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“Dante has never had a woman here. But you are here, and in his room!” She smiles and shakes her head. “No, Bella, no, you not leave.” Her eyes glisten with happiness, and I give her a soft smile in return, not knowing what to say.
“What about Leo’s mother?” I ask tentatively, and I still as Maria looks at me sharply. There are no photos of her, no momentos around the house, nothing in Leo’s bedroom. It’s like she never existed.
“She is not a nice woman, Bella, not a good mother. Dante hasn’t let a woman in this house since his ex-wife left. You are the first. But let’s not talk about her. Come, we must make tiramisu. Dante loves tiramisu!” She changes to topic so fluidly, there is no more room for questions before we start with the final cooking lesson of the day.
Moving around the kitchen with her, I can’t help thinking Dante was referring to his ex-wife as being the liar, and that she’s the whole reason he hates liars in his life. My stomach feels like I have swallowed lead, the fear of him uncovering my secret now beginning to crawl up my spine, knowing that I should probably tell him, yet knowing I really don’t want things to change. As the days have passed, I have wanted to share that part of myself with him because he doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore. Even if whatever we are feels like more in my imagination. But I can’t get myself to do it. I hate the thought of him pitying me. I want him to treat me like a woman, see me as a woman, not an invalid.
With the finished tiramisu in the refrigerator, I join Leo who is perched back up at the breakfast bar as Maria slides over an afternoon snack. A large platter containing salami, prosciutto, olives, sun-dried tomatoes, bread and oil, and cheeses is front and center. Little Leo looks like he hasn’t eaten for days as I watch him devour olive after olive like they will disappear at any moment. I scrunch my nose, not having acquired the taste for them myself.
Glancing back at the platter, I look over the food, which is all very Mediterranean and nothing like I have eaten before. In fact, the amount of food in this house is astounding. I have never eaten this well in my entire life. Back in Oklahoma, our dollars didn't stretch far. I was lucky that the manager of the diner let me take whatever was left over from the day. Sometimes I would save up my tips so I could rummage up some biscuits and gravy. But my meals at home were nothing like this.
“You know I have no idea what half of these things are, but let’s see if I can stomach them,” I say to Leo, who looks at me with his eyebrows raised.
“No, I haven’t eaten any of this before. I remember I tried olives once and I vomited, so here goes…” I say as I pinch my nose and quickly shove an olive into my mouth.
I hear a snort and realize that Leo is laughing at me, and that snort is the first sound from his mouth I have heard since I arrived. Although I am startled, I remain calm and decide to play along and see if I can get a full-blown laugh from him.
“Okay, I think I survived, but what is that?!” I ask in disgust as I point to a sundried tomato. It is the one thing on the platter that I have eaten before and didn’t actually mind, but he doesn’t know that.
“Eat! Eat!” Maria waves the kitchen cloth at me as she coos in her thick Italian accent, pushing the plate toward me. I swear I am going to put on weight while staying here. Already my jeans are feeling more snug than normal.
I grab a tomato and put it in my mouth, scrunching my nose up like it is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted. “OMG, who eats this stuff?” I exaggerate, and I hear a giggle. It is small, but it is there, and so I join him and have a good laugh at myself.
Maria stands in shock at the sound coming from Leo, just as my eyes flick to a shadow behind me.
Dante stands stiff as a board with a look of utter shock and awe on his face, his eyes flicking from me to Leo. It is the first time we have seen each other outside of the bedroom, and I am glad I took the time to brush my hair today.
“Leo? Did you just laugh… out loud?” he asks, the surprise obvious in his tone. He doesn’t even sound like himself.
Little Leo nods and gives a small shrug like it is no big deal, before he carries on eating, not wanting to expand on the conversation. I meet Dante’s eyes as we acknowledge the moment. It is a milestone, and we both know it.
“Little Red, my office. Now,” he grits out before he struts away, and I wonder if I have done something wrong. Dante and I have never spoken about Leo’s Mutism. But I have been spending a lot of time with Leo, trying to cultivate a safe space for him to feel comfortable enough to talk if he wants to. Now, as I slip off the stool and follow Dante to his office, I am trying to tamper down my excitement in case Dante thinks I stepped too far over the line into his family matters. I quickly run to catch up with him as he makes his way down the hall to his office, of which I have never been in.
When I follow him in, I am immediately greeted by what can only be described as an overwhelming amount of masculine energy that washes over me as I take in his space. His large desk is made of dark wood, the kind you know is expensive, and not the cheap look-alike material that everyone back home has. His large windows are beautifully draped in deep red velvet curtains, with large leather armchairs nearby, along with a side bar full of whiskey and what looks like a large cupboard, storing who knows what. Perhaps guns, perhaps secret documents. I have no idea how he lives and what he has in his possession. To be honest, I am not sure I want to know.
Dante stands by the window in his office, looking at the view below, and I stand there, waiting. He continues to remain silent, but unable to just stand here any longer, I walk toward him. I can only imagine that hearing his son laugh for the first time in many years must be overwhelming. Even for someone like Dante.
Approaching until I’m standing next to him, I look out at the view below of the large courtyard with its majestic gardens. Without really thinking, I reach out and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze. My nerves immediately leave my body as his hand tightens around mine, and we stand connected.
He looks down at me then, and as our eyes meet, my belly flips. The emotion swirling in his eyes is something I haven’t yet seen, but his eyebrows pull together as he battles to keep it together. He turns his body and faces me, coming closer, mere inches away, before he brings his other hand up and caresses my cheek so softly, I wonder if I am imagining his touch.
“Tell me, Little Red. Have you ever been kissed?” he asks, and I blush at his question. My heart races, and I swallow hard, unsure of where he is going with this.
“Yes,” I say quietly, not sure how much information to tell him.
“Did you like it?” His hands cup my jaw, and my heart begins to beat as I prepare for what he is going to do. Is he going to kiss me? I want him to kiss me, so badly. I want to feel his lips on mine. I want him to teach me how good it can be.
“It wasn’t what I thought it would be like,” I say honestly with a small shoulder shrug, my eyes still locked onto his.
“Then he wasn’t doing it properly.” His thumb brushes across my lips, pulling my bottom lip down, my breathing quickening at the feel of him touching me like this.
“Dante…” My body is acting like it has a mind of its own as I step a little closer to him.
He drops his head to mine, his lips grazing my ears. “If you say my name like that again, Little Red, I don’t think I will be able to stop myself from showing you how a real man treats a woman.” Pulling back slightly, nerves dance around in my stomach, and I can hardly breathe as I realize that he is going to give me exactly what I’ve been longing for.
Dante leans in and takes my lips in his, softly at first, his lips massaging mine, before his tongue begins to explore. This is nothing like I experienced before and everything I’ve ever dreamed of. His hands cup my jaw as he lifts my head to meet his, and I grip onto his wrists, not wanting to let go. He kisses me harder as I hold on to him, like he can’t get enough, almost urgently as if I am about to disappear and he needs his fill of me before I vanish.
He tastes like coffee, but subtly so, and his lips are so plush as he kisses me like I never imagined anyone would ever kiss me.
