That he's violent and cold and incapable of being a real father.
But sitting here watching him interact with Sofia, I know I could be wrong.
I just still feel so hesitant about the idea.
He catches me staring and meets my gaze. "Is something wrong?"
"No," I say quickly. "Nothing's wrong." But something is very wrong. I just can't put it into words yet.
He studies my face for a moment, then returns his attention to Sofia.
She's asking him about Christmas now.
What he wants for presents.
What his favorite carol is.
Whether he believes in Santa Claus.
"I believe in what you believe in," he tells her.
"So you do believe?"
"If you say Santa is real, then he's real."
Sofia nods like this is the most logical answer in the world.
Then she launches into a detailed explanation of what she wants Santa to bring her this year—a dollhouse, art supplies, books, a toy kitchen like the one her friend has.
Dante listens to all of it without interrupting.
When she finishes, he says, "That's a good list."
"Do you think Santa will bring it all?"
"I think Santa does his best."
She seems satisfied with this answer, which is more than I can say about the answers I give.
I think she's given up on my being able to provide for her, but in Dante's expensive house, Sofia seems to have found her zeal and imagination again.
Like she believes his money grows on trees and she can have anything she wants.
I'm sure he’ll provide it.
We finish dinner and Marta appears in the doorway, smiling at Sofia.
"Ready for your bath,Piccola?"
Sofia looks at me. "Can I go with Marta?"
I hesitate to let her go.
I don't want to be alone with him and bath time is part of the routine I handle for her.
We stick to our schedule to help her feel at home and at peace.
I've never missed it once.
