51. Dante
Chapter 51
Dante
“Ramsey, my man,” I say, watching him wrestle with the fencing dummy like it’s got a personal vendetta against him. He’s dragging it down to the gym downstairs as he helps me set up a gym at Reese’s LA home, and he’s not exactly thrilled about it.
Though, to be fair, I suspect he’s never thrilled.
“Why do you need two of these dummies? And for the last time, stop calling me my man .”
“If I only brought one, I wouldn’t get to see you struggle carrying the second one in.” I laugh.
He grumbles, but then I hear the front door open, and I leave him to it. “Thank you! Love you too, Rams!”
When I step into the living room, Reese is standing there like she owns the whole damn world, which she basically does. The phone is pressed to her ear, and she radiates energy that hits me in ways that are illegal in several states.
We’ve carved out the next three days together—Friday through Sunday are marked in stone. Her meticulous planning used to drive me crazy, but now watching her map everything out for us both gets me fucking hard.
Our lives have merged naturally over these past couple of weeks. My stuff is in her closet, and we both have keys to each other’s places. Yet we still guard this time together—time to be just Reese and Dante.
“Frank,” she barks, “that timeline is completely unacceptable. I need those contracts revised and on my desk tomorrow morning. Thank you.”
The thank you comes out like a threat. She’s so fucking attractive. I grin like the lovesick idiot I am.
She ends her call with a crisp “We’re done here” that sends a tremble down my spine and leaves me yearning to be on the receiving end of her attitude. She sighs, stepping out of her new heels. A crash comes from where I left Ramsey, and a string of curses floats down the hallway.
“Dante, you need to stop terrorizing my security team,” Reese says, eyeing Ramsey still battling the fencing dummy in the hallway, but there’s this little quirk to her lips that says she loves it.
“But he finds it so fun.” I shrug, and we gravitate toward each other. “Come here, fighter.”
Her pixie cut is a couple inches longer, grown out in this perfectly rebellious way that makes me itch to comb my fingers through it. She’s wearing her pearls, my ring among the gems right where they belong.
“The way you walk should come with a warning label,” I say.
“I doubt you’ve read a warning label in your life.” Her eyes dance with mischief.
“Very true.” I lean down to kiss her, taking a generous handful of her ass when I do. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper in her mouth, yanking her closer to me. She lets go of CEO mode and melts with a sigh. I kiss her again, deeper this time.
Since we decided to make this thing real on New Year’s Day, everything’s changed.
Sure, it’s only been a month, but we picked up exactly where we left off. What we’ve figured out is that relationships aren’t about control; they’re about showing up. Sometimes I catch her typing emails at 3:00 a.m., her face bathed in the cold glow of her laptop screen, and I’m hit with this quiet realization. It reminds me of my parents, passing each other in the kitchen in the mornings, swapping shifts like it was some delicate dance while they juggled their careers.
There’s something more meaningful than just being together—it’s in those small, unspoken moments of coordination when I know that being with her is the only thing in my life I’ll never second guess.
We orbit each other like planets in sync, our paths crossing exactly when they need to. Breakfast meetings that work around my training schedule with the youth program and late-night calls while she’s handling events. When she’s buried in scripts with Amara, I’m out on the road, watching Em compete in tournaments, moving through life on autopilot while my mind drifts back to her.
But we make it work.
We text constantly.
Inane shit, really.
What I ate. Protein shake, again.
Whether the sky’s doing that thing where it looks like we’re in heaven. It usually is.
If a PA finally got her tea order right. They never do , and she never complains about it.
Dating someone as driven as me means accepting that sometimes she needs to choose herself more often than she can choose me.The game demands everything too.
So we steal moments where we can.
It works because we both know that the love we have for each other is monumental. Sometimes it means knowing when to push—I’m good at pushing—and when to back off. Still learning that one.
Reluctantly, we break the kiss, and I plant one on her forehead, just because.
“How’s my favorite media empress?” I ask.
“Fighter Films is real.” Her face lights up. “All signed. All official.”
My throat gets tight, which is ridiculous because I’m supposed to be the composed one. “I’m so proud of you it hurts.”
“And our prodigy?”
“Destroyed them all.” I laugh. “A scout from Columbia tried their New York City bullshit, but she’s Princeton material through and through.”
Em crushed it in LA with the rest of the youth women’s Saber team. They’re headed back to San Francisco while I’m here, overnight bag ready, our new normal since Reese and I traded keys last month.
Seventy-two hours, just us. I’ve started to appreciate her obsessive scheduling, especially since tonight’s blocked off for sword appreciation time …which sounds both ridiculous and incredibly hot.
“Like coach, like student.” When she kisses me, it’s all silk and steel and pure Reese. My brain short-circuits. Then she spots the TV, and her eyes narrow. “Is that—”
“Oh, it absolutely fucking is. Heartland Heritage: Extended Cut . Baby Reese in rhinestone cowboy boots is better than finding out about Ramsey’s secret passion for ballroom dancing.” On screen, she’s trying so hard to be country, it’s physically painful not to laugh.
“Changing all my door codes,” she threatens, but she’s trying not to smile. “And I’m burning every copy.”
“Too late, got my contraband.” I grip her hips like they belong in my hands, which they do. “Actually, speaking of contraband…I got you something.”
“For me?”
“Anybody else here?” I wink, grabbing the box from my duffel bag by the couch and settling next to her on her couch.
“What is this?” She stares at me, calculating the weight of the box. “Is it a brick?”
“For Fighter Films.”
She kisses my nose before placing the box on her lap and undoing the ribbon on it.
Reese gasps when she pulls out the dagger. She unsheathes it with perfect form, and my mouth goes dry.
She tests its weight with this casual authority that makes me want to drop to my knees. “Dante…”
“Found it at an auction back in September. The previous owner was some Greek warrior princess, which I thought was perfect for you.”
“You’ve had this since then?” “It’s the most patient I’ve been about anything in my entire life.”
The look she gives me could level cities. Has leveled me, repeatedly. “We have to display it properly.”
“Way ahead of you. Got something set up in the bedroom. For protection. And other things.” The implications make my skin buzz.
Her laugh hits me in the gut. “I love it.”
“Yeah?” I’m desperate for her approval. Always will be.
“Yeah. Not only do I love it, but I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
She laughs. “We must be in sync because I also got you something.” She walks over to her purse and pulls out a velvet box. My heart actually skips several beats. “Here you go.”
Inside is a pearl necklace that matches hers. “For me?”
“Ran into Paulie the other day.”
She fastens it around my neck, and the brush of her fingers against my skin sends electricity straight down my spine. The pearls settle tightly against my throat like a collar.
“I think it looks perfect,” she breathes, and the heat in her eyes makes me forget my own name, forget everything except the way she’s looking at me. “Very Sinclair Hastings.”
“Wouldn’t want to be anything else.” Then she’s kissing me, and the world narrows to just this: her mouth on mine, the soft press of her body, the way my hands find her waist like muscle memory. She fits against me with a certainty that feels inevitable.
Our phones chime in unison. The Viggle notification on our screens. Seventy-two hours, blocked off in both our calendars.
No calls, no meetings, no fencing, no scripts.
No world beyond this.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You know what that means?”
“Our time begins now,” I say, and the smile she gives me is everything I never knew I needed.
“Exactly.” The word hangs between us like a benediction. “Lead the way, my lady.”