“I want to fly with you.”
Dante paused, looking at me and I could see that he was trying to hide a smile as he nodded his head, watching me as I gathered my stuff up into the bag.
I should fly with my friends.
They wouldn’t give me a hard time about flying with Dante, they knew I needed to get to know him more but it still felt like I was doing something wrong.
How was I supposed to balance being a wife and a friend?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I was spiraling.
I could feel myself spiraling out as I threw things in the tote bag I had brought, very aware that I had a wheelie suitcase filled with 150k in cash that Dante could absolutely not know about.
Or the fact that my friends were talking about my birthday/ bachelorette trip and Dante didn’t even know when my birthday was.
“Come here, principessa.”
I looked over my shoulder at Dante, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, his arms out as he beckoned me to him.
Without thinking I was moving towards him, fingers reaching out to stroke the shadow of a beard that was growing on his jaw. I liked the way it felt under my fingers, how he looked rugged and handsome.
Dante pulled me close to him, his lips touching my fingers as I sat down on his knee, eyes on his.
“Tell me something about you that I don’t know.”
I was desperate for anything about him that I could hold onto. Something that made me feel connected to Dante in a way that was for us, something that made it feel like this was normal.
“My favorite dessert is a limoncello and ricotta pie. I’m not big on sweets but I like to go out at least once a month just for something. Let me guess, you want to eat sweets before dinner?” The crinkle around his eyes as he smiled at me shouldn’t be as charming as it was but I liked his laugh lines.
I smirked because he was right.
“I’m getting better as I get older but if I could have some form of ice cream every day or cheesecake, yeah, I probably would.” Dante slid my legs over his so I was fastened in his lap, all his attention on me.
“And you drink your iced coffee like it’s candy. My sweet Ilaria.”
His lips were on mine, kissing me softly as I leaned against him. Humming as his fingers slid into my hair, tugging me close to his lips as my hands slid over his soft polo.
I liked how he played with my hair, how he liked my natural curls and couldn’t stop touching them. It was such a small thing that made me feel seen.
“Why do fireworks make you cry?”
My back stiffened at Dante’s words and I pulled back, blinking as I looked at him, wondering why he was bringing this up again.
Swallowing as I pulled back, going to stand but Dante was sliding his hand around my waist, his eyes watching me as he looked at me with that obnoxiously happy look on his face.
He didn’t know about this heartbreak and I wasn’t sure I could talk about it.
“No, Dante. Please…no.”
This was an off limits topic, something that was too deep, too personal. I could already feel the way my fingers were shaking as he looked at me.
Dante wanted to get to know me and I groaned as I let a hand come to my face, feeling the way the memory flooded me.
My mother smelled like apples. My dad always joked that she was Miss New England, a secret Kennedy because of her love of Cape Cod and tortoise shell sunglasses.
She always was dressed in the perfect outfit, hair styled at the local salon she would visit twice a week, nails painted red, pearl earrings in that had been a gift from my Nonno for her wedding to my father. She was a vision of class and poise.
Until she got sick.
My mother was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer my Freshman year of college. And it all happened so quickly.
She begged me to have a normal life, to tell her stories about college when I was home on the weekends; she refused to let me see her as she got sick. Wanted to act that while I was supposed to live it was okay if she was dying.
The girls were there with me, coming home with me and meeting my mother when she was at the weakest part of her life.
There were good days, where Becca did her makeup and Madeline and Tessa cooked. Sammie would bring records over and we’d have dinner together with this blended family of mine.
It was like my mother was showering the girls with memories so that when she left they could try to fill the hole that she left me with.
But by Junior year I was well aware that my mother wasn’t going to see me graduate. It was just one of many milestones in my life that she was going to not be there for.
“I want to see the fireworks.”
My mother was in the hospital at this point and it was the unspoken truth that this time she wouldn’t be coming home to us.
My father was at home, gathering a few things my mother asked about so it was just the two of us in the hospital. The girls having given us some space to just be together.
