Chapter 27 Chapter 27
I sit on Dante’s lap, and his hands rest on my hips, warm and steady. His chest rises slowly beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and I feel every breath he takes against my skin.
His eyes stay on mine. There’s something raw there, something that makes my heart ache—a hunger, a gentleness, and a storm all at once.
“Do you know how hard it is to look at you and not touch you?” he whispers, his thumb grazing along my cheekbone. “Especially when you look at me like this.”
“Like what?” I ask, breathless.
“Like I’m the only man you see.”
My towel shifts slightly, and one of his hands slides up my back, holding me tighter, drawing me closer. Our faces are so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips.
I don’t stop him when he leans in.
Our lips meet—soft, unhurried at first. A kiss that starts slow but deepens quickly, as if we’re both trying to find something we’ve lost. His mouth moves over mine with need, with a desperate tenderness that makes my toes curl.
I sigh into the kiss, my arms looping around his neck as his hands explore the curve of my back, then lower. He pulls me fully against him, and I can feel the way his body reacts to mine.
The towel slips from my body.
He pauses, his eyes running over me with reverence. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes. “You don’t even know it, do you?”
I blush, but I don’t look away. Instead, I touch his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. I start unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, and he lets me.
When his shirt is gone, he gently lays me down on the bed and follows, covering my body with his. His touch is slow, worshipful. Every kiss he plants on my skin is filled with something more than lust—it’s connection, emotion, protection.
There’s no rush.
The rain outside becomes our soundtrack, and the thunder rumbles softly like the echo of the passion building between us. The room is warm, and the bed becomes our little world.
He makes love to me like he’s afraid I’ll break, like he needs to erase every scar I carry and replace it with the way he whispers my name.
And when I come undone beneath him, he follows with a groan against my skin, burying his face into the crook of my neck.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. There’s only breath and heartbeat and skin.
Then he presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“Happy birthday to me,” he murmurs with a small, stunned smile.
I can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he whispers, kissing me again, “are unforgettable.”
The rain falls relentlessly outside the villa, a soft but steady rhythm against the rooftop and glass. Thunder hums in the distance, not violent, just low and constant like a background heartbeat. The heated patio is dimly lit by a hanging lantern, its warm amber glow dancing over the stone floor and flickering against the rain-slicked glass walls.
I sit curled up in one of the cushioned wicker chairs, Dante’s navy-blue suit coat wrapped tightly around me. It smells like him—woodsy cologne and warmth—and the sleeves fall past my fingers. I pull it closer and nestle into the chair, bare legs tucked beneath me.
Dante sits across from me, one arm lazily draped over the back of his seat, a glass of whiskey in his other hand. His shirt is back on, but unbuttoned casually, revealing a sliver of his chest and a gold chain glinting faintly in the lantern light. His hair is damp at the tips, slightly tousled, and his smile lingers with a lazy charm.
A waiter had brought our food half an hour ago—perfectly grilled, rich steak with buttery mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables seasoned with garlic and rosemary. The plates sit between us on a low table, almost empty now. Dante cuts into the last piece of steak while I swirl my wine in a glass.
“You’re cold,” he says, watching me as I shiver slightly.
“I like the rain,” I shrug, tucking the coat around me more. “It’s calming.”
He watches me for a long second, then smiles—slow and knowing. “You’re something else, sunshine.”
I grin at the nickname, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. We eat in a comfortable silence until he breaks it, his voice quieter now.
“How was your honeymoon?”
I pause, setting my fork down. “Good... for a while. We were happy. But we met Giana, and she kind of ruined everything.”
He nods, slowly chewing, then reaches for his whiskey again. “That woman has always had a talent for destruction.”
I glance at him, curious. “What about you? Have you dated someone? Like a long-term relationship?”
Dante leans back in his chair and stares into the storm for a moment before answering. “Yeah. Once. I used to love a mafia princess.” He chuckles, but it’s bitter-sweet. “I was crazy in love.”
“What happened?” I ask softly.
“She chose her family over me,” he says simply, then looks at me with a smirk. “But that’s ancient history.”
I look down at my wine, swirling it slowly. “I never had a boyfriend before Sebastian.”
He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Never?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the ‘p’ sound. “He was the first man in my life.”
He chuckles, raising his glass. “He was so lucky to have you.”
I smile faintly. “I had so little time with him… that’s the saddest part. We had just one week together.”
Dante watches me with a softer expression now, his elbow propped on the table, whiskey resting in his hand. “Yeah,” I whisper. “But I’ve had a lot more time with you. Two months and a half.”
He grins at that, and it warms something in my chest.
“I watched you getting married,” he says, his voice low, almost a murmur over the rain. “And I knew you were shattered. Being given away in a debt like that…”
I look up, eyes meeting his.
“But Sebastian,” Dante continues, “he was happy to marry you. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
Silence stretches between us. The rain continues to pour, the world around us washed in silver and sound. I sip my wine, trying to steady the ache that always returns when Sebastian is mentioned—but it’s different now. Softer. Less of a wound and more of a scar that I’ve learned to live with.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“For what?” Dante asks.
“For being here,” I say. “For staying.”
He sets his whiskey down and leans closer. “Where else would I be?”
I smile again, and we sit like that for a while—two people with too much history between them and something quietly blooming in the space that loss once held.
Just us, the rain, and the slow, comforting beat of a heart learning to heal.