There’s stillone question that I can’t bring myself to ask Dante.
Just one. It shouldn’t be hard to spit out. It’s the reason I left California in the first place. But maybe I don’t want to know the truth. Maybe I’ve already made up my mind.
Whatever my mental hang up, I can’t quite bring myself to ask him about the debt. The measly $286,000 that sealed my fate. I’ve tried to say something to Dante a dozen times, but each attempt leaves me with the words dying in my throat, before they can even reach my lips.
Sitting in my seat beside him, I brace myself as the plane bounces through some light turbulence. My stomach is quick to retaliate with a burst of nausea, but I’m able to hold it down. This time. Meanwhile, Dante sits quietly beside me, reading something on his tablet. He’s been attentive, polite, and cold. Back to his normal demeanor…except that he’s slightly more tolerable than usual. I chalk that up to my pregnancy. Despite his flaws, he seems genuinely excited about the baby and I am grateful for that.
It feels like the weekend we had at the St. Regis and the Alvarezes’ bay cottage never even happened. All buttoned up in his suit and tie, he seems miles away from the man who swam naked and made love to me in the October sun. So I spend the entire plane ride home lost in my own thoughts, watching the country slide by far below me.
And yet…
He’d given me and my mom and my sisters our first Thanksgiving together in over a decade. That had to mean something. There had to be some kind of love still between us. Even if he’s not acting like it right now.
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’s emotionally walled himself off from me.
When we finally land at the Napa Airport, a wave of heated emotion hits me out of nowhere. My return to California, necessary though it may be for my safety, makes me feel like I’ve lost a battle. I get out of my seat first and stalk off the plane, not bothering to wait for Dante.
We had to leave the Jag in Miami (Livvie wasecstaticto be given the keys), so I’m not surprised to find Donovan waiting for us in a black Escalade. He and Dante share a look as I slide into the back seat. I have no idea what’s passing between the two of them, but I’m too tired to care. The sound of my car door closing makes me tense and antsy.
Trapped. I’m trapped in this SUV, heading back to the life I just ran away from. Crossing my arms, I lean against my door and rest my head on the window. There’s an ocean of space between Dante and me on the seat and I’m both comforted and irritated by it.
Why can’t he just—
His warm fingers land on my upper thigh. Some of my anger melts.
The ride to the house is quick. Donovan pulls right up to the front door and my chest tightens as the huge, formal building comes into full view. It’s so big, so vast, and so…oppressive.
“Here we are,” I say, faux-cheerfully. “Back at the mausoleum.”
Dante is about to open his door but pauses to glance back at me. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing. Just jazzed to be coming home to this huge, dark, depressing crypt.”
The words snap out of me, and for the first time since we left Miami, his expression turns into a frown, as if I’ve hurt him.
I huff out a sigh. “Sorry. I’ve had a short fuse for a while now.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Dante says gently. “I’m sure it’s just baby hormones.”
My eyes narrow into a death glare. “Get bent.”
With that, I slide out of the car and slam the door behind me.
Donovan takes my bag from the trunk, but I snatch it from him—because I can fucking handle it myself, goddammit—and head up to the front door. Dante rushes up behind me, but I keep a steady pace. I don’t want to walk into this house, but I have to get it over with. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. Fast and steady, deep breath, and get it done.
Pushing open the door, I don’t stop as I head for the stairs and start lugging my bag up.
“Frankie, let me take that,” Dante calls after me.
“I can do it myself, thank you.”
He follows me up the stairs, but when I get to the top, I hesitate. His room, or mine?
Suddenly, his arms wrap around me possessively from behind, one hand resting on my belly. My heart flutters as his lips brush the sensitive skin behind my ear.
He takes my bag and nudges me toward his room—our room—and I don’t bother putting up a fight, thanks to him kissing my neck until I’m breathless. Desire floods my veins, my resistance and irritation beginning to wane. I’ve used sex to get Dante to open up before. Maybe that’s the key. For the sake of the little lima bean, I need to make this work.
And if it doesn’t…at least I’ll be getting some.
