Page 36 of Made for Saints

“So you followed me?”

“Maybe.” His lips curved into a faint smirk, but his eyes were serious. “Or maybe I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t need you checking on me, Dante.”

“Maybe not,” he said, stepping closer. “But I’m here anyway.”

The tension between us was suffocating. I hated how easily he got under my skin, how effortlessly he seemed to dismantle the walls I’d spent years building.

“Why do you do that?” I demanded, my voice trembling with frustration.

“Do what?”

“Act like you care.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something darker, more serious. “Who says I don’t?”

The words hung between us, heavy and unyielding. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was lying, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was no mockery there, no trace of the smug arrogance that usually defined him. Just quiet intensityand something I couldn’t quite name.

“I don’t need your pity,” I said finally, my voice quieter now.

“It’s not pity,” he said, his tone firm. “It’s understanding.”

I looked away, my chest tightening. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Then don’t,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you don’t have to keep running, Emilia. Not from me.”

“What do you want, Dante?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over me in that way that made me feel both exposed and electrified. “Can’t a man enjoy a quiet moment without being interrogated?”

I arched a brow, gesturing to the wide expanse of the patio. “Plenty of quiet moments to be had. Somewhere else.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, and he took a step closer, his presence filling the space like a storm rolling in. “But this one has you in it.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and charged. I hated the way my breath caught, the way my skin prickled under his gaze. I should have told him to leave, should have stood up and walked away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Instead, I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest as I met his gaze head-on. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, as he moved to the chair beside mine and sat down with a casual grace that belied the tension in the air. “Avoiding you? Or giving you space?”

“Is that what you call it?” I shot back, my tone laced with sarcasm. “Because it felt more like pretending I don’t exist.”

His smirk widened, but there was something in his eyes—something sharp and unreadable—that made my chest tighten. “You’re hard to ignore, Emilia.”

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated him for it. Hated the way he could unravel me with just a few words, a single look.

We sat in silence for a moment, but I could feel his eyes on me, tracing every line and curve, and it made my skin burn. Ifocused on the candle instead, watching the flame flicker and dance, trying to ignore the way my heart raced.

“You’re staring,” I said finally, my voice quieter now, though I didn’t look at him.

“And you’re pretending not to notice,” he replied, his tone teasing but with an edge that made my pulse quicken.

I turned to him then, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes stole the breath from my lungs. He was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly seen. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, tearing my gaze away.

“And you’re fascinating,” he countered, his voice low and steady.

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