His strong hands gripped my waist, the same way he did from years ago. He tilted his head and put more pressure, not forceful, but in a way that breathed passion and yearning.
A small moan exploded from my throat.
He pulled away, his hands still on my waist.
“That was nice,” I whispered in the silence of the room, listening to the way he breathed, how his chest heaved slightly, his eyes lingering on my lips, which were still tingling.
“Yeah, it was,” he cleared his throat and stepped back. I almost winced at the loss of warmth.
“I should get going,” he said, although he looked at me with a slight challenge in his eyes, as if he hoped I would give him a reason not to leave.
I could barely manage to hold his gaze. There was a hum of desire, but under it something so gentle it hurt.
“Thank you for tonight,” I said, and it sounded too formal, like a line from a greeting card or a condolence call, but it was all I had.
Dante shook his head, his smile shy now. “You don’t need to thank me. Not for this.” His voice lowered, almost as if he didn’t want to scare me. “You’ve been through hell, Amelia. If you need anything—hell, if you just want to talk, I’m here. I always was, you know?”
He took another half-step, and for a second I thought he might touch my face, brush the hair behind my ear like he used to. But he just let himself hover.
“I know. I always appreciated that. I still do.”
Dante smiled at me, and I almost wept at the sight of pure adoration written on his face as he gazed at me, as if the seven years of separation between us meant nothing, and no time had passed at all.
“Goodnight, Amelia. Sleep well.” He looked at me again, with longing written on his face, then he left.
That night I slept and dreamt of what could’ve been.
35
CAIDEN
When I awoketo the sound of somebody calling my name, their hands shaking me as I laid on the ground, I couldn’t recall anything that had happened that night.
For a moment, after I opened my eyes, I stared at the black sky and wondered if I had crashed my car and died.
Then, slowly, like a montage of moments, flashes slipped through my head. I recalled being at the bar and drinking. Seeing Dante. Walking so far until my feet hurt.
I remembered the feel of flames, but I couldn’t remember where the fire was coming from in my head.
“You son of a bitch. You actually did it. You burned the house down.”
I furrowed my brows in confusion and looked to my right. A figure crouched beside me. My eyesight was blurry, and I still had a lot of alcohol in my system, even after passing out for however long I’ve been out.
“What the fuck happened?” I grumbled more to myself than the figure. I sat up and rubbed my head. It fucking hurt. I realized I had passed out on the ground.
What the fuck did I do?
Nothing good ever happened when I drank that much.
A walking destruction, just like my alcoholic father.
“How much do you remember? This would be really awkward if you don’t recall catching up at the bar.” The voice spoke again, and I slowly came to my senses as to who it was.
“Dante? What the fuck are you doing here?”
He sighed and gave me his hand to help me up. I took the help.
“Amelia was worried when she noticed you hadn’t returned. We met up and talked tonight. I had texted her, and she said she needed to be picked up. I guess you forgot that you needed to do that in your drunkenness.”
