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He nods and sets the glass down. “Yeah. My mother was Italian. She insisted on me learning the language.”
“Oh, that’s impressive.” That makes sense. Dante is an Italian name. Levitsky is definitely Russian. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Seven-ish. One’s a Slovenian dialect.”
My mouth drops open. “Seven-ish? I’d be happy with just the -ish part. All I speak is English. I took Spanish in middle school for a year and sucked at it.”
He chuckles. “It just takes practice and oftentimes, if you’re in the right environment, you learn things better. It’s even easier when you speak to people who are native to the country.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“I was in Verona every summer for the entire break with my grandparents and other relatives who only speak Italian, so it was a given the language would become second nature to me.”
There’s so much to like about this guy. Verona is right up there with my top 10 places to visit. “I’ve always wanted to go to Verona just to see Juliet’s house,” I tell him. “I have this obsession with Shakespeare and all things Romeo and Juliet.”
“It’s a good obsession to have.”
“Thanks. I guess I also learned a little more about you,” I point out. “It gives me something to work with since you seem to know so much more about me.” I’m sure he knows enough.
Earlier, when Harper left, I typed Dante’s name into Google the way she did with Matthew. Unlike Matthew, there was nothing on him. I did see Levitsky Corp, which is a steel manufacturing company, but I don’t know if it’s anything to do with him.
“Stuff on paper is just that. You don't get to know a person by reading about them. You have to speak to them and see what's inside when you look in their eyes.”
That makes me smile. “I think so, too. It’s like when I tell people I love live art, they think I’m cooky and they don’t get it. I don’t even get as far as telling them what style of art I specialize in.”
He inclines his head and the light picks hits the brighter parts of his eyes. “Tell me about it? I want to hear.”
This is going so way better than I could have expected, and with the invitation to talk about art, my nerves subside.
“It’s dark fantasy, but I blend it with surrealism. I’m trying to create my own signature. You know, like when you see certain people’s work and you know it’s them?”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.” He looks genuinely impressed unlike Matthew.
“It’s something I’m at least trying.” Talking about my work is definitely loosening me up. “My dark depiction of Romeo and Juliet was what won me my place in the art show.”
“Sounds good. What does this dark depiction of Romeo and Juliet look like?”
“In my painting I made the setting look like the battle of Heaven and Hell. And Romeo is one of the demons who fell for an angel.”
He genuinely looks intrigued so I tell him more and more, then I realize with horror that I’ve talked his ear off for at least forty minutes straight. All the while Dante stares at me, listening to every word with keen interest.
“My gosh, I’m so sorry I talked so much.” I bring my hands up to my cheeks and shake my head at myself. “I don’t have a filter when it comes to art.”
“Doesn’t bother me. I like it.”
“Oh, good. What about you? Tell me more about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
I’m surprised he’s given me free reign to ask him questions. There’s a lot I would love to know, but many I’m sure I can’t ask. Like if his tattoos mean he’s in the mafia and if he’s dangerous.
The latter I can pretty much guess, and it’s not something you can ask a person and expect an answer.
Instead of what I really want to ask, I think of something safe and appropriate.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
