“My regrets are far more interesting.”
“How did you know how to drive? Why would you take the car?”
“My sister Frankie,” he says. “She was some kind of karting prodigy, started competing when she was eight. Taught all of us how to drive like professionals even before some of us could see over the dashboard. Technically illegal, but that was kind of the point.” He shrugs, a hint of his old recklessness showing through. “As for why…I wanted to see what it felt like, you know? Driving a Phantom. I had no boundaries back then, no sense of consequences. If something looked interesting, I did it.
“After that little incident…” His voice trails off, and he shifts in his seat, avoiding my gaze. “They shipped me off to boarding school.” There’s an edge to his voice I haven’t heard before, a crack in his usual confident façade. “Found fencing there. First thing I was actually good at.” He lets out a bitter laugh that makes my heart twist unexpectedly. “While my siblings were…” His hand waves dismissively in the air between us. “Well, everything came easier to them. Earlier.”
“They sent just you?” I ask softly. My actress instincts kick in, wanting to understand every detail, but I force myself to stay quiet, giving him space to answer. “What about your siblings?”
“They never needed a leash,” he says with a sharp laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But hey, boarding school wasn’t complete torture. Got to take that poster of you with me.” He pauses, something raw flickering across his face before he masks it. “And you know what? When you grow up in a house that feels like a circus, sometimes solitary confinement is exactly what you need. All that…silence. Space to breathe.”
When I was younger, I used to play characters with lonely childhoods, kids who were desperate to be noticed, to be loved. Sure, they acted out—skipping homework, giving their parents the silent treatment—but it was nothing compared to what Dante did.
I can’t imagine.
My parents showered me with the kind of love that felt like honey, constant and sweet. I wonder what path I might have taken if I’d followed in his footsteps. Looking back now, I can count on one hand the number of actors I started with who are still in the business. The rest disappeared like morning fog, leaving behind only faded headshots and half-remembered names.
I study him carefully, the way his shoulders tense as he tries to seem casual. “Must have been lonely.”
“Don’t look at me like that and psychoanalyze me,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I was a little shit who needed discipline. Still am, just with better clothes.”
The self-deprecation hits a nerve. I’ve spent my whole career playing roles, reading people, but Dante’s different. Every layer I peel back reveals something more complex.
“I’m not trying to—” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “It’s different. Being an only child, I never had to compete for attention. I guess it was also that my dad was a dentist and my mama was a teacher.”
His expression softens, barely. “Love isn’t a finite resource, you know. Though don’t tell my siblings, but Brooklyn and Frankie are still my favorites.” The charm is back, but now I can see it for what it is—armor.
But I wear mine too. Under our carefully crafted personas—his charm, my poise—we’re both trying to protect ourselves.
I find myself leaning forward, my voice softening. “You know, I may not have siblings, but I understand isolation. When I started onClubhouse, everything changed. Homeschooling, constant travel, my parents gradually stepping back from set visits.” I pause. “In this industry, real connections are rare. Besides Cleo, my best friend since forever…” I let out a small laugh. “Most of my twenties were spent alone in five-star hotels or luxury rentals near set. Sounds glamorous, right? But it was just me, takeout containers, and endless script revisions.”
“Is that why you’re such a perfectionist? No one watching your back?”
“No,” I say firmly. “I came out of the womb color-coding my toys.”
“Baby Sinclair.” He smirks. “Organizing her blocks by size and aesthetic appeal.”
“Oh, hush,” I say, but I’m fighting a smile.
“Now my second biggest regret,” he says. “Wait, should you be taking notes for yourcharacterstudy?”
“I have it all up here.” I tap my head, not wanting to admit that I don’t think I’ll ever forget a thing about him.
“Right,” he chuckles. “You’ve read about my second biggest regret. Everyone has.”
“Getting suspended,” I say tentatively. This was the main reason I wanted to ask him about his regrets. He told me there was more to the story, and now, more than ever, I desperately need to know what thatmoreis.
“I was meant to be there. Gold medal favorite, both individual and team. But at the World Cup, this guy threatened to out one of my teammates, and his family’s not exactly accepting.” He pauses, and I see him weighing how much to reveal, probably calculating the risk like he does with everything. “I was his first. With a guy, I mean. It was one of those things that happen in the heat of the moment after a match.”
There are plenty of rumors online about Dante being bi, but this confirms it.
“So what happened?”
“I lost it,” he continues. “Stupid, really. I’m used to threats before matches. That’s sport—in fact, that’s being a Hastings most of the time. But this dick was threatening to destroy someone’s life? Take away their only constant?”
He says his family’s name like it’s a responsibility, the same way Heather talks about my reputation. Like it’s something to uphold, something that defines me.
“They suspended you for defending your teammate?” I ask, tilting my head. “That’s—”
