Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Chapter
Seven
Tatiana
* * *
I’m snuggling with Noah in his hotel bed, the storybook we read every night open between us, when Dante appears on the threshold. He’s lost the jacket and tie. The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, giving me a glimpse of the chiseled chest that fills out the fabric so perfectly the shirt must’ve been tailored to his size. He’s folded back his sleeves to reveal muscular forearms covered in ink. Beneath the shirt, his abdomen is hard and sculpted. I know. I’ve both seen and felt the well-cut muscles.
Despite myself, my heart gives a funny little jerk. I’d like to believe it’s apprehension, but there’s more to my reaction than that. There’s anticipation in the mix. Let’s face it. Dante has always been a handsome man, too easy on the eye, but now, he’s in a different league. He’s become unobtainable, like a mythical creature or a god, and he’s so perfect it hurts to look at him. But inside, he’s still the same man who betrayed me. No, I think he’s worse. There’s something cold and unforgiving about him now, an impenetrable armor of steel around his heart.
Even though I know the story I’m reading to Noah by heart, my tongue trips over the words. At my blunder, Noah looks up from the book. His eyes light up when he spots Dante where he’s bracing a shoulder against the door frame, watching us.
“Dante!” Noah bounces closer to me on the bed and pats the spot next to him. “Do you want to hear the story?”
I clear my throat. “Dante has better things to do.”
Dante holds my gaze as he pushes off the door frame and walks to the bed with long, lazy strides. “Actually, I’d like that.”
He kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the other side of Noah with his fingers interlinked behind his head. “What are we reading?”
“You only missed the first two pages.” Noah is almost giddy with excitement. “We can read them again. We don’t mind. It’s a story about an airplane. You’re going to love it, Dante.”
Noah really likes Dante. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Noah shifts closer to Dante and mimics his pose by crossing his ankles and folding his arms behind his head.
Another jolt jostles my heart. Sitting together like this, side by side, they look so much alike it’s scary. It’s not just the pose. It’s the way they carry themselves with quiet confidence. Dante has never needed to be loud to make himself heard. The quietness surrounding him is both authoritative and deadly. In Noah’s case, that quietness stems from being completely at ease with himself.
However, what hurts the most is that Noah may have needed something I’ve kept from him, something I can never be for him—a male figure in his life. Have I damaged my child by unwittingly depriving him from something he so clearly craves?
They sit like that for a moment, Noah with a serious expression as he tries to imitate Dante and Dante with a smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at his son, both of them oblivious to the fact that my heart is cracking down the middle.
When I found out I was pregnant, I envisioned a scene exactly like this. I imagined us as a family. I was so sure Dante would be a good dad. But I was certain about a lot of things that turned out to be false.
Noah turns his face to Dante. “Do you want to read?”
Dante’s smile stretches. “Why not?”
He reaches across Noah for the book. I hold fast in an automatic reaction, not wanting to let go. Until now, these moments with Noah have been mine alone. I’m scared. I’m terrified Dante will hurt Noah and break his heart just like he did with me. If I’m honest, a part of me finds it difficult to share Noah with anyone else, let alone with a man I don’t trust.
When Dante’s fingers brush against mine, I don’t have a choice but to let the book go. Dante gives me a knowing look, one that says he can see right through me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone inside. He may think he knows me, but I haven’t been that girl for years.
Dante turns to the first page. Noah settles in, making himself more comfortable.
“Once upon a time, there was a little yellow airplane that wasn’t very fast. He lived with all the other planes in a big hangar. The fighter jet and the helicopter…”
I tune out Dante’s deep voice, unable to listen because for some reason, the way he reads the familiar story, as if he’s truly enjoying it, hurts me. What hurts even more is how Noah is watching him, hanging on his every word.