Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Elena
"Marco called. Said Dante's coming home for dinner tonight."
Lucia told me this while I was in the kitchen prepping Salvador's dinner. I stopped mid-motion.
He'd left me in that bathroom on our wedding night, drove off alone, and I hadn't heard a word since. I'd figured I wouldn't see him again anytime soon. Part of me was relieved—at least I wouldn't have to face that humiliation.
"Did Salvador ask him to come?"
"Don't think so." Lucia's hand landed on my shoulder. "Salvador's been out cold all day. Looks like Dante came back for you. You should be happy."
I stared down at the half-chopped vegetables on the cutting board. Said nothing for a while.
"I'll make a few more dishes." I glanced at Lucia. "You know what Dante likes?"
She smiled like I'd passed some test and rattled off his favorites. Lucky for me, I knew how to make every single one—Salvador used to love the same things.
Braised beef in red wine. Seared scallops with lemon butter. Arugula salad. Mushroom bisque.
I worked fast. Had everything plated just as Dante walked into the dining room. His suit jacket hung over his elbow, sleeves rolled up, hair not as perfect as it'd been at the wedding. He looked sharp. Professional.
The room smelled like food. I pulled out his chair. "Dinner's ready."
Dante sat, glanced at the spread. Something flickered across his face. "You made all this?"
I nodded and took the seat across from him. "Hope you like it."
I ladled him some soup. He took a sip, didn't comment, but didn't put the spoon down either. The only sound was silverware clicking against plates. I had no idea what to say. The memory of how we'd left things was still fresh.
"How've you been? Here at the manor?"
I looked up, surprised he'd asked. Didn't want him to worry, so I lied. "Fine. Nothing special."
It wasn't fine—not even close.
Word had spread through the manor that same night. Dante left. Salvador had too much to drink at the wedding and collapsed. The staff decided I'd driven Dante away and made Salvador sick.
First day as the Moretti family's lady of the house, and the whole manor had already written me off.
"That's not what I heard." Dante set down his spoon and leaned back. His gaze drifted past me for a second. Then his voice dropped. "Alfredo."
Alfredo had been standing by the door. He came forward immediately.
Dante didn't look at him. Picked up his wine glass. "When I'm gone, you manage the staff."
His tone was flat. No room for debate.
"I don't want to hear another word about Elena. She's the lady of this house now. Anyone who disrespects her disrespects the Moretti family. You should've handled this already. Understand?"
Dante adjusted his cuffs like it was nothing. "The ones who talked today—I don't want them in this manor again."
Alfredo bowed his head. "Understood, Mr. Morreti."
My fork froze over my plate. I couldn't help but stare at him. Was he standing up for me?
He caught me looking and shot me a cold glance. "I'm not defending you. Those servants failed to do their job. They don't talk about their employers. That's Alfredo's screwup. I'm just telling him how to run the manor."
If that's how he wanted to frame it, I wasn't going to read into it.
I dropped my gaze and pushed food around my plate. "Okay. But thank you anyway, Dante."
He didn't respond. Just kept eating, calm as ever, like nothing had happened. When he finished, he stood and went upstairs. I still had to check on Salvador, so I grabbed his dinner tray and medicine and headed to his room.
Salvador wasn't just paralyzed. His body was failing in other ways too. He used to play chess with me, let me read to him. But ever since he'd pushed me into marrying Dante, things had gotten worse. Too much stress, maybe. He was deteriorating.
I touched his arm gently, tried to wake him. "Mr. Morreti."
A wet, rattling sound came from his throat. Then his eyes opened, slow and labored. When he saw me, something confused passed over his face. "Dante's back?"
I nodded, helped him sit up. "He's back."
"Then this is your chance." His eyes sharpened, locked onto my face. "Elena. You're Dante's wife now. You need to give the Moretti family an heir. That's your duty."
Same tone as always. No discussion. Just orders from on high. I took a breath, set his dinner on the bedside table. "I'll try tonight."
Salvador nodded, satisfied. While he ate, I massaged his legs, worked out the stiffness.
"Go. Let Alfredo handle this. You have your own business to take care of."
My hands stilled. I sighed inwardly. "Okay."
Walking back to the master bedroom, I wrung my hands together. Outside, the sky had gone completely dark. The wall sconces cast warm yellow light down the hallway. The room at the end got closer with every step. I could hear Dante on the phone inside.
Too many bad memories in that room. The drugs. What happened between us. Our wedding night when he locked me in the bathroom. My crying. His anger. I couldn't bring myself to open the door.
He sounded like he was handling business. Voice commanding, focused. I bit my lip and pushed the door open.
Dante had already showered. He sat on the couch by the window in a bathrobe, hair still wet, droplets sliding down and soaking dark patches into the fabric. He was on his phone. Glanced at me once. Looked away.
"I'm gonna shower..." I whispered it, barely audible, grabbed my nightgown and slipped into the bathroom.
My heart pounded. Last time I'd tried to kiss him in this room, he'd rejected me. Crushed my pride. Tonight I had to try again. I needed courage.
After my shower, I rubbed scented oil into my skin. The whole room smelled like flowers. I stared at myself in the mirror, tugged the neckline of my nightgown down a little, just enough. Gave myself a pep talk. Then I stepped out.
Dante's eyes stopped on me. Traveled from my head to my feet. Then he turned away, pretended to read a magazine on the nightstand. But I saw it—his fingers never turned a page.
"It's late. Get some rest." That's all he said.
His reaction almost made me smile. I said okay softly, slipped into bed. I only pulled the covers up to my waist. Left the rest exposed. My heart was about to explode out of my chest, but I had to finish what Salvador wanted.
"Dante." I propped myself up and reached for his hand. He let me take it. I bit my lip, guided his hand to my body. "Salvador wants the Moretti family to have an heir soon. So... you..."
Something I said pissed him off. He yanked his hand back, looked at me like I'd insulted him. "No."
He slammed off the bedside lamp. The room went dark. I felt crushed. Pulled the covers over myself, tears threatening to fall. Everything was Salvador's idea, his orders. Why did Dante always take it out on me?
"You obey Salvador too much." Dante's back was to me. His voice came out of nowhere.
I perked up a little, moved closer, and touched his back. "But Mr. Morreti is your father. He cares about you. I don't think he'd hurt you."
"Wouldn't hurt me?" Dante's anger flared. He rolled over to face me. I smelled his cologne—heavy, intoxicating. But his tone was still harsh. "You helped him drug me. He forced us to marry when I don't have feelings for you. That's 'not hurting' to you?"
His words hit every guilty nerve I had. I looked down. "I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry, Dante."
Dante went quiet. I heard his breathing slow. I reached for him again. This time he didn't push me away. My heart jumped. I sat up in the dark, touched his face. His breathing got heavier.
"Can I?" I asked softly.
Dante looked up at me. Those dark blue eyes could've pulled me under. He didn't say yes. But he didn't say no either.
Like I'd been given permission—or like I was remembering that wild, reckless night we'd had—I didn't hesitate. I leaned down and kissed him.
Dante froze. I started to pull back, afraid I'd gone too far. But then his hand clamped onto the back of my head, and he deepened the kiss.
He kissed me until I couldn't think straight, until my body burned, aching for more.
But when his hand reached my waist, he stopped. Breathing hard, he shoved me back. Like his brain had suddenly switched back on.
"Sorry. I can't." He kept his head down, ran a hand through his hair. Wouldn't look at me. "Go to sleep, Elena."
I couldn't let it go. "Dante, do you really hate me that much?"
He didn't answer that. Just said, voice rough, "Elena. Put yourself in my position. This isn't easy."
His voice was low. Not cold like before, but not warm either. Like something dragged out of him after a long day.
"I know." My hand was still on his back. He didn't pull away. I held back my tears. "Then when will you be able to accept this?"
He didn't answer.
The darkness filled with nothing but Dante's long, steady breaths.