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Chapter Eight
- Noemi -
ITURNED MY HEAD INTOthe warmth against my cheek. I instinctively sought its source. Iwantedit. My brain was a little fuzzy after my uncharacteristic overindulgence in Pinot Grigio, but my body knew what it wanted, and it wanted that warmth. When the heat started to pull away, I chased after it, first by turning my head into it, then by reaching out to grab it when it didn’t cooperate.
“Stay,” I murmured.
A snort interrupted my plea. “And you weren’t too drunk to defend yourself.”
I opened my leaden eyes to see Dante leaning over me. His hand returned to my cheek and this time, I pulled away.
“It’s because I was asleep, not because I’m drunk.”
“I almost believe you, but if that’s how you respond when you’re asleep, your bartender friend would have made it to second base before your eyes opened.”
“Yeah, except I wasn’t going to get into a car with him. I thought we covered this.”
I turned my head and looked out the window. We were parked on the street between our two houses. The mid-December snow had started to fall. We weren’t expecting much but adding shoveling snow to my growing to-do list made me cranky, or I was just looking for something to take my aggression out on besides Dante.
Dante.
This was not the way I wanted to reunite with him. Drunker than I wanted to be. Than I’d ever been. And bitchy. I wasn’t usually such a bitchy person either. I should have been grateful that he intervened tonight. I don’t know what I expected when I encountered him upon returning home, but I certainly hadn’t expected this.
I turned to thank him for bringing me home and found his eyes studying me. I had avoided him all night. For my sanity’s sake. I hadn’t had time to think about what to say to him. I suppose, “hello, how have you been?” would have sufficed but Dante was never one for small talk. And we had never really talked that much over the years. There were a few occasions that went beyond a casual “hello,” but not many. The night I found out about my parent’s deaths and morning I flew to England – those were about it as far as meaningful conversations went. Each one lasted about five minutes. The last conversation we had nearly ripped my heart out.
So, why was I so angry with him now that I’d returned?
“No expectations,” I muttered then clamped my mouth shut. The words weren’t meant to be said aloud. I hoped he hadn’t heard them.
But he had.
“Wise words,” he said in his usual stoic monotone. He zeroed in on what I’d said with his uncanny perception.
“Is that why you’re so angry with me? Have I not lived up to your expectations this evening?” He sat back in his seat like my answer would bore him.
“I didn’t have any expectations this evening. Actually, that’s not true. I expected to have a nice time reacquainting myself with your family. What I didn’t expect was for you to be there.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why not? They’re my family.”
“Because Lilly said you weren’t going to be there. That you wouldn’t be home in time. Otherwise, I never would have –”
“Was our last encounter so horrendous that you wouldn’t have attended my mother’s party out of spite? Noemi, that was five years ago.”
His words made my head hurt. He twisted everything around or he hit the nail on the head. I was the one hiding from the truth.
“Yes,” I exclaimed. “You weren’t very nice to me, Dante.”
“I’m not nice to most people.”
I glared at him. He made it sound so casual, so... irrelevant.
“We’ve known each other for years and you were mean to me. You discarded me like yesterday’s newspaper.”
“I told you,” he answered, turning his head away, “no expectations.”
“Well, I had none for tonight. At least, not where you were concerned. And now, I’m sitting in this car, freezing. Does the heater not work in this thing?”
I was cold again, now that his warmth was no longer near me. I reached out to fiddle with the vent. Maybe they were closed. Or was the cold air emanating from his frozen heart?
