By the time the next morning rolled around, I woke up feeling different. Not excited to seize the day, or anything like that…but present.
I pushed back the covers and sat up. How long had I been in this bed? My hair felt greasy against my skin, and my mouth tasted stale.
Dante wasn’t in the room, but the curtains were thrown back apart, and outside? It looked like a sunny, bright morning. I stepped out of bed and made my way to the window. Each step still felt difficult, like the grief still weighed on my body, but it became something I could carry instead of letting it crush me.
How come I had never noticed before how beautiful the flower beds were? I pushed open the windows, let the fresh air in.
Somehow, I made it to the bathroom. For the first time in ages, I noticed the grease and wanted it off. I started the shower, stripped off my dirty clothes, and stepped under the hot water.
The minute I did that, I felt every tight, wound-up muscle in me relax, starting from my jaw. I just stood there, letting the water stream down my hair, face and body. I washed my hair twice, scrubbed every inch of skin until it felt like it belonged to me again. By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, I felt human again.
Clean clothes. Brushed teeth. Combed hair. These were simple acts to the rest of the world, but for me, they felt like monumental achievements.
And honestly, I thought to myself as I went back into the bedroom and pulled out some clothes, I didn’t think I could have let that violent wave of grief pass without Dante being there by my side.
He'd handled the funeral arrangements and dealt with my father's affairs. He'd made sure I was safe and protected from whatever was happening out there while still checking in on me and sitting by my side through what were the longest nights of my life.
It must have been the hard on him, I knew that. The Pavlovs were probably causing trouble out there, and even then, Dante never put that on me. He kept news of any and all trouble away from my ears.
And my father... he didn't want to lose his power, reputation, or money. So he'd been willing to lose me instead.
But Dante, who had every reason to hate my father, had tried to save him that night by rushing him to his private clinic. He had the doctors waiting and ready even before we had arrived. Not for my father's sake, but for mine.
Dante put me first. Always put me first.
He showed me a kind of selfless sacrifice I’d stopped believing in. The kind I thought was never written in the stars for me. My heart began to race in my heart, and I put down my hairbrush and sank into the chair.
I was in love with him, I thought to myself in shock.
I told myself it would never happen again, but this time around? I saw things I hadn’t noticed before. His loyalty to his family and the people he loved, his way of showing up when one needed him most, his quiet strength and support.
He was the kind of man that once someone had a taste of, they’d never forget.
And I? I could no longer imagine my life without him.
I think I’d always known I held him in my heart, even after he broke it four years ago. But I'd been too afraid to face it, too caught up in my heart to examine what was happening in my heart.
But did heloveme too?
Or was his affection and loyalty born out of obligation and guilt for our past and what he did to me, or from the responsibility he felt after taking me in and realizing I had nowhere else to go?
My hands shook as my certainty about how I felt clashed with doubts of his.
Just then, the door opened and Dante walked in, with a tray laden with food.
“Oh good,” he smiled brighter than the sun, his face lit with joy. “You’re up…and you showered?”
I noticed the surprise in his voice, the utter delight. But my mind was reeling now, with questions I needed answers to but didn’t know how to ask. How pathetic was it to think I could ask if he loved me too.
I’d had my heart shattered before and wasn’t yet ready to have him do it again. I feared he didn’t, in the deepest of my bones.
He set the tray down on the coffee table and walked over to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I said. “Clearer.”
The smile that broke across his face was so genuine, so relieved, that it made my chest ache. “That’s good. That’s really good, Alisa. I was worried.”
“You’ve been amazing,” I said softly. “Through all of this. But you don’t have to do it anymore.”
