Page 28 of And Back

This isn’t me. I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin, pretending to be a person I’m not. Every step I take in these heels feels forced, every swish of the luxurious dress against my legs reminds me of the disguise I’m trapped in.

Dante pulls out a chair for me, his movements smooth and practiced. “Please, sit,” he says, his voice low and polite. I comply, feeling out of place in this opulent setting.

A waiter approaches almost immediately, menus in hand. Dante takes one and hands the other to me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. We scan the options in silence before Dante orders for both of us—some fancy Italian dish with a name I can’t pronounce.

I hate it here. The plates that arrive are beautifully presented but laughably small. I poke at my food with my fork, trying to make each tiny bite last longer. Despite my efforts, hunger gnaws at my stomach.

“How’s your meal?” Dante asks suddenly, his green eyes locking onto mine.

“It’s good,” I lie, forcing a smile. It’s not that the food isn’t delicious—it is—but it’s not nearly enough to satisfy me.

Ever since Virgilio took me away from that hell I barely survived in, I had to learn how to eat again. At first my stomach was not used to receiving food regularly and sometimes I contorted in the pain of the cramps it caused. Then, slowly, I began to eat more and more, until I could digest a proper meal and feel satisfied.

These small portions remind me of the portions of food I was forced to live on, how food and hunger pangs were used to control me and punish me.

“If you want anything, just ask,” he adds as if reading my mind.

The thought of asking for more makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“No, really,” I insist softly. “I’m fine.”

He studies me for a moment before nodding slowly. We lapse back into small talk—safe topics that won’t reveal how utterly out of place I feel. He mentions an art exhibit opening soon and suggests we attend together.

“Sure,” I say mechanically. With Dante, everything feels like an act—a performance where we both play our parts perfectly but without any real connection.

The meal drags on painfully slowly, despite its brevity on actual sustenance. Dante orders dessert—another minuscule masterpiece—and offers me a bite from his plate. I take it reluctantly, feeling like a child being fed by an overbearing parent rather than an equal partner sharing a moment.

As much as Dante tries to be good to me, he simply isn’t good for me—not in the way Virgilio is... was? The thought alone makes my chest tighten.

We finally leave the restaurant; Dante's hand rests lightly on the small of my back as we exit into the cool night air. All I can think about is getting back to my room where I can strip off this facade and breathe freely again, even if just for a moment.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Dante asks, his tone casual.

I hesitate, then nod. "Sure, a walk sounds nice."

We walk in silence for a while, the cool night air is different to the suffocating atmosphere of the restaurant. Nonetheless, each step feels like I'm dragging my feet through quicksand, every fiber of my being wanting to pull away from Dante's presence.

"So, Zoe, what did you think of the dinner?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"The food was great" I reply, keeping my voice neutral.

"You seemed a bit distant," he notes, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Is everything okay?"

I force a smile. "Just tired, I guess. It's been a long day."

"Yeah, I get that." He nods, his expression softening just a bit.

We walk back to the car in silence. When we reach it, Dante opens the door for me, his movements as smooth and practiced as ever. He leans in close, his breath warm against my cheek. My heart races, not with excitement but with anxiety and dread. I know what's coming, and I can feel the pressure of his intentions looming heavily on me.

As he leans in, I instinctively turn away, my face tilting towards the dark sky instead of his lips. For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of traffic. The space between us feels like an ocean, and the rejection pollutes the air between us.

I hesitate, searching for the right words to avoid hurting his ego. "Dante, you are an amazing person. Anyone would be lucky to have you."

He frowns slightly and chuckles. Although it doesn't have a pleasant sound. "That was a very nice way to let me down."

"I promise you, this is not about you. I’m just…. You deserve someone who can give you all of themselves without reservations."

"I see."

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