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And his scent...
Dante evensmeltrich now.
But there was also the familiar scent of him beneath.
Be careful, she warned herself. For while once she might have been able to handle the knife-edge of Dante with ease, that dark edge had clearly sharpened.
‘Not here.’ She made known her protest as he halted outside one of Milan’s smartest restaurants. ‘Dante, I’m hardly dressed for fine dining...’
Her words died as he took her elbow and the mere touch of his hand shot a million volts through her.
‘The food is good here, and...’ He paused. ‘You look fine.’
He spoke to the greeter and asked for their most private table. Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen with a rather scruffy end-of-shift chambermaid in public. He walked so confidently as Alicia followed behind him—looking at his broad shoulders—into a room so dark it didn’t feel like just after six on a summer’s night...
They were led to a booth, and now that her eyes had acclimatised she could make out more easily the exquisite dark walnut and the engraved partitions.
‘It’s like a confessional,’ Dante said.
‘We might be here for a while, then,’ Alicia retorted smartly.
‘Really?’ he asked, rather tongue in cheek. ‘What have you been up to, Alicia?’
He turned and confidently ordered wine to be brought before the menus, then resumed his teasing.
‘Do you make a habit of sneaking into guests’ rooms?’
She knew he saw her discomfort, and he would know that it was rare from Alicia, because she was usually fiery and confident.
‘Look, before we get into whatever you want to speak to me about, I do want to apologise,’ he told her.
Alicia swallowed, wondering if he even knew of the chaos he had left behind—though it would seem the span of Dante’s conscience ran to a far tighter timeline...
‘As much as I don’t approve of your methods this morning, I should not have commented on your underwear and accused you of dressing to seduce me. You are correct. What you wear beneath your uniform is none of my business.’
She gave a small nod, feeling awkward about what she’d told him. She was relieved to accept a menu from the waiter as he reappeared, and as the wine was poured she tried to gather herself.
There were little lights clipped to the menus, and she pretended to read before saying, ‘I’m really not hungry.’
‘Then you can watch me eat.’ Dante shrugged. ‘Grow up, Alicia, and order. The vealscallopiniis very—’
‘I’m not a big meat-eater,’ Alicia interrupted.
‘Since when?’ He frowned.
‘For ever.’ Alicia shrugged. ‘Although there was not much choice when I was growing up, there is now.’ But, given she could not read the vegetarian options, Alicia did what she always did when dining out. ‘I’ll havespaghetti al sugo.’
It was the safest option, as she had long since found out. Just a plain tomato sauce and pasta. Even if it wasn’t on the menu the kitchen staff could make it easily, perhaps with basil or cheese, and of course it was always delicious—except she would love to try more.
Dante also ordered a pasta dish, though it sounded so much nicer than hers and she pressed her lips together.
He would read her envy, her jealousy. He always had and he always would—the same way he would have noticed the missing cream from the coffee tray this morning and known it was no accident.
‘You can change your mind...’ he said.
‘No, I’m happy with my order.’
They sat in silence, and then Alicia offered not so much an apology of her own, but an acknowledgement. ‘Thank you for not reporting me.’
