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But instead, I just smile.
Twelve
-Lilah-
When we leave the restaurant, a chill has settled, dark rolling in with the night. Across the river, the lights of New York City are blinking in all their glory. Dante holds my hand as we walk, stopping at the railing overlooking the water, both of us looking out before he moves, caging my body between his and the cold metal.
“What now,fiorella?”
“Fiorella? What is that, like, Thumbelina or something?” I ask, giving him a weird look. It’s been bugging me since he first said it.
“No.Fiorella. It’s Italian for little flower.” He says the word with a light lilt, the word coming easy and naturally to him. “It’s what my grandfather called my mother.”
“Little flower?”I ask with what I’m sure is an air of irritation and indigence. I look over my shoulder at him, and he smiles, moving a piece of hair the wind whipped from my bun to behind my ear.
“You remind me of that. Something pretty and delicate. Something to look out for. A daisy or something.”
I’m annoyed. I’m so incredibly tired of being pretty and delicate, of being something precious that people want to protect. My entire family fell apart trying to protect me, to protect my innocence.
My father wanted to protect me from being “tainted” in an effort to stop me from being unusable to him anymore.
My mother wanted to protect me from the truth of who I was and the danger that could come with that.
My sister wanted to protect me from the drama and stress that is our family.
But no oneaskedme if I wanted to be protected.
No one asked if Ineededprotection.
And I’m learning I can stand on my own pretty damn well.
“I don’t want to be a daisy,” I say aloud, staring at the water. “I’ve been delicate my whole life. I want to be strong. Vicious. I want to be . . . I want to be poison ivy. Touch me and you’ll regret it.” I look back at him again, and he’s smiling at me, something close to pride in his eyes. His hands move, turning me until I face him, my back against the bars. “I want to be covered in it. Pull some away and more will grow in its place.”
“Good thing I’m not allergic to poison ivy then, huh?” he asks with that handsome smile.
“I guess so.” And then, because I feel good and I had a drink, and for the first time sincethat hospital room in Ocean View, I feel free, I let myself smile and be silly. Be the girl I was before Johnny Vitale, before I found the journals. “Be careful. You get too close, I might start growing on you, too.”
“Baby, I don’t think you know what I would give to be covered in you.”
I don't have time to register shock or gasp or anything else, because once he speaks, he's kissing me. His lips are on mine, his head tipping down as mine tips up, and I move to my tiptoes to offset the imbalance in our height.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because as soon as his lips touch mine, my body lights up like I touched an outlet. My hands move, wrapping around his neck, one of his hands goes to my waist, the other getting lost in my hair as he pulls my face in closer to his, and I know he feels it too.
It’s like a puzzle piece that clicks into place, letting you see the bigger picture.
Like the chaos of the world could continue around us, and at the end, we’d still be here in our own little bubble.
His head moves, teeth nipping my lips, and I gasp, opening my mouth. Then, like the all-consuming man I’m learning he is, his tongue enters my mouth, tasting me, and hegroans.
The sound vibrates through my body, shaking my bones and melting my core.
I move my head, trying to get more, trying to get everything, my hands grasping tighter until a small moan breaks from my body and finally, finally, Dante breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead on mine as we catch our breath, but he dips once more, pressing his lips to mine quickly, like he can’t help himself. Like he’s a kid who needs one more taste and god, the look on his face isboyish.
Elated.
Consumed.
