“Dante,” I say, stopping his oncoming tirade. “I don’t want to fight right now, okay? That won’t be good for either one of us.”
He nods, and I think he’s going to drop the subject, but then I notice he starts to speed up and weave through cars.
“Dante,” I say again, this time a bit cautiously.
“I just want to know, Essence,” he starts darkly, slowly pressing his foot onto the accelerator, “what it is that you see in him. Hmm?”
My chest heaves with the effort to breathe normally. The other cars are nothing but a blur now as he speeds down the busy street.
“We’re not on the highway, Dante, maybe you should slow down?—”
“I mean, what has he ever even done for you?” he goes on, not hearing me. “He doesn’t let you drive his car, he yells at you all the time, and he clearly doesn’t make you happy. Is that what you want? To live the rest of your life miserable with him?”
I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “I’m not planning on spending the rest of my life with him?—”
“So, what’s stopping you from leaving him?” he asks sharply. “What’s stopping you from being withme?”
The light at the end of the long stretch of road turns red, and the cars in the distance start to slow down. My heart races in my chest, and tears begin to burn the backs of my eyes as we continue to go faster. “Dante, you’re scaring me.”
He doesn’t respond, and the car in front of us looms closer.
“Dante—”
The car is just a few feet in front of us now.
“DANTE!” I scream, bracing myself.
He slams on the breaks, shooting us both forward in our seats. I grunt as I fall back and hit my head against the headrest.
“Shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. He looks over at me, his dark eyes soft and pleading. “Fuck, Essence, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
I wait for my breathing to calm down before I’m able to speak again.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap, wrapping my arms around myself to try and stop the shaking. He reaches out to touch me, but I lean away from his grasp.
“Essence, I—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Just take me home.”
Ten minutes later, Dante pulls up to my house. He parks on the street, grabs my stuff from the backseat, and gets out of the truck to open my door, but I’m already hopping down onto the sidewalk by the time he gets there. Even though I’ve calmed down for the most part, I’m still a little shaky and uneasy.
Dante tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, and even though I’m mad at him for what he did, the warmth of his touch feels so good.
“I’m sorry,fiore,” he murmurs, his dark eyes boring into me intensely.
My legs instantly turn to jelly when he speaks in Italian, and I swear I would melt right into the concrete if it wasn’t so chilly out.
“What does that mean?”
He blinks. “What?”
“Fiore,” I say, feeling foolish when I butcher the pronunciation. “What does it mean?”
Dante doesn’t say anything for a moment; I’m confused by the change in his demeanor, but I don’t question it. He’s been going through so much lately.
He clears his throat and drops his hand. “Oh, um?—”
His cheeks redden. Is he embarrassed?
