“I told you I pay my dues. You’re welcome.” It’s not easy to keep my eyes off his chest. I can see the bottom of another tattoo peeking out from his sleeve, and I can’t stop wondering what it is.
His dimples are lethal to all thought of wanting him being a bad idea. I mean, it’s completely normal—it would be weirder to be so close to someone as ridiculously gorgeous as Dante Sabatini and not want him. For once, I’m completely normal when it comes to a guy. “Thank you.” Oh dear lord, my stomach growls loud. He chuckles. “I feel as though I owe you. Dinner? I haven’t eaten either. I was going to order something in.”
Deep breath, don’t faint. “Sure.” Okay, sounds way too breathy.
“Or we could go out.”
“No, I’m starving. I don’t want to get dressed, delivery sounds good. Pizza or Chinese, I’m not picky.” I’m now worried my stomach is going to eat itself I’m so hungry.
Dante leads the way back into his place. “I’m not a fan of Chinese, too much salt, way too many carbs.”
In his kitchen he pulls out a stack of menus. I’m expecting small places, but holy crap, this place was written up in the Tribune last week. “You get delivery from these places?”
He shrugs. “Even if I’m not in their restaurants they like saying I eat from them.”
“I’m so hungry I almost don’t even care.” There’s too much choice, everything looks good. Then one place catches my eye. “Barbeque? There was a barbeque hole-in-the-wall right off campus so good I ate there twice a week. I miss it. Ooh, hot links.”
He laughs. “Sounds good to me.”
Dante Sabatini is bad for me, he indulges me with anything I even kind of show interest in. We order half the menu. Smoked turkey, how can I not try it? Turkey is healthy. Banana pudding is not, but the turkey evens it all out.
Once he’s done ordering, he calls down to the front desk to let them know the delivery is coming. “Thirty to forty-five minutes, think you can wait?”
“I guess.” I give a little sigh as I look around the kitchen.
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Opening the refrigerator, he pokes around inside. “I can do a caprese salad.”
“Yes, please.”
I slide onto the barstool as I watch him. Of course he has homemade mozzarella in his fridge. “What are you doing home so early? Where’s Enzo?”
His sigh is heavy. “He’s on a date with a woman he’s hoping will become his wife within the next few months. So you know, keep your Saturdays open for a while.”
“And that’s bad?” His whole body is tight with tension. It definitely sounds bad.
He pushes the small salad across the counter to me. “Enzo’s thirty-eighth birthday is in three months. He plans on getting married before then. This is only the second time he’s even met the woman. Yet he’s already sure she’ll be the one. If he cared for the woman it would be great, but he doesn’t want to care. He wants kids, the wife is secondary. If he grows to care about her, great; if not then he keeps the kids and she gets a payout.”
I stop chewing, afraid I’ll choke on the soft mozzarella and sweet tomato covered in tangy balsamic vinaigrette. Then, slowly, I breathe deep. It takes a minute to finish chewing then swallowing. “What the hell?”
Running a hand through his hair, he leans against the counter. “My thought exactly.”
“His wife is secondary? The mother of his kids, as in more than one, is just some brood mare?”
“Enzo was especially close to our father. For years he said he wouldn’t marry, refusing to allow a woman to put him through what our father went through. I guess he changed his mind after Matteo. He wants the kids, but he still doesn’t want the wife.”
“What happened with your mom and dad?” I blurt the words out, and I wince when I realize what I said. “Never mind—”
Another hand goes through his hair before he sighs. “It’s okay, I understand the question. After my mother got pregnant with me my father got a vasectomy against my mother’s wishes. He was a prosecutor in the district attorney’s office. He did okay, but he was paying for Catholic school tuition, a big house in Lakeview and my mom never met a dress she didn’t like. She had a real estate license she used casually to sell a few houses when her credit card bills came due. Dad felt three kids were enough, all he could afford. Then there was the fact my mom liked babies. When we got old enough to not be so cute anymore or easily managed she lost interest. Cooking, cleaning, rearing, all of it fell to my father.”
I shake my head. Sounds nuts to me. Dante nods in response. “None of those things mattered to my mother. She felt my father taking away the choice of another child was him taking her voice away in their marriage. The love she felt for him became twisted. By the time I was old enough to know what was going on my mom was already spending nights, sometimes weekends, away with one boyfriend or another. A few times she swore she was leaving him only to come home a few days later. My father refused to let her go; on and on he said she was the love his life, he couldn’t live without her.
“The last time, though, was different.” He shakes his head. His eyes are down but I know he’s only seeing the past, gone from the present. “No one knew my father tried a case improperly and was fired for it. Dad loved his job only slightly less than he loved my mom and us kids. What he did was a part of who he was. His boss allowed Dad to resign rather than actually fire him. We noticed Dad hanging around the house; he said he took vacation time. My mom came home, and this time she came with a truck. Before, she had never done more than pack a suitcase. The boyfriend was a rich guy, completely loaded. He was going to take care of the divorce and her, and if Dad didn’t let her go quietly, she’d take us kids too. Dad put us to bed. Then he took his gun and went after my mom.”
“Jesus.” I exhale the word. Holy motherfucking crap. The doorbell goes off. I’m glad I have a few seconds to myself as I try to compute the horror of it all.
“Still hungry? You didn’t lose your appetite?”