Chapter 3

"Change the subject already," I begged.

Sofia laughed.

"I'll spare you today. Tomorrow I'm asking again."

After lunch, we kept shopping until the bag handles were cutting into our fingers. Then I got a text from my mom.

"Come for lunch tomorrow. Bring Dante."

The good mood dropped out of me instantly.

"What happened?" Sofia asked.

"My mom wants us to come to the house tomorrow for lunch. With Dante. It'd be the first time I've gone back since the wedding."

"Family dinner or family trap?"

"With my family, those are usually the same thing."

I decided to head back.

I arrived at the residence loaded down with bags. Left everything in the living room, went upstairs, organized my purchases, and got in the shower.

I had no idea when Dante came home.

Dante had gone to the office. His friends had pushed him to go out, but he thought about the new wife who'd just moved into his house and turned them down. He didn't want to leave me alone right after the wedding.

Dante walked into the bedroom and stopped.

From the bathroom came Ximena's voice — soft, distracted, mixed with the drumming of water.

The door was frosted glass. The steam clinging to it left only a silhouette: shoulders, waist, the slow movement of an arm washing her hair.

Dante didn't look away.

His jaw tightened.

The blood rushed to his lower stomach with uncomfortable speed.

He took a step toward the door.

He stopped.

He wanted to open it. He wanted to see her without the glass between them.

Ximena didn't know he was there.

Dante clenched his fist, took a deep breath, and stepped back.

I came out wrapped in a pink robe, hair dripping.

We stared at each other.

His gaze traveled over me without hurrying.

I covered my chest by instinct.

"When did you get here?"

"I live here."

"Excellent, Ximena. Another brilliant question."

"I'm going to get changed."

I fled to the walk-in closet.

When I came back out, Dante was sitting with his phone in his hand. He'd taken off his jacket and tie. The dark shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, made him look less untouchable.

And more dangerous.

"I need to ask you something," I said.

"Go ahead."

"My mom wants us to go to lunch at the house tomorrow. It'd be the first time I've been back since the wedding. Can you come?"

He thought for a moment.

"I'll go with you."

"If you don't want to because of Lorena..."

"What needs to be faced gets faced. Besides, we're husband and wife. Our families are going to be dealing with each other."

I nodded.

Then I didn't know what else to say.

He looked at my hair.

"You didn't dry it."

"I'll find the blow dryer in a sec."

He stood, opened a drawer, and pulled it out.

"Sit down. I'll do it."

"No, I can—"

"Ximena."

He only said my name, but I sat.

Just like that.

I straightened the robe over my legs. The way he said my name made my ears burn.

Warm air started moving through my hair. His fingers separated the strands carefully, from roots to tips. I sat there rigid. Every brush of his hand made me painfully aware of how close he was.

I bit my lip.

It was just his fingers in my hair. Nothing more.

Then why was I thinking about those same hands on my waist? On the back of my neck? On my thigh?

I pressed my knees together under the robe and pretended the heat was coming from the blow dryer.

When he turned it off, I felt like I could finally breathe.

"Done."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

I tried to pull my nerves back in order.

"I left the Bentley key on the nightstand."

"I saw."

Then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a shower."

I looked away like I'd seen something forbidden.

He paused for a second. Then he went into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower filled the room.

I stared at the frosted glass door.

His shadow moved behind it.

I sat there frozen, listening to the running water.

My scalp was still tingling from his fingers.

And now I was watching his silhouette in the shower like I had no shame.

While Dante showered, I changed into more modest pajamas.

Modest by my standards.

My body, unfortunately, didn't know how to cooperate. Sofia always said I could wrap myself in a blanket and still look like sin.

The bathroom door opened right as I was trying to climb into bed and fake being asleep.

I shot upright.

The mattress creaked.

Dante looked at me.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Just testing if the bed was sturdy."

"I wanted to throw myself out the window."

He walked toward me with his robe half open. His chest was defined and his abs showed through the fabric.

I bit my lip.

Six? Eight?

No. Stop.

"And?" he asked. "Is it sturdy?"

"Yes. Very."

He sat down. I scooted back.

"Are you dodging me?"

"I'm making room for you."

He didn't buy it. Obviously.

"Going to sleep?" I asked.

"Did you have something else in mind?"

I shook my head too fast.

"I do," he said.

My face burned.

He said it without embarrassment. Without the clumsiness of a boy. Like a man who knew what he wanted and didn't need to dress it up.

"But you said you'd give me time."

"Last night we got used to sleeping next to each other. Tonight we could move a little further."

"Further?"

"Come closer."

I inched forward a few centimeters. He got tired of my pace and pulled me against his side. I ended up pressed to his body.

"Has a man ever held you?"

"Yes."

His eyebrow tensed.

"Who?"

"My dad."

The tension left his face.

Then he looked at my mouth.

"And kissing? Have you kissed anyone?"

"No."

The word barely came out.

"Did you ever think about what it would feel like?"

"No."

A lie. Maybe I had. But not with my sister's ex-fiance turned husband.

Dante lowered his voice.

"Lift your face a little. I'm going to kiss you."

"What?"

His fingers took my chin.

He held still for a second, studying my mouth.

I didn't pull away.

His lips touched mine.

At first he didn't do anything else. He just stayed there, cool and soft, against my mouth. But my heart felt like it was trying to escape.

It was my first kiss.

My first kiss.

With my husband.

Dante bit me gently.

"Close your eyes when someone's kissing you."

I obeyed like an idiot.

I shut my eyes. My cheeks were on fire and my mouth was pulsing before he even touched me again.

And then it stopped being gentle.

His lips moved over mine. He opened my mouth with a patience that had nothing innocent about it. I didn't know how to breathe, or move, or what to do with my hands.

When he let go, I was leaning against him, dizzy.

"You can't even breathe right," he said.

I hid my face in his chest.

So embarrassing.

"Now you know what it feels like to kiss someone."

I didn't answer.

I couldn't. Not when my mouth was still burning and my brain kept replaying that this man — my ex-brother-in-law — had just taught me how to kiss.

Dante stroked my hair.

From his side, he thought my clumsiness confirmed something: I'd never kissed anyone. The impulsive decision to marry me, born in the chaos of my family's living room, was starting to seem less absurd.

"Tomorrow — what time are we going to your parents'?"

"Nine."

"Sleep."

He lay down with me in his arms.

I stayed stiff, waiting for something more.

But he didn't do anything.

He just held me.

And even so, it took a long time for my heart to calm down.

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