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“Everything alright, Bella?” he asks, swirling his whiskey in the crystal glass. My eyes flick to the clock; it is 3am.
“Yes, everything’s fine. I was just cold,” I say, gripping the towel around my chest, acting as casually as possible. I know he knows something isn’t right, but I can’t bring myself to tell him. We are just starting to enjoy each other, and until I’m forced to leave, this is how I want it to stay. I feel like a normal woman with him, not the poor girl from the trailer park, not the girl with a sick momma. If I tell him I have a lump in my breast, then he will undoubtably treat me differently. For the first time in my life, I have someone who treats me like a woman, and I don’t want that to change.
He stands then, walking slowly across the room toward me. I should tell him; I know I should. He likes honesty, and I can tell from our nighttime talks he appreciates me opening up to him and telling him about my life. But no matter if I want to or not, my lips remain shut.
“You’re cold?” he asks as he stands in front of me, and as if on cue, my skin is covered in goosebumps, but not because I am cold. This man has me feeling all kinds of things that I haven’t felt before. I have experienced more with Dante since being here than I have in all my 21 years. Not having a boyfriend was not really something I planned or thought about, it is just the way my life has been. I haven’t been living in a bubble. I wasn’t saving myself or waiting for Mr. Right. I just had other priorities, and myself and boys wasn’t one of them. I have never been a priority to myself or anyone else. My life has revolved around working to pay the bills, and then spending all my time looking after my mom. I don’t even know who I am outside of that.
“I was,” I say softly, and his hands reach out to cup my cheeks, lifting my face to look him in the eye. My breath hitches, and I see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He nods as his eyes roam over my face. I can tell he is waiting for more information, like he knows I am hiding something.
“I will be back in five minutes. Get into bed,” he says abruptly, clearly unimpressed that I am not offering him any more information. Stepping back from me, he walks out the door, closing it behind him.
I put the towel back into the bathroom and pull my hair up into a top knot, the damp heat just making it a hot mess of waves. I feel better after my bath and sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to balance my body temperature, just as he comes back into the bedroom.
His arms are full of blankets. One smaller white one, which looks soft and dreamy, like velour, although it’s probably a hundred times more expensive. And the other is a large gray mohair, big enough to wrap me up twice over.
“Get into bed,” he commands.
“Will you join me?” I ask, holding my breath, hoping that he will get in beside me and hold me for a while.
“Not tonight, Bella.” I try to hide my disappointment. “Get in, and I will put the blanket on top.”
“Yes, Dante,” I oblige, too tired to talk, liking the feeling of him taking care of me in this way. I get into his bed, and he places the small white rug around my shoulders, then drapes the larger blanket over my body twice.
“Sleep.” he says, his fingers smoothing a few flyaways off my face as I get comfortable. His eyes search mine, still seemingly trying to work out what is wrong. I’m too afraid to look him in the eye as mine grow heavy.
“Dante,” I whisper. “Thank you.” I see him swallow roughly, giving me a small nod in acceptance as his eyes drink me in with wonder. Then I rest my head and close my eyes, but not before I see him take his nightly position in the armchair to watch me as I sleep.
20
Dante
I’m in my office, looking over video footage from Allure last night. I need to be concentrating on who is coming and going, but instead, all I can think about is Little Red, and her soft, flushed skin. The way she was splayed out across this very desk last night, open and fucking perfect for me. It is what my dreams are made of. I’m too old to want anyone so perfect, sweet, and innocent, yet I do. I like that she does everything I ask her to. Her obedience is a big turn on, as is her willingness to please me. In return, I would do fucking anything for her. I yearn for her when I don’t see her, and at night, I can’t move from my fucking armchair, my obsession with this woman growing by the day.
I watched her small snores for a while last night as I wondered what she was keeping from me. She has been honest with me from day one, so it wasn’t hard to see her falter. Her hesitation at explaining why she was in the bath at 3am concerns me. Something doesn't sit right with me, and I don’t like secrets. Maybe I was too rough with her here in my office, or later when I exploded in her pouty mouth. Her body may have been in a rush of adrenalin or something. Having your first orgasm followed quickly by a second one could have been too much.
She seemed to enjoy our activities, and I was careful not to push her too hard, even though all I wanted to do was slam into her over and over and over again. Maybe she was regretting our encounter? Maybe her body was aching? These questions continue to filter through my mind on repeat as my eyes look over the grainy nighttime vision. Seeing no one of interest, my eyes are glued to the screen as my mind continues to wander to a few weeks ago, the bruise on her face and hip when she fainted after a hot shower. At the time, I put it down to her not eating much, since she was stressed about the new situation she was in. Fuck, I have no fucking idea.
I can hear her now, out in the kitchen with Leo. She is blabbering on, Leo sitting up at the breakfast bar, completely enthralled by her. Although he still remains speechless, he no doubt is reacting to her in his own way. Their connection is amazing, instant, but Little Red has had that effect on us all.
It is a new feeling for me, something I never felt with anyone else, including my ex-wife. Just the thought of her has me bristling. I feel equal parts agitation, disgust, and empathy when I think of her.
Her calls have been constant and unusual. Another thing that doesn’t sit well with me. Something doesn’t feel right. She is clearly jacked up on something when she calls and makes demands, but this past week, I hear evil in her tone, along with anger and entitlement. It is different. She is different.
My cell phone vibrates and grabbing it makes my anger rise as I see Angelina’s name flashing on my screen. Again. I swear to God, this woman is really pushing me to my limits. I think about not answering, but I know that if I don’t, she will keep calling. While I could turn my phone off, in my line of work, that is not a luxury I can afford.
I hit the answer button and wait.
I don’t talk. I just sit and listen and wait. Standing, I begin to pace my office as I grip the phone and hold it to my ear, my agitation already sky-high.
“Dante!” she shouts like I am 100 yards away from her. “Dante!” I pull the phone away from my ear.
“What!” I bark at her before I can reel myself in. I walk over to close my office door, slamming it a little too hard, probably getting the attention of Little Red and Leo in the other room.
“What the fuck do you want!” I scream back at her, my patience for this woman now all but gone.
“Leo! He is my son. You can’t keep him away from me!” She is high as a kite. Her words are slurred, and I can barely make out what she is screaming down the phone. I try to remain calm, as I repeat over and over in my brain, Do it for Leo, do it for Leo.
“We have talked about this, Angelina. You are in no state,” I say, calmly, before she interrupts me. One of my biggest pet peeves.
