CHAPTER 37
ESSENCE
While Danteand I enjoy our food, we chat comfortably about our childhoods and teenage years. He had somewhat of a strained relationship with his parents—his mom’s pregnancy was a surprise, and his parents hadn’t necessarily wanted to have children.
My heart hurts for him, because he’s such an amazing guy and deserves to be surrounded by people who love and want him.
Ebony and I, on the other hand, had a great life with our parents. We weren’t rich, but my dad always made sure that his wife and daughters had everything they needed and wanted. There was never a time in my life where I ever questioned if my parents loved me, and I’m now realizing how much of a blessing it is to have had such a loving family.
I reach across the table and place my hand over his. “I’m sorry, Dante,” I say quietly. You deserved to have an amazing childhood.”
He smiles and lifts my hand to his lips to kiss my knuckles softly. “Thank you. I think that’s why I wanted kids of my own so badly as I got older. I wanted to give them the life that I didn’thave. He sighs sadly, and his eyes soften. “I just hope that I gave Leo a good life.”
“You can’t seriously doubt that you did, Dante,” I say emphatically. “You were an amazing father to him. He was so proud of you that he talked about you every single day. He’d tell all his friends about how his dad was a firefighter and got to drive a firetruck.”
We laugh, but now the tone of the evening has shifted. Dante puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together. He rests his head against his clasped hands and closes his eyes, no doubt trying not to cry.
I scoot my chair around the table so I’m sitting next to him with our backs towards the rest of the restaurant.
“It’s just you and me back here,” I say quietly, running a hand soothingly over his broad back. “You can be vulnerable with me, Dante.”
He lets out a deep breath and looks at me, eyes red and cheeks streaked with tears. How can he look even more beautiful when he’s crying?
I raise my hand to wipe the tears away, but he grabs it and puts his face into my palm.
“I don’t deserve you, Essence,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “We deserve each other—and we deserve to be happy.”
The two of us sit in silence for a long while, listening to the sounds of soft chatter, utensils scraping against porcelain dishes, and glasses clinking.
Dante pulls away first. He wipes his face with his napkin and takes a sip of his water.
“I’ve never felt safe enough to cry in front of a woman before,” he says honestly.
I frown in disbelief. “Really?”
He nods. “A lot of women see it as a weakness.”
“I think men whodon’tcry are weak,” I say quietly yet fiercely. “They’re the ones who end up hurting the people around them.”
His thumb runs across my knuckles softly. “It sounds like you’re talking about Evan,” he points out.
I shrug. “Yeah. We were together for over two years and I never once saw him cry.”
A calmness comes across Dante’s face, and for a moment I wonder if he’s spaced out. But then he grins manically, and I try to pull my hand out of his grasp but he grips it like a vise.
“Dante—”
“Did you know that men with fragile egos cry the hardest when they’re afraid?” he asks with a deranged glint in his eye.
My heart starts to race, and all I can think of to say is, “Oh.”
But Dante doesn’t even notice.
“Evan cried like a little bitch when he saw me in my mask,” he goes on. “He was nothing but a blubbering fucking baby who begged for his life. It was pathetic. I just couldn’t believe you kept choosinghimoverme.”
He chuckles harshly.
