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And that’s how the rest of the week goes with us. Every morning, we meet in the kitchen for coffee and a little conversation before starting the work day. It’s crazy to think that when this all started we barely spoke to each other. Little by little, our conversations started to grow. It reminds me of how things were with Stella and Max back home. How we would talk about the most random of things, and laugh at funny stories.
Day to day, he continues to surprise me with how different he has become. And how much he seems to care about how I feel and what I have to say.
Sometimes, Dante surprises me by dropping off lunch, which is a good thing since I’m so caught up in my work that half of the time I forget to eat. Three times this week he’s taken me to fancy restaurants for dinner.
While the extravagant lifestyle was initially nice, I’m getting a bit tired of it. I’m not used to eating out all the time or having all of my meals prepared. Sure, I actually felt spoiled at first. But now, well, it’s just too much. I miss home cooking and relaxing in a pair of sweatpants in front of the television.
Suddenly inspired, I order some groceries for dinner and start cooking. It will be nice to stay in for a change and eat something not prepared at a restaurant. Since we’ve been having such rich meals, I decide to go for something simple, yet tasty. Pasta is almost always a good choice, and I do make a mean lasagna if I say so myself.
“What’s this?”
I practically jump to the ceiling at the sound of Dante’s voice. I didn’t hear him come in. He walks over and stands next to me where I’m putting a garlic butter spread on French bread.
“I thought it would be nice to have home cooking for a change.” I smile and wave the spatula at him.
“It smells good,” he nods with a small smile.
“It will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“That gives me enough time to shower and get out of this suit,” Dante says, then turns and walks out of the kitchen.
I watch him walk away for a second, then finish putting the butter on the bread and set it aside to pop in the oven when dinner is a little closer. Rummaging in the refrigerator, I gather the salad fixings and take them over to the kitchen island.
Grabbing the cutting board, I move the ingredients to the side to make room, then notice Dante left his phone on the counter and it beeps with a message. My hand is already on the phone to move it out of the way. I don’t mean to look, but I still see the message.
“Hi, handsome. I hear you need some company tonight.”
My blood turns cold and I feel a little dizzy. Apparently, our night together didn’t mean nearly as much to Dante as it did to me. Although, until now, I didn’t realize just how much it meant. True, we didn’t have sex, but we were intimate and he gave me two of the best orgasms of my life. But this is a good thing, I tell myself. I don’t need to get caught up with Dante. I know nothing will ever come of it except heartache. My heartache.
Dante comes into the kitchen just as I finish setting the table. He looks at the meal laid out and offers me a genuine smile. He even walks around and pulls my chair out for me, like he actually cares. Not that it matters, I remind myself.
“So,” I say as casually as possible after we start eating. “You have plans tonight?”
He looks at me with a frown. “No.”
I shrug. “I happened to read a text message from a lady friend that suggests you were going to meet tonight.” I feel like an idiot bringing it up, but I want to see his expression.
He narrows his eyes at me, laying down his fork as he swallows the bite of food in his mouth. “You went through my phone?”
“No,” I say quickly, feeling guilty that I even looked at it. “It was just lying on the counter… I was moving it out of the way when it lit up.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to read it.” I can’t tell if he is pissed at me or what. His voice is a little more stern, and his sweet and caring attitude from earlier is long gone.
“It’s not a big deal. We each have our own personal lives. I was just curious and making conversation.”
When he raises his eyes, his expression is guarded. “I’ve told you, I don’t do commitments. I only answer those texts if the timing suits me.”
When the timing suits him? What the hell?!
Clearing my throat, I force myself to swallow a bit of food. “I guess that’s what the other night was, then,” I mutter under my breath.
If he hears me, he doesn’t say anything.
Now if that isn’t awkward, I don’t know what is. “I… Uh … I’m making really good progress on the paintings. In fact, I’m almost done, only a few left,” I say, trying to get off the uncomfortable topic I stupidly started.
He glances at me and scowls. “You must be thrilled to be getting away from me so soon.”
My mouth practically drops open in shock. Is that what he thinks? That I want to get away from him? Anger starts to claw at my throat. He’s the one that’s always trying to get away from me.
