Page 17 of And Back

He watches me closely, his green eyes searching mine. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

We sit side by side on the blanket, enjoying the peace of the setting. I sip my wine and try to relax, though it feels almost impossible.

“This is nice,” I say, breaking the silence. “I haven’t had a picnic in... well, forever.”

“So, sweet Zoe,” Dante leans back on his hands, his eyes never leaving my face, “Tell me about things you enjoy, like… your favorite foods.”

I laugh softly. “Well, I’m pretty simple. I love good homemade pasta. There’s something about making it from scratch that feels so... therapeutic.”

My mind drifts back to one vivid evening. My father had come home drunk, as usual, slamming the door behind him.

“Zoe! Where's my dinner?” he bellows, stumbling into the kitchen.

“It’s almost ready, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I quickly turn back to the dough to knead it.

“Almost ready? What have you been doing all day?” he growls, moving closer. The smell of alcohol is overwhelming.

“I... I just need a little more time,” I stammer, my hands trembling.

“You're useless!” he shouts, grabbing my wrist and twisting it. “You better have it ready soon, or you’ll regret it.”

I nod quickly, tears welling up in my eyes as I return to my work. The only solace I find is in the repetitive motions.

“Zoe?” Dante’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” I agree, snapping back to the present, and pop a grape into my mouth, savoring the sweetness before speaking again. “It’s nothing.”

Dante’s concern deepens. “You seemed a bit lost there. Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head lightly. “No, it’s just… old memories. I’m fine, really. So what about you? Do you have any favorite foods?”

“Pizza,” he says with a grin that lights up his face. “It's simple but perfect when done right.”

“Pizza’s a classic,” I agree warmly.

The ease with which we shift from past to present feels almost jarring. My mind drifts to how different things could have been under other circumstances. What if Virgilio and I had escaped together that day at the airport? What if our lives hadn’t been entangled with so much danger and deception?

I shake my head, trying to stay focused on my mission. Every choice I make now must be calculated, precise. But it's hard not to compare Dante and Virgilio—two brothers, each scarred by their pasts in different ways.

Dante’s eyes are softer, lighter than Virgilio’s ever were. Yet, there's a shared intensity between them—a fire that burns bright and dangerous. Dante moves with a certain grace, a fluidity that contrasts with Virgilio's more grounded, deliberate actions.

“Virgilio always made sure I felt safe,” I say absentmindedly, lost in a memory. “Even when things were at their worst.”

Dante’s smile tightens slightly, though he tries to hide it. “He’s always been protective,” he replies evenly.

“Yes,” I agree, feeling a pang of longing in my chest. “He has this way of making you feel like everything will be okay.”

Dante shifts his position on the blanket, his movements becoming less relaxed. There's a flicker of frustration in his eyes each time Virgilio’s name crosses my lips. “Virgilio and I... we’re different in many ways,” he says carefully.

“I can see that,” I reply softly. “But you’re also alike in some ways.”

“How so?” Dante asks, his tone carrying a hint of challenge.

“You both care deeply,” I say simply. “You just show it differently.”

Dante’s expression hardens for a moment before he masks it with another tight smile. He reaches for an olive and offers it to me, his fingers brushing against mine as he does so. The touch feels calculated—nothing like how it would feel with Virgilio.

“Let’s not dwell on the past,” Dante suggests smoothly, leaning closer. “We have this beautiful day ahead of us.”

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