“Congratulations.”
“Could you go back to insulting me in Italian?”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Thanks,” the smile sticks around a little longer this time. I ignore the satisfaction fluttering in my stomach. “That’s why she wants me at this ball tomorrow. To find a wife.”
Suddenly, several of his previous tirades make an awful lot more sense.
“You don’t want to get married?” I hedge.
“I’d like to fall in love,” he reasons back. “Eventually, I mean. Marriage seems like an impossible thing to me without it. But I doubt any of my mother’s bachelorettes have any real interest in me beyond the family name.”
“Don’t forget the castle.”
“And the castle.”
There’s an oddly comfortable silence between us, and I realize with a start that he’s trusted me with something vulnerable. It, bizarrely, makes me want to offer something back.
“I get it,” I say quietly, weighing my words, unsure how to share the burden of them, until I remember that’s all Dante has been doing to me this last week. “It’s not like I have any choice in who I marry, either.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him looking toward me. “Do you know who it will be yet?”
I shake my head. “I mean, I know his name. But they were in the middle of negotiations when this asshole decided to break into my panic room and fly me to Italy.”
Dante reaches through the bars to nudge my shoulder playfully. He’s been doing that more and more. Casual touches here and there. Painfully short.
It’s the lack of general human contact that makes me crave it and think about it when I’m alone. I drag my fingers over the patch of skin in reverence.
Maybe I am going insane after all.
“Can I ask you something?” Dante says unexpectedly.
“I’m not telling you his name.”
“I insist that you don’t. Ever.” There’s an odd strain in his voice that disappears once he clears his throat. “You said back in Brooklyn…are you really a virgin?”
“Youdickhead.”
Dante groans. “I’m not flirting with you. I promise I’m just curious.”
And God, do I hate the small part of me thatwishesthat he was.
And I feel oddly trapped in this conversation now, worried that he might leave if I don’t tell him, terrified of what he might say if I do.
And I don’t owe him anything. And I hate him so much. And he smells like amber and relief from suffocating silence and rumbling laughter that pours out from his chest.
“It’s a tradition, okay?” I blurt out far louder than I meant to. “The debutant is aprizefor the Cartel’s greatest ally. My mother was one, too. It’s not…unusual for me. It’s just a promise of purity and an act of respect for my future husband.”
“So you’ve never…”
“Dante.”
His mouth snaps shut. His eyes a little wide.
I suddenly realize I’ve never used his name before.
The silence is suddenly less comfortable, charged with something I’m too scared to name. But it’s over almost as soon as it begins. Dante’s eyes flash dangerously, breaking the spell.
