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Make no mistake. He can be a charmer but Dante is every bit as difficult as I am. This is not some scenario where I’ve tormented a sweet man in love.
I have tormented some sweet men. Broken hearts and shattered dreams.
Men are punching bags, and I have a hell of a right hook.
But (unfortunately) none of those broken hearts belonged to Dante. His heart is black and cold and made of sterner stuff than most.
I’d tried once. Given it my all when righteous rage had driven me to do some awful things in the name of revenge, things done for the sole but futile purpose of stomping his lying black heart under my heel, but in the end I’d done more harm to myself than to him.
That wasn’t to say I wasn’t capable of hurting him. I could and had many times.
But it was never enough.
Breaking him until he was as broken as me was the only thing that would ever be enough.
I tried to ignore him as much as I could for the duration of the flight, but it was impossible to snub him completely.
Still, he was served everything last and with insolence.
I sneered as I handed him his food. It was burnt. I’d left it in the oven for an extra ten minutes. On purpose.
“Thanks,” he told me cheerfully. I could feel his eyes searching my face, but I refused to look at his. “Would a gin and tonic be too much trouble?”
“Yes,” I said curtly and stormed off.
But back in the galley, as I was refreshing another passenger’s champagne, I remembered how much I liked to get him stinking drunk.
I made him a triple in the biggest glass I could find, and put a laughable splash of tonic on top.
I didn’t add ice, stir it, or give him a straw.
We had limes, but I didn’t add one.
I wanted it to be a bitter drink. Let him taste how he made me feel.
Just the thought of getting him good and drunk had me in high spirits, recovered from the debilitating round earlier and determined again to play this game.
I handed him his glass of bitter with a bright smile.
He eyed it warily. “What’s this?”
“Your gin and tonic. Drink up.”
He tipped it at me in a toast and took a drink. His eyes stayed on me while he did it, so I got to watch them scrunch up as he got a proper taste.
“Not to your liking?” I asked him archly. “Too strong for you? Need something weaker?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll drink it. Almost forgot how much you loved to get me drunk for no good reason.”
“If you’re determined to have that talk about God knows what that you mentioned, then yes, I’d rather deal with you drunk. You’re more pleasant.”
“Fair enough.”
“And clever.”
“Really?”
No. It was an insult, you ass.
