"I'm like barely pregnant, Delilah. I don't need maternity clothes yet."
"It's never too early to plan ahead," she says, standing and tossing her purse over her shoulder. "Plus, I want to buy tiny shoes. Do you know how adorable tiny shoes are?"
I'm shaking my head at her enthusiasm when we step out of the coffee shop and into the afternoon sunshine. The city bustles around us, people hurrying past with their own urgent business. For a moment, I feel almost normal again. Like maybe I can handle this. Like maybe everything will be?—
"Red."
The voice stops me cold. Low, accented, unmistakable. The voice that whispered my name in the dark, that called mezaikain moments of passion.
I freeze on the sidewalk, my hand automatically going to Delilah's arm. There, standing outside the cigar shop next door, is the man who's been haunting my dreams for a month.
He looks exactly the same. Black hair perfectly styled, sharp features that belong in a Renaissance painting. He’s wearing another expensive suit. And those eyes—God, those blue eyes that see straight through me.
He's not alone. There are several men around him. One I instantly clock as security.
The man travels with security.
It feels like another clue about my baby daddy.
"What's wrong?" Delilah asks, following my stare. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I have," I whisper.
"Hannah?" Her voice sharpens. "Who is that?"
I should walk away. Should grab Delilah and head in the opposite direction. I should pretend I never saw him and go on with my life.
Instead, I find myself walking toward him.
"Hannah, you're freaking me out. Who is that guy?"
“Him,” I say through clenched teeth.
His security guy is slightly in front of him, like I’m a threat.
Maybe I am. I do want to kick his ass. My face has always been very expressive.
I catch the guard looking me up and down in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“Dante, we need to go.” A stocky, middle-aged guy mutters, barely sparing me a glance.
"Dante," I repeat, tasting the name. It fits him somehow—dark and dangerous and classical. "So that's your real name."
He shrugs.
"I like redheads," the guard says. “Feisty. Wild. What do you say, sweetheart? Want to have some real fun with a real man?"
The words hit me like a slap. I'm about to tell him exactly where he can shove his offer when Dante moves.
It happens so fast I barely register it. One second the guard is leering at me, the next he's on the ground, blood streaming from his nose, Dante standing over him with violence radiating from every line of his body.
"Touch her, look at her, breathe in her direction again, and I'll kill you," Dante says, his voice deadly calm.
"Holy shit," Delilah gasps, grabbing my arm. "Hannah, we need to go. Right now."
She's right. Whatever this is, whoever Dante really is, I don't want any part of it. The man on the ground is groaning, trying to sit up, and people are starting to stare.
"You're right," I say, backing away from Dante even as every instinct I have screams at me to get closer. "We're leaving."
