I frutti proibiti sono i più dolci.
Forbidden fruit is the sweetest.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 20
Around midnight, Alessa poked at the front of her blouse. She’d spilled something. At some point. She didn’t remember what, exactly. Eyes crossed, she raised a blurry finger to her nose—oops, her cheek. No, that was her chin.
“That’s not whiskey.” Her words sounded squishy.
Dante, sprawled in an armchair with one leg draped over the side, mouth open and one eye closed, squinted at a carved wooden statue he held in front of his face. “No, that’s the water I told you to drink an hour ago. Poured half right down your dress like a river between your breasts.”
Alessa scoffed. “I did not. And if I did—which I didn’t—you shouldn’t discuss a lady’s bosoms.”
“Bosoms?” He dropped the statue—a priceless heirloom at least two centuries old—on the cushion beside him. “Don’t think bosoms are plural.”
Alessa stood, chin high, and waited for the room to right itself. “Of course, they are. Bosoms almost always come in pairs.”
“Breasts come in pairs, but I don’t think bosoms—who even says that?—can be plural. Two breasts, one bosom. As in, I have two legs, but one crotch, that sort of thing.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“About grammar?”
“About your crotch. And you shouldn’t notice when a girl spills water down her cleavage.”
“I didn’t,” Dante said. “But you got all squeaky about how cold it was. Then you drank another glass of whiskey, so I doubt the water will help much.” He stared longingly at his glass. “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine, I think.”
“Sing something.”
“Pass. I’m a terrible singer.” Her next sip went down a bit too easily. “You sing something.”
She didn’t think he’d do it, but in a voice as rich as honeyed whiskey, he sang:
“I took my bonnie lass out on a ship,”
Oh, dear. The burn of alcohol and the warmth of his voice seemed to be melting something inside her.
“To give her a taste of the sea,”
Well. This wasn’t fair at all.
“And when we got back on shore once more,”
Dante took a breath, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“My bonnie lass tasted me.”
She threw her head back, crowing with laughter. “Oh, bravissimo. Such an angelic voice for a devilish song.”
“Grazie.” He bowed his head. “Your turn.”
“I’m not singing.”
“Favorite color, then.”
“Green,” she said. “You’re terrible at this. My turn. How many people have you kissed?”
He scrunched his face in thought. “Seven. No, eight. Wait, do twins count as one or two?”
“Twins are distinct human beings, so two, obviously. And that’s disgusting. You shouldn’t kiss siblings.”
“They weren’t my siblings. I never turn down a kiss from a pretty girl.”
Surprising his tally wasn’t higher, then. She’d be first in line if she wasn’t so deadly, even with his many personality flaws. Although, with a few drinks in him, Dante was almost charming. Or she was no longer capable of judging. The whiskey had warped everything else, so it was quite possibly blurring him, too. Even her glass was listing to one side. Or maybe that was the floor. Or herself. Hard to tell.
What were they talking about?
She gathered her scattered thoughts. “I guess I wouldn’t either, if I knew it wouldn’t end in tragedy. My only attempt did not go well.”
Dante grinned lazily. “Takes practice.”
“Then add kissing to the list of things I will never master.”
“Eh.” He waved a hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure out the death-touch thing eventually.”
Alessa giggled, batting away a little voice warning her she’d regret all of this when she woke in the morning. “Hype-hyper-hypothetically speaking, if you could get past the high likelihood of a painful death, would you ever want to kiss me?”
“Hypothetically?” He enunciated the word more clearly, but not by much.
“Obviously.”
“Hard to get past the painful death part, to be honest.” He clinked his glass against hers.
“It’s hypothetical.” She kicked at him, but barely swiped his leg. “You’d never even have to act on it. Is it that hard to pretend you think I’m pretty?”
“That’s not what you asked.”
“Then I want a do-over.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes. Favorite food?”
She fluffed her hair with exaggerated pride. Surely she deserved an extra point for prying a compliment from his stubborn lips. “Still not a real question.”
“I’m trying to steer us into safer waters. Greatest fear?”
“Oh, much safer.” She frowned. “That we all die.”
“Boring.”
“That it will be my fault? I think I’m more scared of that than the actual prospect of everyone dying. That must make me a terrible person.”
“I’m not one to judge.” He rolled his fingers across his glass. “Favorite hobby?”
“Aside from accidentally killing people? None. Perhaps I should learn to knit.”
“You’re a gloomy drunk, you know that?”
“It was your turn anyway. Is it too late to change my mind about a cat?”
“Ah, so you accept my theory?”
“That I’m so pathetically lonely I pull the life out of my partners? Sure, let’s go with that one.” Her breath came faster. “I might need more than one cat.”
He put his glass down and stood. “I have an idea.”
Alessa backed away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you a hug so you can save the world.”
She knocked a chair over in her haste to escape. “No. Bad idea.”
“You’re covered from toe to chin, and I’m a full head taller than you. You’d have to leap into the air and smash your face against mine to hurt me.”
Putting the couch between them, she mustered her most stern glare. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Do you want a damn hug or not?”
Desperately.
She swallowed. “Gloves.”
He yanked them from his back pocket, shaking his head with amused exasperation.
At his first step, she skittered backward. “Your face.”
Dante rolled his eyes but glanced around the room until he found a display of colorful scarves hanging from pegs by the door. Snatching a bright purple scarf, he tucked one end into the top of his shirt and wound it around his head. His gloved fingers plucked at the folds, trying to pick them apart so he could see. “Dammit, where’d you go?”
Alessa pinched her tongue between her teeth.
One dark eye became visible, and he opened his arms and waited.
Courage, desperation, or pure drunken stupidity drove her into his embrace.
The moment they touched, every muscle in her body pulled so tight she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.
He was warm.
It was all she could think. She’d forgotten that people felt warm.
She tried to rest her hands on his back, but jerked away reflexively. His arms came around her, strong and unafraid, so she tried again, placing her palms on the flat planes of his back.
Bit by bit, muscle by muscle, she eased into him until her cheek rested against his chest.
The steady beat of his heart accelerated.
She tried to find the strength to move—she didn’t want him to fear for his safety—but he didn’t pull away, and nothing had ever felt so good. Nothing. This hug was officially the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Pathetic.
She didn’t care. It felt like breathing after being underwater for years. Lulled by warmth and comfort, she let the world fall away, every sense soothed by the strong arms holding her up, the firm heat beneath her cheek—
She jerked her head up.
Dante’s voice rumbled through his chest. “Did you just fall asleep?”
Alessa blinked. “Maybe.”
“Really?”
“Only for a second.”
“Huh. Not what a man usually wants when a woman’s in his arms, but I guess that’s a good sign?”
The fabric of his shirt rubbed against her skin as she nodded.
“Better?” he asked. “Satisfied?”
Satisfied? Not even close.
Better? Yes.
She mumbled something meant to be meaningless.
“What?” One arm tight around her, Dante fumbled to adjust the absurd scarf with the other.
“Nothing.” She burrowed deeper into his embrace. “Don’t worry, I’ll let go in a minute.”
Dante paused. “Take your time.”
She only wobbled a little when she stepped back. “Will you please tell me your name?”
He rubbed his lip. “Tell you what. You save the world, I’ll tell you my name. How’s that for motivation?”
“Seems like a very high bar for basic information about an employee.”
“Take it or leave it.” Dante yawned. “I’m going to take a shower. Drink more water. You’ll thank me.”
Alessa weaved to the sink to fill a large glass. Sloshing more than a bit on the floor, she made her way to bed and resisted the urge to lie down.
Her nightclothes were in the closet off the bathing room, and she wasn’t about to barge in while Dante was showering, so she stripped to her slip and kicked her dress away before climbing into bed. It took some maneuvering, but she kept the sheets pinned to her chest while she reached for the glass again.
She gulped half of it through sheer force of will. The rest would take more motivation. She frowned at the tepid water. Getting ice would require sprinting across the room—bad idea sober, treacherous in her current state—before Dante returned.
Lukewarm tap water would have to do.
As she steeled herself for one more sip, Dante walked out in nothing but a towel.
Alessa lowered the glass from her still-parted lips.
“Sorry. Forgot a change of clothes.” He cocked his head. “You okay?”
Oh. She was staring. And didn’t really feel like stopping. She held up a hand. “Don’t move.”
He scanned the room for trouble, then crossed his arms. “Why am I standing here?”
“You told me to be bold.”
“And?”
“And a half-naked man is in my bedroom, so I’m boldly looking.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, bemused. “That’s … not what I meant.”
“You don’t get to dictate what someone does with your advice. I’ll work on other kinds of boldness later. For now, I’m ogling. Unless you’re shy.”
“Shy?” He ran his tongue over his teeth, not entirely hiding his smile. “Hardly.” Palms out, he spun in a slow circle. “There. Seen enough?”
A dangerous question. “I suppose I’ll let you put your clothes on now.”
He snorted. “Like you could stop me.”
“I could kill you with my pinky.”
“I’m shaking.”
She threw a pillow and he caught it, tucking it beneath his arm as he headed for a stack of clean clothing on the couch. “Keep throwing these at me and you’ll have none left.”
A smile playing on her lips, she sank into a pile of pillows. At least one person treated her like a regular person. It was more than she’d dared to hope for in a very long time.