And that low rumbling sound really is a problem.
Because the negative thing about my little book of Italian swears is that I’m now burdened with the knowledge of Dante’s favorite ways to talk dirty.
Sunshine yellow highlights over phrases like,il tuo corpo è un’opera d’arte—your body is a masterpiece, andVoglio assaggiarti tutta la notte—I want to taste you all night andLo prendi così bene—you take it so well, have plagued me since his visit.
Imagining the words rumbling from his mouth sends a fresh wave of panic shooting through me every time.
Andthatis something I don’t want to examine too closely.
“You don’t sound that concerned.”
He shrugs. “It’s not like I need you to make a good impression with her.”
It’s at this point I realize Dante hasn’t brought me any soup. In fact, Pierre had dropped by what can only have been an hour ago, which means he’s likely here for the hell of it.
I tilt my head curiously. “But arming me with a dictionary of curses? Were you hoping I might, what, scandalize her enough so that she’d drop dead and do your dirty work for you?”
“Trust me, I’m not afraid of a bit of dirty work,” he winks. Flirtatious again.
He’s deflecting.
“You hate it here, don’t you?” I observe. “You dislike your mother. You thought my display when we arrived was amusing.”
The muscles of his jaw jump a little. “Enlightening, perhaps.”
“Why are you here?” I change tactics as the pieces fall into place.
“To check on you.”
“You checked on me yesterday after three days. There’s no need for you to be back so soon. Pierre tends to me well enough. He could have told you if anything had changed. Which means you must really truly hate it here.”
“Pray tell, how you made such an incredible leap?”
“You’ve come down here without any reason other than to torment me. Ergo, whatever is happening up there is somehowworsethan talking to me down here.”
Dante’s mouth opens. Then, it closes again. Then there’s a soft little hum of discontent.
Bingo.
“Did you come down here to complain about how much your mommy is tormenting you?” I coo, batting my eyelashes slightly.
For a moment, I think he might fight back. But he’s too caught now, too proud. He storms off to the sound of my laughter.
“Okay. Fine. You’re right, she’s a nightmare, and there’s no one in this fucking castle that won’t regale her with my complaints as soon as they get the chance to fuck me over. So please, be a good little prisoner and listen to me before I actually go insane.”
Dante is breathless as he stands before the bars of my cell, eyes frenzied, anger rolling off his shoulders in waves.
I pretend to check my watch. “That was quicker than I thought.”
It’s not. It’s been two days and three meals since our last interaction. I hate the way it almost feels like a relief to see him again.
“She wants me to attend a ball. With actual dancing.” Dante begins to pace in front of the cell. “There’s a tailor coming this afternoon and everything.”
“You poor bastard,”I drone in Italian.
“I think I’d rather slice out my own eyeballs and feed them to myself.”
“Dickhead.”
