Page 32 of Guarded from Sabotage

“Then you don’t have to wait.” He puts a lid on the pot of sauce and grabs the bag, then hands it to me. “You can open it whenever you want.”

I turn the bag in my hands, inspecting the slightly crumpled tissue paper and the lopsided bow attached to the handles.

An image fills my head—Dante’s big hands carefully tying the delicate ribbon, his forehead creased in concentration—and my heart squeezes.

While Dante watches me intently, I pull out the tissue paper and reach into the bag. He says, “It might be silly. But you were talking… And I thought maybe we could watch it together sometime.”

When I pull out the DVD, I actually stop breathing for a second.

Tears burn behind my eyes. My nose prickles.

“It’sBeaches,” I whisper. “You remembered.”

“Of course. You said we should watch it, so…” He nods at the bag. “There’s more. Look.”

With a trembling hand, I reach back inside the bag.

“Oh. Dante.” I stare at the collection of things he bought for me; tears threatening to escape.

I can’t believe he did this.

“Is it okay?” For the first time since I met him, Dante looks nervous. Vulnerable.

“Yes.”Don’t cry. Don’t cry.I set everything down on the counter and fling my arms around him, squeezing hard. “It’s perfect. I love all of it. Thank you so much.”

He strokes my hair, and his lips press to the top of my head for a second. “We don’t have to watch the movie tonight. It can be whenever you want.”

“I’d love to watch it tonight with you.” Tilting my head back, I meet his gaze. “There’s nothing I’d like to do more.”

Emotion washes over his face.

“Honey. There’s nothing I’d like more, too.”

CHAPTER TEN

DANTE

I wish Sarah hadn’t insisted on coming to this meeting.

She’s already been through enough over the last twenty-four hours—social media accounts hacked, put on leave from her job, her apartment swatted and trashed, then arrested and interrogated. The last thing she needs is to hear news that, judging from the somber expression on Matt’s face, isn't likely to be good.

When I stopped by first thing this morning to check on her, I couldn’t miss the purplish smudges under her eyes and the fine lines of strain etched into her features. Even though she insisted she was fine, that she got some rest last night, I don’t believe her. And I feel guilty for leaving her alone in the client apartment instead of insisting she stay over at mine.

I almost did last night, after we had dinner and watchedBeachesand Sarah was half-asleep on the couch beside me. She kept dozing off, her blinks getting slower and slower, and it wasright thereon the tip of my tongue to ask if she wanted to stay.

But then my increasingly irritating rational side told me no, that I had already pushed the boundaries far enough for one night, and that the professional, responsible thing to do was toescort her to the client apartment and come back to my place alone.

Sometimes I really hate being responsible.

And I really hated it as I lay in bed last night, wondering if Sarah was asleep, if she was having nightmares, if she was crying…

I’m not sure I got much more sleep than her, really.

At least she ate. I was worried she’d be too stressed to eat, so as soon as I finished my workout, I brought coffee and breakfast sandwiches over—yes, I knew she could make them herself, but if I was already cooking, it just made sense to make extra. So we ended up eating breakfast together and chatting about easy, non-stressful things like my addiction to the History Channel and Sarah’s love of museums and how we both would like to adopt a dog one day.

By the time we finished eating, things almost felt normal. Sarah was smiling, she had color in her cheeks again, and she actually sounded optimistic for the day ahead. “I’m going to call Hanna, and then my parents,” she told me. “Fill them in on everything. It’ll be a relief to tell them I’m safe and I have people helping me, so they won’t worry as much. And then maybe I can check out the gym and the sauna.”

But then I had to go and ruin it by telling her about this meeting.

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