Two weeks flew by and judgment day crept up on me unnoticed. The house is filled with people from the early hours of the morning. An army of staff employed to cater for the party took over downstairs, preparing food or redecorating the living room. Two Chesterfield sofas, a coffee table, and Jess’s beloved Persian carpet were placed in storage. In their place, a pop-up bar appeared by the window.
A young man dressed in a white tuxedo polishes champagne flutes while the event coordinator, a strict-looking brunette in horn-rimmed glasses, yells at the staff to get moving. Food is piling up in the kitchen while an older gentleman wheels in a barrel of fine, British ale—Nikolaj’s favorite. Flowers were delivered an hour ago. Large bouquets of pink-and-white lilies. Their aroma makes me feel light-headed. Soirees at Frank’s are usually held in the back garden under a beautiful canopy of tiny, white lights, but at the end of November, the weather doesn’t favor outdoor parties. Jess locked herself in her bedroom with a make-up artist and a hairdresser five minutes after I woke up.
Frank supervises the staff to avoid slip-ups growling at people for no reason. Why he hired the coordinator is beyond me. He argues against most of what she says.
Nikolaj’s due at six p.m. with his wife, son, and pawns. It’s not even ten a.m., but I’m already tired of this day. I’m working on my dissertation, which is almost impossible with the shouting and general madness happening around here. I can’t hear my own thoughts.
Frank sits opposite me, two wrinkles across his forehead as he pretends to read the newspaper but keeps a watchful eye on everyone around.
“Where’s this going?” The man with the barrel asks one of the waitresses.
Frank exhales an exasperated puff of air, tossing the newspaper aside for the eighth time in twenty minutes. “Living room.” He points the clueless man in the right direction.
Ten seconds later, the coordinator walks in, her face red. “Beer was supposed to stay in the kitchen!”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Frank clips, visibly pleased to annoy the poor woman.
Sadistic bastard.
I take my phone, scrolling through the contacts to find Dante’s number. I need an out, or I’ll end up in the looney bin before the party starts.
“Good morning,” he grumbles.
I imagine him with his eyes closed, head on the pillow, and the phone resting on the side of his face. A small smile curves my lips. “Get me out of here.”
“Don’t tempt me. This bed is so fucking uncomfortable without you in it. Why do you want to get out of there? You’re supposed to be babysitting Julij, remember?”
“He won’t arrive until six. I want to work on my dissertation, but it’s like an Indian market here. I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.” I await his decision while he breathes down the line. “Pretty please?”
The bed creaks under his weight. “Fine. I’ll pick you up in half an hour under one condition.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Don’t say that, baby. Don’t put images in my head. It’s bad enough you torture me in my sleep. Now, I’m not taking you back to Frank’s until quarter to six. Pack your dress or whatever you’re wearing tonight. You’ll get ready here.”
“Deal.” I cut the call, peering up at Frank. “I’ll be back before Nikolaj arrives.”
“Why don’t you fucking move in with him already?”
Ah, if only he knew that Dante wants nothing more. He didn’t ask directly, but started referring to his house like ours, bought me a dressing table, and stocked the fridge with my favorite foods. He rarely takes me back to Frank’s for the night. It’s scary how much Dante cares about me. We haven’t even had sex yet, but he acts like we’ve been together for months.
I’m the opposite.
Or at least I want to believe I’m doing everything in my power to fight the feelings, but the truth is I’m failing spectacularly. Frank’s words from our trip to Aspen reverberate through my mind, reminding me that no matter how incredible Dante is, I shouldn’t love him. It’s like fighting the wind, though. He’s endured weeks of celibacy, and that gesture alone is enough to believe that he cares about me more than he’s ever cared about anyone else.
Too many curious ears listen in on my conversation with Frank, so I let his comment slide. There’s always someone around. I expected Frank to stage a meeting somewhere private, so we could talk without watching our every word, but so far, he’s not asking about the details. Either he’s really starting to trust me a bit, or he’s always got eyes on me.
I won’t be surprised if he has a spy among Dante’s people.
I retreat from the kitchen, not gracing Daddy with another look, and rush upstairs to pack. Once the bag with books is ready, I zip a navy evening dress I chose for tonight into a dust cover. It’s floor-length chiffon with a side split starting at the thigh. With a hair tie in-between my lips, I rush downstairs when Dante arrives. Without a goodbye in anyone’s direction, I leave the house to find my man out of the car, ready to help me with the bags. He locks them in the trunk and drapes his hands over my shoulders, pulling me in for a deep kiss.
“What?” he asks, seeing me chuckle as I get in the car.
“Trying to enrage Frank, are you? I’m sure you’re aware how much he enjoys watching people when they’ve no idea they’re being watched.”
“Unless they do.”
I roll my eyes, buckling up. “He knows we’re dating. Seeing you kiss me won’t do any damage. He doesn’t care.”
“Yes, he does. It wasn’t a power play, Star. I just want him to know that even though the war is raging, he has already lost one battle. You’re mine. No matter what Frank says or does, you now trust your gut instead of following his orders.”
Shame hits me hard, but I mask it with what I hope to be a believable smile. “That I am. Let’s go.” I attempt to tie my hair into a messy bun, but Dante takes the tie out of my hand, pulling it onto his wrist.
“Why aren’t you in bed? I took you home six hours ago.”
“The catering company rolled in at nine and woke me up.” I take another hair tie out of my bag. “I don’t like working with my hair getting in the way,” I say when Dante frowns.
“How about you go back to bed with me instead of writing that paper? That way, you can let your hair down, and I can get some quality sleep. It’s inconvenient not to have you snaked around me at night.”
I spent the last eight out of ten nights at his place, and I felt out of place when I climbed into my bed this morning.
“Are my ears ugly?” I ask when he tries to steal the second hair tie.
“Your ears are fine. I don’t mind your hair up, but it does make it damn near impossible not to kiss your neck when it’s on display like that.”
His compliments are like no other. Never straight to the point, never forced, always thrown in there casually as if he’s commenting on the weather.
“You can kiss it all you want.” I lean over to peck his cheek. “I’ve got a month to hand the dissertation in. You’ve been monopolizing all my time lately, and I hadn’t done much writing, so I won’t crawl back in bed with you, but you go. At least you won’t disturb me.”
“You mean I won’t distract you.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
He squeezes my hand briefly, letting go to change gears. “Will you escape the party to come over to Delta tonight?”
“I don’t think so. Nikolaj can drink the ocean. Frank managed to sober up twice in Dubai before Nikolaj got drunk. If they’re planning on drinking like that tonight, I won’t leave the house until Monday.”
Frank failed to inform me about the reason for Nikolaj’s visit. He doesn’t typically invite himself over out of the blue. Julij’s attendance is also a novelty. I haven’t seen him since Dubai despite seeing Nikolaj half a dozen times. He keeps his son out of the picture, away from his dealings, so his sudden involvement makes me wonder.
Twenty minutes later, I set my books on the dining table. Dante throws his keys on the countertop, kisses the crown of my head, and heads upstairs to catch up on sleep. My dissertation grows at a steady pace for a few hours.
“How are you doing?” Dante asks sometime around one o’clock in the afternoon, making me jump out of my skin. “Relax, Star.” He dips his head to kiss my neck.
“Good. Great, actually. I have to study here more often. It’s easier to focus.” Dante kisses me again, his warm breath making me tremble. “But only when you’re not around.”
Despite our short relationship, I know him so well that I don’t need to see him to know he’s smiling.
“Break time?” he asks, setting one of the books aside.
I glance at the clock, weighing my options. “Lunch break, please. I’m starving.”
“Takeout, or do you want to go to a restaurant?”
“Order in. I’d rather not waste time stuck in traffic.”
Dante pulls me onto his lap when I get up to make another coffee. “You’ll be writing all day and entertaining Julij all evening. When will you have time for me?”
“I’m not supposed to be here at all today.”
“But you are. I won’t see you tonight.” He grips my hips, caressing me softly. “I need to make the most of our time now.”
It’s nearly impossible to object when he watches me as if nothing else matters. “Okay, let me write until the food gets here, and then… yeah, what then?”
“We’re watching a movie.”
“You want me to ditch my dissertation to watch a movie?”
“And, so I can kiss you.”
I drape my hands over his neck. “Only if you hug me too.”
He lets me get back to work while he reads “Artistry of the mentally ill” by Hans Prinzhorn. “What are you writing that dissertation about?” he asks half an hour later, setting a pizza box on the table.
“Enjoying the book, are you? I’m writing about the links between genius and mental illnesses or rather, I’m trying to prove a theory.”
“You’re trying to prove that geniuses suffer from mental illness more often than ordinary people?
I shake my head, swallowing a bite of pizza. “I’m trying to prove that genius is a form of mental illness. I read a quote once: “We’re all crazy, but people who can analyze the craziness are philosophers.” Following the lead, I found another quote by the same author.” I point to “Genius and Insanity” by Lombroso Cesare, “In which he states genius is one of many forms of mental illness. The idea got me hooked.”
“Pretty and smart… you need to start messing up, Layla. You don’t have nearly enough flaws.”
“I snore,” I admit, taking another bite. “I’m clumsy, lazy, and cruel, but you think that’s positive, just like my sassiness, innocence, and emotional instability.”
“I considered the last one a flaw at first, but now I like that you need attention because I like it when you need me.”
“Give it time. You can’t see my flaws yet, but once the blindfold’s off, you’ll see many things that’ll drive you insane.”
That’s unavoidable. During the first phase of every relationship, our bodies are ruled by endorphins, hearts skip a few beats, and legs grow weak at the sight of our crush.
The other half is always perfect at first. It takes a few weeks to notice the small, annoying things once the excitement wears off, but feelings are more important than the fact the other half won’t take their cup back to the sink or can’t fold a sweater.
I have flaws like everyone, but Dante doesn’t see them yet, just as I don’t see his. He’s my winning lottery ticket. My dream-come-true. The best thing to ever happen to me and the worst decision I ever made…
“Back to your dissertation. You’re writing about genius being a mental illness. Have you done any research, or are you basing everything solely on literature?”
“Are you asking if I’ve had a chance to talk to a genius? Unfortunately, no. I’m roaming through hundreds of books, trying to piece together something new.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you included a new example?”
“Of course, it would, but I don’t know any geniuses.”
“I do. Quite a few.”
My lips form one line. “Define genius.”
“It means a highly intelligent person or one with remarkable skill in a particular area of activity.”
“And you know a few?”
He nods, washing down the pizza with coffee. “Have you ever heard of Isla Gale?”
Who hasn’t? Isla is Mozart in a skirt. Frank played her concertos at home when I was a little girl. He spent hours sitting by the gramophone with his eyes closed, listening to the music. Later on, when he became a bitter buffoon who lost half of the city to Dante, music ceased to exist in his life.
“You know Isla Gale?”
Dante smiles a self-indulgent smile. “You’re looking at her son, Star. Do you want to meet her?”
“Are you serious?! You’re Isla’s son?! Wow… I sure know nothing about you.” My eyes widen when his question registers with me. “You want to introduce me to your mom?”
He pushes his plate aside. “Her, and her more or less brilliant friends. She’s touring Europe now, but we can visit her on the second weekend of December. You’ll then have a week to hand in your dissertation.”
“I can do it. I wouldn’t miss the chance even if I were to pull an all-nighter.”
“Okay. We’re flying to New York on the ninth.”
I’m both excited and nervous about meeting his mother, even if it’s an educational meeting rather than Dante introducing his girlfriend.
Although this time, one doesn’t rule out the other.
We spend the next two hours in front of the TV. The movie’s only background noise as neither of us pays any attention. We tease each other more than anything, but I’m disappointed once the end credits roll. I never would’ve thought a mafia boss could be so normal. In the movies, they’re portrayed as ruthless and calculated.
Dante’s nothing like that when we’re alone. He enjoys small things.
I check the time on my phone. It’s only four, but I wouldn’t put it past Frankie to summon me ahead of time. “I’ll take a shower and start getting ready.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll get your dress from the car.”
I climb the stairs, pulling the hair tie out of my hair, then hang the towel close to the shower doors, so I won’t turn the floor into a small lake when I get out. It’s not until I stand there in nothing but my panties that I turn the shower on to let the water warm up.
The only thing I fail to do is lock the door.
Dante walks in, freezing mid-step, his eyes hungry, swimming with desire. “I thought…” he starts but doesn’t finish. He sets the bag on the floor, hangs my dress on the door, then turns around and leaves.
My cheeks burn hot, but a wave of desire hits me like a freight train. I take a tentative step to find Dante, but the door flies open again, and he bursts inside, determination showing in his eyes. He grips my waist, pushing me under the stream of warm water, his lips on mine before I can blink, the kiss urgent, almost brutal.
I still hold onto my breasts while water soaks my hair and Dante’s clothes. He pins me to the wall, never breaking the kiss, his hands all over my body.
“Take it off.” I tug on his soaked t-shirt.
He lifts me up, his hands under my butt for support, my legs around his waist. He pins me to the wall, yanking the t-shirt off over his head. The touch of his skin on mine sends a brand-new wave of desire deep inside me. The sight of his firm, tattooed arms, and broad chest drives me wild, but the second a soft moan escapes my lips, he stops.
“I need to leave, baby.”
My hold on him tightens. “No, you don’t.”
He bites my ear, breathing quickly. “Layla—”
I grab his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss to shush him. He holds me flush against the tiles, his lips moving down my neck. My stomach twists with anticipation when the pad of his thumb toys with my nipple.
I want him, but taking the lead is out of the question. Dante has to be in control, but first, he needs to realize where my mind is.
“Take me to bed,” I say in his ear.
His fingertips dig into my waist, the kiss greedy and demanding before he breaks away to look straight into my eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes, just…” I trail off, unsure how to voice my mind. “Walk me through this, okay?”
He presses another kiss on my forehead. “Step by step. I’ve got you, Star, but don’t think you can’t back out.”
“I’m yours… I’m not backing out.”
He smiles a smile I might be head over heels in love with already. He kisses me, his lips demanding, restless, his hands frantic, possessive. My mind is consumed by a mixture of anticipation and dread while my body reacts to his impatient touch. Warm water trickles down our naked bodies. I’m thirsty for more, arching my spine to cling closer to him, desperate to reduce the distance between our bodies to nothing as pleasant chills make my head spin. I weave my fingers in his hair, move lower to touch his back, then up again to cup his face. I try to touch him everywhere, all at once. A soft moan leaves my lips when he bites on my earlobe.
Dante turns the water off, carrying me out of the bathroom to throw me on the bed. I expected something different than what comes next. He doesn’t take my panties off that very moment. No, he works me up with his lips, getting me ready, all hot and bothered to the point where I’m sure he won’t need to slip inside me to make me come. He pulls a foil packet out of the nightstand drawer. The sound of it being ripped by his teeth makes me tense just a touch. Enough for him to notice.
“Relax,” he says in my ear. “I’m not going in until I have you breathless.”
I’m already breathless, already aching, but Dante wants more. His hand slips lower, his fingers pressing against me, moving in small circles. My eyes fly open, and my cheeks reach the same temperature as the fire building up inside me.
“Don’t go shy on me now. It doesn’t suit you. You’re beautiful, and you’re mine. I’ll make damn sure you enjoy this. Focus on how you feel.”
I close my eyes again, my hands on the sheets, then on his back, the pleasure multiplying. I claw at his shoulders, looking for an outlet for the pent-up tension.
He bites on my earlobe, his fingers moving faster, and I let out a quiet moan, the sensation becoming too much to handle. He smiles against my lips at the sound, then moves his mouth to my breast. That’s all it takes. I stop breathing, clutching his hair while another moan, much louder, escapes me as the orgasm hits me hard.
“Good girl, that’s it… don’t hold back.”
I’m only partially aware that he’s removed his pants and of what’s happening until I feel him spread my legs with his knee.
“Easy, baby,” he says, grazing his nose up my cheek, and I feel him press against my entrance. “Eyes on me.” as soon as I meet his gaze, he thrusts his hips forward, taking my virginity in one swift movement.
I gasp, holding my breath and claw at his back. My eyes shut tight while I wait for the pain to subside.
“Layla, look at me.” The concern in his voice is like a living entity. It takes a few very long seconds before I let all the air out of my lungs, opening my eyes. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay, just—” I bite my lip, entwining my fingers together at the nape of his neck.
“No rushing,” he assures, pulling out slowly, his lips on my forehead. “God, you feel so fucking good, baby.”
So does he. I feel every inch of him, sliding in and out in a cautious, calm rhythm as he allows me time to adjust. I lift my head off the pillow to close his lips with a kiss, my hands on his face. He holds me by the waist, the other arm bent at the elbow for support.
The rhythm of his moves turns eager quickly. Pain disappears, morphing into pleasure. Dante fuels the fire, worshiping me with every kiss and thrust. Never, not in my wildest dreams, did I think sex could be so amazing. All the feelings I tried to keep buried are amplified now that I gave him my all.
I shouldn’t… I’ll cry in the end, but I can’t help it. “I love you,” I say into his mouth and feel him shudder.
He knows. He felt it long before I understood it, but I want him to hear it. His hot lips press against my cool forehead. It’s a small gesture, but those simple things put my mind at ease. He loves me but saying it out loud isn’t something I expect to hear soon. I don’t mind. I can wait.
Dante pulls out for a second, driving back into me harder, turning my world upside down. I rediscover his lips as I scratch his back, pulling him closer, as close as possible, when the pleasure floods me again.
“Can you… can I—”
“Yes. You can come again. And you will.”
It takes a bit of effort on his part. His pace quickens bit by bit, his body on fire against mine. My moans ricochet off the walls, growing louder. Dante’s just as breathless as I am and his hold on me tightens with a low growl that comes from deep within his chest. that sound is enough to send me hurtling toward another orgasm. He moves his hips faster before he stills for a few torturous seconds while my legs shake as the orgasm sifts through me like a prolonged roar of thunder.
“All that time…” Dante rises on his elbows. “You’ve no idea how many cold showers I’ve had since we met.”
I’m too exhausted to laugh. “It was worth the wait.”
“That it was. I’m not letting you out of here for a week, and it’ll be a very demanding week.”
“We have to eat.”
“No, we don’t.” He climbs out of bed. “But we need to get you on the pill.” He disappears into the bathroom and comes back out a minute later with a warm washcloth. “You’re staying in until Monday.” He presses the warm cloth between my legs. “You’ll be sore, baby.” He lays beside me, pulling me to his side, one hand still between my legs.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “I can stay in bed for ten more minutes, but then I need to get ready.”
“Fuck, I forgot about the party.”
I roll onto my stomach to kiss his neck. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For being here, for caring for me. I’m not used to being treated as if I’m—”
“The most important thing in my life. You are. Nothing matters more than you.”
