Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
We ate in the kitchen nook, and although Camille’s feet swung happily, I couldn’t miss how often her eyes drifted toward the door. She was waiting for someone to arrive.
She was waiting for him.
I acted like I wasn’t doing the same, but honestly, the silence is almost unbearable without Dante’s presence filling the space.
He’s been gone all day. Meetings, Marco said. As much as this hurts to admit, I’ve missed him in a way that’s unfair but completely out of my control. He didn’t lie when he said he and Camille are a package deal. You can’t have one without the other.
Having one all day meant missing the other like a missing limb.
Even in the bathroom, while I assist Camille with brushing her teeth, his absence is notable. Gently, I guide Camille’s hand to her molar teeth. As we circle her brush over the tiny white pegs at the back of her mouth, the hairs on my nape prickle and excitement flutters in my stomach.
He’s home.
I don’t hear the door or footsteps.
I feel him.
The part of me that’s been half asleep all day awakens.
Camille’s excitement mirrors mine. Her cheeks’ hue deepens when she hears her father’s voice calling her name, before her eyes widen. With her toothbrush dangling out of her mouth, she angles her head to check she isn’t hearing things.
I can tell the exact moment she realizes she’s not imagining his voice. Imaginary hearts burst from her eyes as she spits out foamy toothpaste, then bolts out of the bathroom without rinsing out any leftover nasties.
“Be careful!” I call out when her bare feet slap the floorboards at a speed too reckless to be safe.
Her speed remains unchecked, and I smile.
I’ve only ever dreamed of a love where I’d sprint to leap into the arms of the man who keeps me safe and protected. It’s never been a reality for me—though I’m unsure if Dante would agree with me.
When Camille launches herself into Dante’s arms, she hits him with a force that nearly knocks him on his ass. He catches her midair, and while his mannish laugh does crazy things to my insides, he thanks her for her eagerness by peppering ghostlike kisses on her cheeks and hair.
Camille giggles and squirms. They’re not the silent giggles Dante and I are accustomed to. They are little chirps of happiness that flood my heart with joy as fast as they unhinge my jaw.
Laughter isn’t words, but it’s pretty damn close.
When Dante glances my way, confident he’s dreaming, I clutch my chest. He’s so awestruck that I swear tiny, salty blobs are welling in the corners of his eyes.
The sight of him on the verge of tears bombards me with a strange, conflicting force. It’s like being punched and hugged at the same time.
I feel out of place yet also at home.
Once every squeak is diminished to soundless laughter, Dante lifts Camille into his arms. With one of her daddy’s arms under her legs and the other around her back, she clings to him as she’s waited to do all day.
So have I, though I’ll never admit that out loud.
Dante carries her to bed, and I hover in the doorway as he tucks her in. I can’t see Camille—Dante’s shoulders block my view—but I picture her pleading expression when he reads her needs without a word spoken.
“A story?” He scratches at his beard, fluffing up a scent that shouldn’t be familiar but is. “It’s already late…” I bite my lower lip to hide my grin when he caves only a second later. “But I think we can squeeze in one bedtime story.” He holds his index finger in the air to emphasize his reply.
Camille beams, and the knot in my stomach loosens. This is when I’d usually slip away, taught not to intrude on moments like this. But today, my feet refuse to budge. Don’t ask me why. I doubt I could give you an honest answer.
I should have left.
It would have hurt less.
Without looking up, Dante says, “Thanks for watching her. I left a schedule on the kitchen counter. If anything clashes, let me know.”
No invitation to stay.
No “This story is as much for you as it is for Camille.”
Nothing but practicality.
His rejection shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Badly.
I don’t know why I’m shocked. You can’t repeatedly push someone away and expect them to still reach out to you. I just figured he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Even though he isn’t looking at me anymore, I swallow the hard lump in my throat and nod. Camille is already absorbed in the book she picked from a hundred, her fingers tracing the illustrations to memorize them for future drawing endeavors, so I slip out relatively unnoticed.
The apartment immediately feels colder without the false illusion that I belong.
In the kitchen, I find the schedule Dante mentioned. It was printed recently and assembled by someone highly organized. I’ve never seen a color-coded schedule before.