Page 72 of Dex

But she’s not.

She can never be.

She’s not that type of woman.

Daniela wants something real and lasting, and I’m just a temporary band aid, a tool to help her father.This woman is real and warm.Beautiful inside and out.We haven’t even had sex, but already she has a hold on me.

Her eyes land on mine as soon as I get out.There’s a brightness about them, not just the color of her irises, but they sparkle.Then the light dims, just slightly and she looks wary, as if she’s not sure which version of me she’s about to get.

Her mother, wearing a printed yellow dress, clutches a dish towel in one hand like she dropped everything just to come say hello.Her father smiles, his face wrinkling in a matrix of lines.He’s wearing an open-collar shirt and slacks.Soft eyes, and a wide, genuine smile.

“Dexter,” he beams, ignoring the old man completely for the moment.“Welcome.It is so good to finally meet you.”

“It’s great to meet you, sir.”We shake hands, and then he draws me in for a hug.It’s unexpected.Yet warm.Grounding.I’ve never hugged my father, and this stranger, my father-in-law to be, does it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Dexter.”Daniela’s mother looks as if she’s trying so hard to hold back, but she can’t.She hugs me tightly.Short and slightly portly, I have to lean down to hug her back.She doesn’t let go quickly.She seems like she’s trying to absorb me in that warm, loving hug, murmuring something about how I’m family already and how handsome I am, and how Daniela told her I was charming.Still hugging me, it’s like she’s trying to extract out my essence, trying to get a feel for who I am, this stranger who’ll be marrying her daughter.

When she finally pulls back, she puts her hands to her chest, still holding the dish towel, and beams at me.“I amsohappy to meet you, Dexter.”

“The honor is mine, truly, ma’am.”

I’ve felt the heat of Daniela’s gaze on me throughout this entire exchange, and I turn to her, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“Dexter,” she says softly, stepping toward me with a practiced smile.“I’m so glad you made it.”I notice the shift in her tone, how bright and breezy she sounds, just enough for her parents’ benefit.If she’s putting on a show.I can play along.

Reaching for her hand, I lean in and ghost a kiss against her cheek, lingering a few seconds longer than necessary.“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I murmur, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

We exchange a look.It’s guarded, yet curious.As if we’re both trying to read the other.And damn it if she doesn’t make my chest feel tight again, just by her presence.This.This is what scares me.And this moment, even if we’re playing along, makes me wonder how long I can keep up this pretense.

Because I’m not pretending to be excited at seeing her.Quite the opposite.I’m tamping down my excitement.

The old man watches with what I imagine must be mild distaste; families hugging, people who are genuinely happy to have met.These are things he’s not used to.He plays civil, shaking hands with Daniela’s parents and exchanging just enough pleasantries to keep up appearances.The rest of my brothers trail behind, shaking hands, making jokes, letting the charm drip smooth as honey.

They’re used to winning people over.We all are.

We step inside the house and I look around.It’s the kind of house you instinctively lower your voice in, like it’s a special place, like a library or a place of worship, sacrosanct and deserving reverence.A cushion from the real world.A place where people go to rest and recharge.

We pass by a ceramic vase on the table in the hall.The floors are old wood and plants are dotted everywhere.I glance at the family photos along the hallway, and get a feeling of how lived in this place is.

Like,actuallylived in.

Enjoyed and used well.

A home where memories and history are made, and imprinted on the walls.I see the green that Daniela talked about, a vibrant olive green that’s everywhere.Catching a glimpse of one of the rooms with it’s double doors wide open, I see big, soft, comfortable-looking sofas, with trim and cushions neatly arranged.

These things are clearly her mother’s touches, but Daniela grew up with this warmth and coziness.Surrounded by love and laughter.Affection and understanding.The things we Knights didn’t have, but desperately wanted.

I try to get my bearings, try to figure out why this house smells like cinnamon and something floral.Why my chest aches a little walking through.

It hits me, as soon as we’re shown into what looks like the dining room.Slow-cooked garlic and onions, fresh herbs, something rich and savory simmering on the stove.

Daniela’s father asks if we’d like to freshen up and tells us where the bathrooms are.Pre-dinner drinks are offered.

I take the opportunity and rush to splash cold water on my face, then take a few deep breaths to ground myself.For some reason, I feel anxious, but I quickly push this thought aside and join everyone again.

Daniela’s parents are warm, and friendly and urge us to make ourselves at home.We follow them into a large room that is light and airy, with soft terracotta walls and high ceilings.We take our place around a huge, long, rustic wooden table set with hand-painted dishes and fresh tropical flowers, radiating warmth, tradition, and quiet wealth.

A housekeeper hovers in the background, looking at Daniela’s mother, waiting for her next instruction.

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