck; a tingle spreads through my body.
“You’ll always be safe with me.”
I pull back slightly, just a few inches. My thumb brushes the scar on his face. It doesn’t seem to bother him.
I kiss him again and whisper, “This is my first real kiss.”
He grins. “Ever?”
I nod. When I was taken, they used my mouth in every way possible. But nothing like this—nothing tender or gentle.
“We’ve got time to practice, if you want.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “My mum will need help around the house, and you haven’t slept. We should head back now.”
He sighs. We both stand, and he stretches out his hand. I take it; he yanks me forward until our chests collide and kisses me again.
“I’ll let this one go, but when we get married, I can’t promise I’ll—”
“I don’t care what you decide about him,” I admit, the words lifting a weight from my shoulders. “I just want to be somewhere safe before everything explodes.”
“You won’t hate me if I kill him?”
My stomach tightens. Would it make me a bad person if I said no?
“I don’t know. I just… I don’t want you to hurt my mum. Could we live with her? She’s not mean, and I’m all she’s got.”
He smiles gently.
“Of course. Ask me anything, and I’ll make all of your dreams come true, amore . Anything.”
Heat rises to my cheeks.
Could he get me my freedom?
At home, we sneak in the same way we snuck out. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but I think he wanted to carry me.
As soon as we reach the entrance, he hands me a cell phone.
I stare at him, confused. He smiles.
“Hide it. If he does something to you, you call me.”
“Just call you? I can’t do anything else?”
“Like what?” Something flashes across his face before his smile widens. “You want to text me, amore ?”
I blush.
“Maybe.” I pause. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to who isn’t my mum since—”
He kisses me again, and I melt in his arms until he pulls away. I miss him already.
“You can call me or text me whenever you want, amore . Day or night. Just make sure he doesn’t see this.”
A smile tugs at my lips. I giggle when I kiss him one last time, then force myself to go inside.
But when I see my mum’s bruised face, every bit of happiness drains away.
I’ll get her out of here.
Notes:
7. Buongiorno: Good morning.