Page 71 of When Sinners Fall
My good mood poofs into thin air as we keep travelling, because as well as being riddled with this insecurity, I know I have to be careful with any questions I ask.
We pull up outside the office, and I see his Mustang already waiting outside, so I head straight for him. A small part of me wishes we could go home. It’s been a long day, and my head's all mixed up, but the idea of dinner is something that feels so hard-won, I don’t want to waste the opportunity.
Plus, I’m starving.
“Hey.” The words 'good day' are on the tip of my tongue, but I stop them from slipping free.
“Hey.” He puts his foot on the gas and pulls away into traffic.
“Where are we going for dinner?” I ask.
“A nice place, don’t worry.”
“Will you be introducing me to any more of your siblings tonight?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Tonight’s just you and me.”
"That sounds nice." And, given the last few days, I should be over the moon, but there’s a seed of doubt in my mind, burrowing down and making me question my thoughts. Maybe I should have stayed ignorant. That might have been better than having more questions unanswered.
We arrive at the restaurant, and Dante throws the keys to the valet. We head in and take a seat at a small, intimate table. I think back to New Orleans and the jazz club. The atmosphere was sexy and enticing, and he surprised me on the dance floor before he showed me how ridiculously protective he is.
“How was your day?” I ask, not wanting details but also not wanting to be frightened of asking simple questions.
His frown tells me he’s not impressed. “Do you want to know?”
“No specifics. Just general, okay?” My voice is timid in response, and I hate that. I shouldn’t have to worry about having a simple conversation with my boyfriend.
“It was a good day. And I didn’t have to get my hands dirty.”
“Not worn out after watching all those strippers fuck a pole?” I roll my eyes and fidget in my seat.
His eyes flash, and I regret the comment. Kind of. I don’t even want to talk about that. At all. But it’s like the obscene elephant in the room.
The waiter brings menus and, to my surprise, wine. Neither of us has ordered or ever drunk wine while together.
When he’s left, Dante levels his glare on me. “You should watch your fucking mouth, Wren. This is why I didn’t want to say anything, but you keep on pushing.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was a nice wedding.” I change the subject quickly. “The flowers were stunning. Thank you again for helping.”
We both order pasta and try to settle into the moody atmosphere. It’s like neither of us are comfortable. I know I’m not, anyway. Although, I doubt I’d want to go back to how it was before, either. Maybe I should just do what he asked and take the best part of him and be happy with that.
Navigating the rest of the meal without talking about brothels or strippers isn’t easy, on my part, but we manage it. Instead, I ask about Abel and Mariana and if I’ll see them again. And Knox, who I vaguely remember from school. And then, we discuss the arrangement about informing him of my movements during the day. I suppose it’s a working compromise, but it does mean that the next time I visit my parents, it will likely be with Dante. I’ll have to get my head around how and what to tell them about him. Just looking at him is enough to know he’s dangerous. Mom is not going to like that in the slightest.
It’s a shame. Tonight should have been the kind of night I’ve fought for, but the conversation is stilted and unfamiliar. I know it’s in part my fault, and by the time we get home, it's no less tense.
“I’m going to grab a shower,” Dante calls while I’m in the kitchen making coffee.
I grumble to myself. This should have been perfect after our sexy morning together. Being wined and dined is what I asked for more of. A normal relationship, but it didn’t quite feel like that. And all I can put it down to is there are secrets between us. I check my messages to distract myself from negative thoughts and see a photo on the Louisa Sage group chat from the evening reception party. It looks like the final part of the day was as successful as the main wedding ceremony.
While he’s in the shower, I sip my coffee and kick off my heels. I think about changing, but what’s the point? We’ll be going to bed soon, anyway. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find it easier to look past things that I can’t control.
My coffee doesn’t last long, and I leave the cup in the sink and bring his now lukewarm coffee into the bedroom.
“Your coffee’s getting cold,” I call. I’m not even sure he wants one, but I guess it’s those things we’ll learn about each other over time.
He’s shirtless as he comes out of the bathroom, just his jeans riding low on his hips. I lick my lips as he comes a little closer, but then I glance down and see he’s missing the bandage he’s had on his arm. What’s left on his skin turns my stomach to lead because his job, what he and his family do, and the image of him interviewing girls for the club – for a brothel – all conspire in my mind and shove me into fear and doubt. Emotion chokes me, and I feel trapped.
What am I meant to do now?
