A groan escapes Andrei, and I grow excited as the man’s eyes slowly open.
Now the fun really begins.
33
ROMI
“Can I help you?” I ask over my shoulder, still staring at the canvas. My usual prompts to help me creatively haven’t been working. I’ve been walking every morning, and hell, I even went back to yoga this morning for the first time in forever.
When I finally turn to face Dante, he's leaning against the doorjamb, holding a mug of chai latte. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he left two days ago, after I patched him up. His work is becoming more sporadic, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
He came into the apartment a little while ago and went straight to the shower, meaning he probably had a bloody mess to clean up. It’s unnerving the way I’ve come to accept that part of him.
His dark-brown hair is wet, the ends curling slightly, and he's only wearing low-hanging gray sweats. My core immediately swarms with heat as I take in the image of his perfectly chiseled abs scattered with tattoos. His bandage looks as if it’s been recently changed. I look away, trying my hardest to pull away from the distraction my mind is in desperate need of.
I’ve been curious ever since I found out about the Morettis' dark secret and the reality that my best friend, Lily, has involved herself in that world. Lily, of all people. I’ve known her for such a long time, and this is the last situation I’d ever expect her to be in. I haven’t yet had the courage to call her and ask about it. If anything, I want to resolve the issues I have in my own life before inquiring about hers.
He steps toward me, holding the mug out. “There are many things you can help me with, sweetheart. All of which involve your mouth.”
A dull pulsing begins between my legs, and I point toward the little nook Borris is sitting on. “You’re to keep your distance. I need to actually get some work done today.”
He chuckles as he raises his hands in the air defensively before grabbing a small canvas and a fine-tip paint pen.
I scrutinize him. “Are you going to do some stick figure sketches?”
Borris barely makes room for him, but the moment Dante sits down, he places his head on his lap. It’s endearing. It's also disorienting when Dante shows moments of tenderness like this, in contrast to his usual arrogant, murderous self.
“I am. Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?” he says as I turn back to my canvas.
“Nope,” I reply, hiding my smile. And when he laughs, my stomach flutters.
I know Dante won’t admit it, but I can tell something tense is happening with his job. I don’t know what it might be, but he looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. And although he’s a little paler than usual, he's still beautiful.
“Wouldn’t want to come on too strong now, would you,Cattivella?”
I’m not entirely sure about Dante, for obvious reasons, but right now, he’s surprisingly been the healthiest thing for me, in a sick and twisted way.
“Then let me show you how you play this game,” he sarcastically suggests. “How has your day been? How is the progress on your collection coming along?”
I’ve made some progress, but only on one front. If anything, what I’m considering with the publishing will definitely create more work for me, but I’ve already decided on it. I’ve given myself these past few days to focus on the collection first before I start on the book side of things. I haven’t yet pitched the idea to my agent because I know unless I have an ironclad game plan, she’ll freak out.
I look at my canvas. “It still hasn’t clicked. But it’s coming together.”
“And publishing the books?” he asks. I look over my shoulder, but he doesn’t even notice my glare since he's intently focused on his sketch.
“I’ve started looking into it. It should be no problem at all,” I lie. I half-heartedly looked into it before with Lorraine, but this time it’s different. I haven’t done any research yet, but I certainly will. Dante isn’t the only one who’s been having sleepless nights.
“When you need help, Romi Lutton, you only have to use your words and ask for it.”
I turn back to my painting. I’m stubborn, yes. But accepting Dante’s help seems like the final offering for him to enter my world. It’s like finally deciding I can depend on him. And that terrifies me. Part of me wants to reach out and accept it, and another part pulls me back, reminding me of the implications.
I continue with the canvas, each stroke soothing me, even if it doesn’t yet entirely feel on point. It’s something. I’m doingsomething.
We fall into a comfortable silence, both focusing on our art, but after a while, I grow curious about his. I’m so conscious of when Dante’s in a room that all my attention is sucked toward him. I don’t remember when it became like this, but now I can’t step back from it.
I look over my shoulder and can’t help but admire him as moonlight shines through the bay window, a few curls falling across his forehead. My feet are moving of their own accord, bringing me to his side before I even realize what I’m doing. His arm naturally comes around my waist, pulling me into his side, as he continues drawing.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim, my jaw dropping at the masterpiece in front of me. And how did he manage to do this so fucking quickly? It’s a sketch of me, sitting in front of my canvas, cross-legged, painting. The strokes are hastily done yet perfectly detailed. “How are you so good at that?”
