Dante:
It was the heaviness in my skull that greeted me before the morning light did, that dull, unrelenting throb that was the price of drowning too many thoughts in too much alcohol the night before, and yet the ache in my head was nothing compared to the faint burn still lingering on my cheek, the ghost of her palm imprinted there like some cruel reminder of how far we'd fallen; I forced my eyes open, my jaw tightening as the memory replayed, the way her eyes had been bright with tears and yet unflinching in that moment, the way the sound of her hand meeting my skin still echoed somewhere deep in my chest, louder than any insult could have been, and I found myself pushing away the sheets as if the bed had turned against me, dragging my feet to the bathroom, needing the cold sting of the shower to make me feel something other than the emptiness that was settling inside; the water ran over my face, down my coat of silence, until I shut it off and pulled on my clothes, each movement automatic, rehearsed, because I couldn't afford to think too much or I'd remember the look in her eyes when she said nothing more.
When I stepped out, I heard the faint sound of voices, low and calm in a way that felt like they didn't belong to my world anymore, and I followed it into the kitchen where she stood beside Jake, the morning light touching her hair like it belonged to her alone, and I hated how even then my eyes searched for her before I saw anyone else; Jake said something that made her lips curve in the smallest smile — "You smile like jasmine" — and she nodded, her voice so soft when she replied, "Mom does too," that for a second, just a second, I forgot to breathe. I walked in, my presence cutting through their quiet like a blade. "I'm leaving for work," I said, because it was easier to sound cold than to admit my heart was still shaking from last night, and Jake's head snapped up with surprise, his words spilling out, "You what—today is the day you guys were going shopping?" He looked between us, the kind of look that sees more than you want it to, and then she stepped forward, her eyes finding mine as if she'd been waiting for this moment.
"Dante, I'm sorry about last night, I didn't want to," she said, her voice not pleading but trembling just enough to twist the knife in my chest, and I didn't answer, because if I did, the walls I'd built would fall; Jake's curiosity broke the silence — "What happened last night?" — and my reply came quick, cold, clipped: "Nothing." I looked at her again, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them, "Mia—Danna, I don't think I can keep you happy." I saw the way her eyes widened, the way my name fell from her lips in shock — "Dante…" — but I raised my hand to stop her, because I couldn't stand the way hope looked on her face.
And then she was against me, sudden and desperate, her arms wrapping around me like I was the last thing keeping her from falling apart, her voice breaking into my chest in a whisper that shook me more than any slap could — "I can't… can't let you go, not again" — and for a moment, I swear, every piece of me wanted to melt into her, to stay there and pretend the past had never happened, but I locked it away, because admitting it would destroy me. "Fine," I said, the word tasting like surrender I didn't want to admit, "let's go shopping."
Just as she was about to leave with Jake, the faint sound of knuckles rapping against the door interrupted the moment, and when I opened it, my brows instinctively rose at the sight before me—Alessia, standing there with that same polished beauty and unshaken boldness I remembered all too well, yet without so much as a greeting or a flicker of hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me as though time, betrayal, and truth had never existed between us, pressing herself against me while her voice trembled with a practiced softness, "Dante… where were you, I missed you," and in that single instant, my chest tightened with the bitter knowledge that she had the audacity to return after what she'd done.
From somewhere behind me, Jake's voice broke through the weight of the moment, a warning in the way he said my name, but Alessia only tightened her grip, her arms locking around me with a desperate stubbornness that ignored all sense, her sobs shaking against me as if trying to force cracks into walls I had long since built, and when I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze caught on Danna—standing there so still, watching us with eyes wide and unguarded, a kind of quiet innocence that, without words, made me want to tear Alessia off me entirely.
I exhaled sharply, a low groan of impatience, and with deliberate force, I pried Alessia's arms from around my neck, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long before slipping away, her teary eyes lifting to mine in a final plea, "Dante, don't do this…" but I stepped back, creating the distance that should have never been crossed, my voice a cold, unyielding cut through the air as I said, "I'm getting married soon," and the way her head shook, as if refusing to accept reality, only hardened my resolve.
"How can you forget about us, Dante?" she demanded, her voice breaking with a mix of disbelief and pain that to her must have sounded genuine, but to me was nothing but the echo of a past I had buried.
"There was nothing between us," I replied, my tone merciless, and without another glance at her, I reached for Danna's hand, my intention clear in the grip of my fingers as I said, "Let's go," but she didn't move—her hesitation tightening something in my chest until my patience frayed, my eyes flicking to Jake.
"Watch Alessia, Jake. Me and Danna are going."
And before she could refuse me, I bent and scooped her into my arms in one swift motion, bridal style, feeling her small gasp against my collar as she clutched at me in surprise, her warmth pressing close as I strode past the threshold, down the steps, and to the car waiting outside.
I slid her into the passenger seat with care, closing the door firmly before moving around to the driver's side, and when the engine roared to life, the silence between us felt heavier than the low hum of the road beneath the tires, a silence that begged to be broken yet lingered like a shadow neither of us could shake.
"She means nothing to me," I said finally, my voice low but edged with a truth I wanted her to hear.
"But… she loves you," she murmured, so softly it almost blended into the rhythm of the engine, and God, she was so untainted by the way the world worked, so heartbreakingly unaware of the poison that hid behind pretty words and familiar touches.
"She fakes it," I said, my eyes fixed on the dark ribbon of road stretching ahead of us.
"She didn't seem to," she whispered back, and there was something in her voice—something I couldn't ignore—that drew a faint smirk to my lips before I even realized it.
"Are you jealous?" I asked, half teasing, half testing.
"I'm human after all," she replied, the simplicity of it knocking the breath from my chest in a way I didn't expect, making my heart falter for the briefest of moments.
"You wh—" I began, but she cut me off with an almost deliberate brightness.
"Where is the wedding going to be?"
I studied her profile for a second longer than I should have before answering, "In my villa… secretly," and she only nodded, her gaze drifting to the window, offering no questions, no arguments, as though she had already decided her silence was safer than the truth.