I knot my fingers behind his neck, plastering my cheek against his shoulder. “Don’t be mad, just... give me some time so I can learn to live with what I’ve done.”
His muscles harden under my touch on cue. Neither of us wants to revisit what happened in the warehouse, but we can’t pretend that night never happened. This conversation is inevitable. We have to work through the mess if we want to come out on the other side. With the weight of my betrayal hanging over our heads, we won’t ever move forward unless we confront the subject.
He slides me off his lap and stands, taking a few hard steps toward the French doors that open onto the balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. He’s tense. His muscles bunch under the thin fabric of his jersey with every breath he takes. My hands grow cold, stomach ties itself into a double knot.
Maybe he has a point. I am afraid of him a little. Of his reaction, words, and rejection.
“I won’t tell you that nothing changed. Or that it didn’t hurt when I realized you used me,” he says, looking out the window, his back to me. “I tried hard to leave you behind and pretend that you didn’t fucking exist. That you were never here with me. I tried to convince myself that you belong in the past and I should leave you there because you don’t deserve me or my forgiveness.”
His words hit like sharp pins stuck in a Voodoo doll resembling me in scary detail. I don’t blame him for feeling that way or speaking the truth, even if his words hurt more than I could admit aloud. He doesn’t hate me, and that shows me how pure are his feelings, but... why is there always a but?
Because life isn’t a bed of roses. It’s not made out of only good moments. Life is hard, uncompromising, and amazing at the same time. And love? Love isn’t perfect. If anything, it’s a far cry from perfect, but no matter how bad things get, how dark and turbulent, the sun always rises again.
This conversation needs to happen if we are to ever move on. Still, every sentence slipping out of his mouth is a hard slap across my face. A well-deserved slap.
“I couldn’t do it.” He turns to face me. “I physically can’t hate you, Star. You demolished my moral framework, turned my world on its head, and highjacked every one of my thoughts when you walked into Delta. You knocked me out of my comfort zone. You tore apart everything I thought I knew about myself, and you built me back up, changing my outlook on life and changing my focus point. Since then,everythingrevolves around you, baby.” He speaks slowly as if such a blatant manifestation of feelings doesn’t come naturally to him. I’m sure it doesn’t. Dante’s thrifty with words. He’s a man of action, better at showing than telling. Now, not only do I hear how much he loves me, but I also get to see it in his eyes. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me or that I’ll tell you to leave.”
I’m ashamed that the need to earn Frank’s acceptance remained my priority for so long. Until the very end, I was ready to kill the only person who loved me selflessly. “Turn the tables. Wouldn’t you worry? I lied for months.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does!” I hide my face in my hands, suddenly powerless. All-out furious. His forgiveness is what I’d hoped for, but the way he’s brushing off what happened is not. Not in the slightest. I don’t think he really understands my reasons. I don’t think he’s dealt with my deceit. It’s not just Frank’s plan that turned Dante’s world on its head. Everything that happened since is an extension, a line of consequences to a decision I made almost a year ago. Like an avalanche, that decision packs more problems to this day. The bounty on my head, Dante’s issues with the FBI, CIA, DEA, and whoever else is involved, the fire at Delta, millions he spent and will spend to keepmesafe: it all adds to my sin, blowing a smallyes, Daddy, I’ll help youto apocalyptic proportions.
We can’t go on like this. Dante can’t keep brushing the issue under the carpet, pretending it never happened. I’ll forever worry that it’ll resurface and we’ll fall apart.
“Don’t ignore it. Don’t pretend it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t. You stabbed me in the back, Layla. It was a big deal. It fuckingisa big deal, but that doesn’t mean you’re right in what you’re thinking and believe me, I know exactly what’s going on in your head. You’re wrong. I don’t need to hem and haw the subject over again to accept, forgive, and forget. Everyone makes mistakes. I know why you made yours. I’ve accepted what happened, and you should stop beating yourself up. It’s in the past.”
I shake my head firmly, earning a frown from Dante, who seems to be growing aggravated in sync with me. “I have to explain. You need to know why I agreed to help Frank and why I didn’t tell you when I realized I love you.”
“Iknowwhy you agreed.” He rests his back against a brand-new dressing table, arms folded tightly over his chest. “You told me you were never loved or cared for. You told me how much you wanted Frank’s attention. I pieced the rest together. I also know that if you weren’t afraid of my reaction, you would’ve told me about it very early on.” His green eyes bore into mine, looking right through me, peeling the layers protecting my mind to sift through the darkest recesses of my being. “And we’re back at the drawing board again. You’re afraid of me. You were afraid for a long time... I guess you just hid it better before.”
A bitter scoff leaves my lips, forcing Dante into defense mode. His hands ball into fists at his sides, his patience hanging by a thread. I can tell. I know him well enough now to decipher his body language. The way his jaw ticks on both sides under his ears is a clear sign he’s moments away from snapping.
At least we’re gettingsomewhere.
The hint of accusation prickling his voice is exactly what I’m after. We both need to shout a little, place the blame, let go of animosities, and draw a clear line between the past and the present, or the repressed emotions will backfire like Tayler’s faulty engine at the least convenient moment.
“I’m not a good actress. You saw what you wanted to see,” I say, blame dripping from the tone of my voice like blood drips from a wound. “A pretty face, a damaged mind, a scared, scarred, innocent girl in need of attention. Avirgin...”
Dante’s jaw works in furious circles. He grips the dressing table with both hands, his knuckles white with the effort as if he’s ready to rip the top off. I’m hitting all the right spots, but as always, when dealing with me, he’s calm and in control.
“Don’t do this, Layla. Don’t fucking push me.”
It’s too late. The atmosphere’s already shifted. An argument hangs in the air, brewing overhead like the foulest of storms, threatening to unleash its full power. And it will be glorious. We’re both basic elements, forces of nature. Fire and water. Air and earth. Opposites attract, but they clash equally well.
Right now, Dante’s a grenade without the safety pin. The clock is ticking. Every one of my words brings the countdown closer to a spectacular explosion. I’m afraid to be on the receiving side of his fury, but I’d rather have the blast now than wait for it for years.
“A tool to get back at my father,” I continue, steadfast in my attempt to force him to show me what he’s made of. “You liked showing me off any chance you got. Rubbing me in Frankie’s face like a trophy, feeling like you were winning.”
Dante pushes away from the dressing table, halting my rant. He’s pulse-pounding as he towers above me, a bottomless pit of cataclysmic consequences, a spectacular supernova of anger on the brink of eruption.
But nothing happens. The next thing I know, he flies out of the room and doesn’t even slam the door.
“Don’t ignore me!” I rush out of the bedroom, following in his footsteps. “Stop acting like you’re okay with this because I can see you’re not. “Say what needs to be said so we can move on!” I grab his arm, halting him at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t pretend it didn’t happen!” I claw at his arm when he turns to face me. “Tell me I hurt you. Tell me you don’t trust me. Tell me I don’t deserve you. Tell me something.Anything. Don’t act like you don’t care! Scream, for fuck’s sake! Do—”
“Shut the fuck up!” He booms, the bass of his voice reverberating in the house like a clap of thunder. He cuffs my wrist in one hand, tugging hard to force me down a step into his arms. “First of all, don’t ever curse again. It doesn’t fucking suit you. You’re too sweet. Too delicate forfucks.” He’s not shouting. There’s no need. The low, threatening undertone to his husky voice conveys his emotions clearly. “Do you think your betrayal means anything in the face of what’s happened since? It doesn’t fucking matter. You choseme.”