"Yes, how else will I be able to plan my escape?" I say.
“Very cute,” he says.
"Are you mocking my escaping skills?" I say. "Because if there's one thing I'm good at, it's running from my problems. And you've been a big fucking problem from day one."
"And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's hunting. You can run to the other side of the world, but it won't make a difference. Iwillfind you," he says.
I don't know what it says about me that I find his threat hot.
He taps the bicycle seat. His hand is so large that it covers the entire seat. I get those visions again—his hands closing over my breasts and digging into my hips as he feasted on me. I squeeze my thighs together.
"Did I leave a lasting impression, little bird?" he asks, seeing right through me once again.
I swat his hand away and sit on the bike.
"What now?" I ask.
"Now we ride," he says.
“Promise you won't let go?" I ask.
"Never," he says. "But you will have to venture outside your comfort zone.”
My heart is pounding against my rib cage now. Not because I'm scared, but because I genuinely never thought the dreams of my childhood would ever come true. I thought growing up meant that I had to bury everything I once used to dream about.
But I feel safe with Dante.
As he starts pushing me around his driveway, I know that he's a man who keeps his promises. I know he won’t let me fall.
A laugh escapes my lips.
"I think you got it," he says. "Can I let go?"
When I nod, he lets go of the bike.
I topple sideways for a moment but manage to steady myself. And then I'm doing it.
I'm riding my pink bicycle with the wicker basket. It's a simple thing, but it means so much to me.
There's wind in my hair and sunshine on my skin. I can't stop smiling.
I park beside the rose bushes and run back toward him. I wrap my arms around him and press my head against his torso.
"Thank you," I say. "This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."
He's surprised, but he hugs me back. “Does this mean you’re done being sassy with me?"
I pull away. "For now."
The light, bubbly feeling in my chest is back.
Against my better judgment, I'm starting to grow fond of this man.
"Let's get you some breakfast," he says, taking my hand and leading me toward the kitchen.
I watch him as he pulls out ingredients from the kitchen cabinets. He grabs a bowl and starts mixing the ingredients.
"French toast?" I ask.
