36. Dante
Chapter 36
Dante
“Come have lunch,” Mari calls from outside the director’s tent, ashing her cigarette. We used to share spliffs at Princeton, and now we’re here together.
Life is funny.
“Can’t, just got in!” I shout, not slowing down. The bag in my hand holds a carefully curated selection for Reese—a chilled Berg sparkling water, a prosciutto and burrata panini on freshly baked ciabatta, truffle-dusted Marcona almonds, and an apricot tart. “She’s got five minutes. And I told her I’d bring her lunch.”
“This is a good look on you,” she says. It must be weird for Mari, seeing me do things for someone else. But I’ve always been generous. I’ve just never been generous in the way I am with Reese.
I find myself doing things for her without expecting anything in return, just wanting to make her world a fraction easier. It’s terrifying how much I like it.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off.
I continue through the forest until the clearing in front of the makeshift press tent unfolds.
There she is.
I’m proud of her, taking control of her story.
My older brother, Cameron, had a similar situation last year after someone leaked photos of him. Cam, always so quiet with his football, retreated into himself when the media descended. But then he spoke out about his old team’s misconduct and started an anti-bullying foundation. The first in the Premier League.
Funny how silence works—you carry it until you don’t.
Reese is speaking with someone, fingers absently moving through her hair—a habit she hasn’t lost despite the pixie cut. She’s in her new costume. It’s perfect on her. Not like that awful metal thing Felix had insisted upon.
Though I would be hard-pressed to admit that anything wouldn’t be perfect on her.
When she laughs, her head tilting back, something inside me rearranges. The way it always does when she looks so pure. Her jaw, neck, the precise geometry of her face. Beautiful in a way that hurts to look at.
Her eyes find mine. Hi .
Hey .
I start toward her, smiling, but then the person speaking to her turns, and my body forgets how to move.
Fuck.
It’s Susan Martin.
With Reese.
The world tilts sideways. What the actual fuck is she doing here?
I duck behind a tree, nearly dropping Reese’s lunch.
Shit.
Maybe she hasn’t said anything to Reese yet. Or maybe Reese will come over here and ask why I never mentioned knowing Susan.
Or worse—ask why I leaked the location of the set. The guilt that’s been dormant for the last few weeks suddenly feels like it’s choking me.
My mind spins. I need to get my story straight.
I only confirmed what she already knew. I never lied to Reese. Susan would have found us anyway, even if she hadn’t been on my yacht. Even if I hadn’t bragged about Reese over two months ago.
But the justification feels hollow.
Empty.
God, I’m such a fucking bigheaded idiot. I could lose everything—lose her—over one stupid fuckup.
A branch snags on my shirt, which only makes me realize I’m acting like a child hiding over here. I have to go tell her. I’m a fucking coward. I should have told her the moment the article appeared in the Stone Times with Susan’s name on it.
“Dante?” Reese peeks around the tree. “There you are!” I spin around, nearly losing my balance. “What exactly are you doing?”
“I’m here with the tree,” I say, touching the bark, aware of how absurd and transparent I must seem.
“In the dirt?” Her eyes narrow as she studies my face. “Are you okay?”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, positioning myself at an angle that keeps Susan from seeing me.
There is a hollow space in my chest where my heart should be, though perhaps it is there and I simply cannot feel it through the thundering panic. Or perhaps I am actually the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz and don’t actually have a fucking heart of any kind.
“Yes,” I say. “Fine. I brought you lunch.”
I scan her face, asking myself if she can read the truth in mine, if she can see how my thoughts keep circling back to that day on the yacht, to words I can never take back.
But she’s already reaching for the bag.
“Oh, you’re a saint! I’m starved.” The panini appears in her hand, and she bites into it immediately, her shoulders visibly relaxing for the first time today.
“How are the interviews going?”
“They’re fantastic!” she says between bites, with a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just had the most interesting chat with Susan Martin—you know, our dedicated stalker-journalist? I invited her myself. Figured I might as well give her something real to write about if she’s going to keep trying to twist my story.”
My stomach lurches. “How’d that go?”
Reese snorts, rolling her eyes. “Oh, you know, she said my haircut gave me an edge right before questioning my mental stability. Because heaven forbid a woman change her hair without first alerting the press that she’s having a breakdown.” She takes another defiant bite, her knuckles whitening around the sandwich. “And even if we are having breakdowns, we’re still showing up, aren’t we?”
“That’s right. Think she’ll write something decent this time?”
“She better,” Reese says, then shrugs. “Though honestly? All this press probably doesn’t matter anymore. We buried Felix’s headlines after he quit, and that was the whole point of this. Now it’s really about me taking back my own narrative.”
It doesn’t seem like Susan told her. The relief that floods into my lungs is cruel.
“The tabloids are always going to write shit and spin stories. I’ve seen it happen to my family and experienced it firsthand.”
“You’re right. I guess some of the press coverage is getting to me more than I want to admit.” She runs a hand through her hair, that nervous habit she has when she’s holding too much inside. “It’s obviously not only Susan—it’s all the journalists who are here today. Every single one of them has written something hurtful about me.”
“Are you regretting your evolution?” I pull myself out of the dirt patch I was rooted to and step out of the tree clearing.
“No. Not regretting.” She straightens her posture, putting on that media-ready smile. “I’m becoming someone new, and I’m not sure who that person is yet. I’ve always been this role model for young ladies, and I thought this transition would help that, show them that you can grow and be human and be bold!”
“But?”
“How do you know there’s a but?” She raises a brow at me, her facade cracking just slightly.
“I know you.”
“But.” She exhales shakily. “I feel like they’re all writing stories about a person I don’t fully understand. Like they’re turning this…whatever this self-discovery is into a spectacle.” Her voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Between the interviews, the acting, learning with Amara, I just…I cannot have anything go wrong right now. Not one thing.” Her eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache. “This movie is everything to me. It has to be perfect. I can handle the press, the critics, all of that, but…” The parchment paper crinkles under her trembling hands. “I just can’t handle any more surprises or bad news. Not until we wrap.”
Fuck.
I can’t tell her about Susan now. It would hurt her. No matter my intentions, she’ll see me as another Ricky. Using her. And that’s the last thing I want. She already has so much on her plate, and she just said it herself—she can’t handle any more bad news.
Once the movie is over, I’ll tell her. No matter what happens. Just not now. Not when we have months of filming left, when I feel closer to her than I ever have.
I hate this, this withholding information, this pretending. It’s not who I’m supposed to be. Except it is, isn’t it?
Or it was. I don’t fucking know.
Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe I’m just rationalizing this with some bullshit protective instinct. Or maybe I’m just twenty-six years old and have never learned how to have a real relationship before.
“I don’t mean to sound pretentious.” I force the corner of my lip up. “But you’re like a phoenix. When I first met you, Reese Sinclair was this contained thing. Becoming Robyn helped you burn it all down, and now you’re becoming something else entirely.”
“That’s a very sweet way to think about it.” She attempts a smile, but I can see how fragile it is, how close she is to breaking.
“It’s okay to not know who you are right this second or how you want to show up in the world.” A part of me has been trying to figure out the same thing since meeting her.
“Maybe I can continue trying to be just Reese?” She looks up at me hopefully, desperate for reassurance.
“Sounds like a good plan, if I do say so myself. Identity is fluid,” I say softly, leaning in a little closer. “Questioning who you are shows how self-aware you’ve become.”
“You always know the right thing to say,” she sighs. My jaw tightens. “And you got me a fancy apricot tart—let’s share it before I have to do another one of these.” She smiles, and I forget everything else.
This is the best thing for Reese right now.
We settle onto a weathered log, the bark rough beneath us. I unfold a napkin across my lap, breaking the flaky apricot tart in half and passing her portion over.
The weight of what I actually needed to talk to her about today sits heavy in my chest. The timing feels wrong.
“Speaking of identity,” I venture. “After Em’s match, I want to keep training her. Even if my disciplinary review lifts. It’s been fun.” If it lifts , my mind whispers traitorously.
“I’m happy for you, but just remember that I was your first student.” She winks.
“And my favorite.” I rub the flaky crust between my fingers, feeling…scared? “That also means I need to be a little more buttoned-up in the press, and, well, you’re right—the coverage has been vicious lately. Dragging up old skeletons, which isn’t doing either of us any favors.”
She nods, her expression softening with understanding. “We’re so on the same page. I think we can both find some peace in staying out of the spotlight for a while. Yeah?”
“That would be perfect.”
“Thank you so much for doing this for me, for helping me get this movie somewhere big in every way. I mean, not just in training me, but also dealing with the media circus.” She swallows hard, guilt creeping into her voice. “I kind of feel responsible that the press is putting your review at risk.”
“I agreed to this, fighter,” I say, my pulse thundering in my ears like my own guilty drumbeat. “Plus, I figured with two more months of nonstop filming, we wouldn’t have time to get into any more trouble.”
“Maybe we could make some time for just Dante and Reese?”
“Now that,” I say, a genuine smile tugging at my lips, “I think we can always make time for.”