Bocca chiusa non prende mosche.
A closed mouth catches no flies.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 16
Dante let go of Alessa’s wrists—as if that was the biggest issue with their current position—and they scrambled to their feet.
“I—he—we tripped,” she said.
Kaleb lowered the sword a fraction. “He’s not trying to kill you?”
“No. Definitely not,” she said. Kaleb’s protectiveness would have warmed her heart if he wasn’t about to murder Dante. “We just, um, fell.”
“Really?” Kamaria said. “You tripped. And landed like that.”
Saida slapped a hand over her mouth, but couldn’t stop a high-pitched squeak.
Kamaria rolled her eyes. “You’ve been living without parents for too long if you think anyone would believe that.”
“You were touching him,” Nina said. “And he was smiling.”
Well, that sounded worse than she probably meant it to.
Saida wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, but she was the only one amused. Nina looked like she’d been slapped, Josef wore the outrage of a temple monk who’d wandered into the women’s baths by accident, and Kaleb still looked furious.
“Why were you touching him?” Kaleb said. “And why did he like it?”
Alessa’s mouth worked, but no brilliance came to mind. “It was a grimace of pain.”
“That’s not what I saw,” Nina said.
“He’s a fighter. He’s tough.” A half-truth.
It didn’t seem to appease them. Time for something slightly closer to the truth.
“Dante’s been helping me practice with my power.”
“Why?” Kaleb demanded.
Dante cleared his throat. “Any sacrifice for the good of Saverio. Dea calls, I answer.”
Alessa subtly stepped on his foot.
Nina’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize you were devout.”
“More importantly, how?” Kamaria said, studying Dante in a way that made Alessa uncomfortable. “He doesn’t have a gift.”
“No, of course not.” Alessa knew she was protesting too vehemently, but she couldn’t rein it in. “But I can absorb other talents while he gives feedback on … pain levels. Like a, um, a pain gauge.”
Nina cocked her head. “I would have thought a Finestra’s touch would be even worse for a regular person. That’s a really generous sacrifice to make.”
“Decent of you.” Kaleb rested the sword on the ground. “But you’re still an ass.”
Dante muttered something in the old language, and Alessa smiled brightly. “Well, now that we’ve settled that, I hope we can all agree to keep this quiet. I mean, it’s a little unorthodox, but hey, anything that helps, right?”
She bit her cheek as she waited, but the grudging acceptance on their faces didn’t slide back into anger.
“We came to invite you to join our game.” Nina said, sounding more confrontational than usual.
“Oh,” Alessa said, momentarily thrown. “And you’ve changed your mind?”
Kamaria rolled her eyes. “No. I mean, who here hasn’t been caught while … eh, practicing … before, hmm?”
Alessa’s cheeks flamed. “I—Thank you. We’d love to.”
Josef was a brilliant card player, but a terrible loser. With a near-mystical ability to remember who held every card and strategize accordingly, he’d won the first three rounds, sitting straighter with every victory, unable to hide his utter delight, but he’d been sulking since Kaleb swiped his best card. Nina, on the other hand, was terrible at the game but cheered for everyone, regardless of which team they were on or whether their victory came at her expense.
Kaleb rolled the dice. “Stop being so happy every time I beat you, Nina. It really takes the fun out of it.”
Nina fluffed her skirts with an impish grin. “That’s why I do it.”
“I fold,” said Saida with a heavy sigh. “Josef stole all my best cards. Again.”
Alessa selected a card with Crollo on it from the top of the pile and added it to her hand, then looked over her shoulder at Dante, who’d opted out of the game, insisting he was on the job. He craned his neck to see her hand, scratched his nose with two fingers, and pointedly looked at Kaleb.
Alessa cleared her throat with a delicate cough. “I believe it is my turn, Kaleb. Not yours. And before I roll, I would like to steal a card.”
Kaleb grumbled as he flicked the card in question across the table. “You said you’d never played before. How are you so good already?”
Alessa bit her lip, placing a pair of Dea and Crollo cards on the table. “Blessed by the gods, I suppose.”
Dante shifted from one foot to the other.
Kaleb’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Are you two conspiring?”
Saida groaned. “You can’t accuse everyone of cheating because you’re losing, Kaleb.”
“I’m not accusing everyone, just the Finestra.”
“Maybe you should write down a recipe instead of being a poor loser. I’m still waiting on your contribution to my project.”
Kaleb made a face. “I told you, I don’t know how to bake. Desserts show up in my house and I don’t ask questions.”
A young woman in an apron rapped on the door. “Beg your pardon, but the lady’s timer went off.”
“Oh,” Saida said. “My rosogolla is finished cooling!”
Apparently, Saida had charmed her way into the kitchens earlier to make dessert. She returned a minute later with a large pan, and the room filled with the scent of milk and sugar as she began spooning fluffy white balls onto small plates. “I thought we could use a treat.”
Kaleb grumbled. “A clever distraction so you can peek at our cards.”
“Whose recipe is this, Saida?” Josef bumped Kaleb’s chair, looking a bit too innocent, on his way to help Saida pass out plates.
Saida grinned. “This one is from my own family. Good, isn’t it?”
It was. Sweet and slightly sticky, with the faintest hint of something floral. “Is there rosewater in this?” Alessa asked.
“Nice catch.” Saida looked impressed. “Dante, do you have any special family recipes you’d be willing to share?”
A series of emotions flickered across Dante’s face before he shook his head.
“Get up.” Kamaria gestured for Kaleb to swap seats with her, so she could sit beside Alessa.
“I swear, Kamaria,” Kaleb said. “If you touch my cards, I’m claiming your winnings.”
“Man-child,” Kamaria shot back.
As Josef explained the mechanics of card counting, while swearing he’d never actually cheat because he had morals, Kamaria leaned close to Alessa. “Nina may be as gullible as a goldfish, but I’m not.”
Alessa coughed. “Huh?”
Kamaria licked her finger. “Your little wrestling match with Signor Crankypants. I mean, you are getting better, so I believe that he’s helping you with your power—but he was enjoying your hands on him, and he shouldn’t have been. Sorry. That came out harsh. Not your fault you pack a punch. But … why is he different?”
Alessa held her gaze. “He’s helping us. Does it matter?”
Kamaria seemed to consider. “Fair enough. But be careful. If I’m wondering, someone else might, too.”
After an hour in Dante’s arms the night before, Alessa was addicted. She stalled on her way to bed, watching Dante fold his shirt and stretch out on the couch, hands behind his head.
At her sigh, his eyelashes fluttered as though she’d ruffled them from afar.
Alessa walked toward her bed. Stopped. Turned back. Sighed again.
“Will you get over here already?” Dante said, his voice thick with sleep.
She popped back out. “I thought you were going to sleep. Did you change your mind?”
“No. But if the only way you’ll go to sleep is near a warm body, then cut to the chase and come here. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
Of course. He’d scoff at every other rule of polite society, but when it came to touching her, he’d be a saint. She wasn’t about to give him a chance to change his mind, though.
“Sheesh, you really don’t know how to do this—” Dante made a show of grumbling as he arranged her in front of him, but soon they were snuggled together like spoons in a drawer.
She shivered as his breath tickled the nape of her neck.
“Cold?”
“A little,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her voice squeak.
He snagged a blanket draped over the back of the couch and draped it over her.
She could have offered her bed, but inviting Dante there felt like an entirely different proposition than lying beside him on a couch, so she kept quiet. Plus, the couch was narrow, which meant she had to be close to him or she’d fall off. A perfect excuse to get closer. She shifted, wiggling her hips, and her bottom snuggled up—
Oh. Maybe wiggling was dangerous. She would not wiggle. No wiggling. Not even a little wiggle. She wouldn’t move at all. She’d stay still and try not to feel anything. Or … try to feel everything. Without wiggling.
She stared into the darkness, wondering if he was as aware of her as she was of him. Or if he was regretting the invitation. But eventually, his warmth and the steady beat of his heart dragged her under.
She floated, mired in the space between light and dark, thoughts and dreams. A blanket on the sand, a calloused palm brushing across her rib cage. With lips like his, Dante had to know a thing or two about kissing.
He made a low sound deep in his throat, and her eyes flew open.
She was either asleep and having the best dream ever, or he was asleep and—his hips moved, pressing against her, and her cheeks flamed—he was asleep and having a very nice dream. Or … they were both awake, and he wanted to see if she was interested in not sleeping. Which she was, but she hadn’t responded, so he might think she was saying no.
His breath tickled her ear, and she lost track of her thoughts,
Breathe, she reminded herself.
His lips brushed the sensitive spot just below her ear, kindling a fire below her navel. Her thoughts scrambled as his fingers grazed the underside of her breast. This felt so right—nothing had ever felt more right—but Dante had made it clear he planned to keep his hands to himself. Which he most certainly wasn’t.
Speak. She opened her mouth, and a whimper slipped out.
Dante wasn’t a liar. Which meant he probably wasn’t awake.
“Dante?” It came out barely more than a breath.
Try harder, Alessa.
She said his name again. Louder.
Dante tensed like she’d dumped a bucket of ice on him, then vanished, vaulting over the back of the couch.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I don’t know what happened. How long—I mean, how many—No, don’t answer that. My fault. Not yours. This is my fault.”
Something crumbled inside her at the horror on his face.
Why had she expected anything else?
“Dante, it’s fine.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “It is not fine.”
“You were asleep.” She hugged her knees to her chest.
He let out a string of curses. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not okay. I’ll leave right now, and you’ll never see me again.” He began gathering his things, leaving a trail of dropped items behind him.
She clenched her fingers. “It was my fault.”
“It’s your fault I groped you?” He shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t wake you. Not right away.” A mortified heat crept up her neck. She’d melted under his touch, while he’d been dreaming of someone else, and she couldn’t even salvage her pride by denying it, or he’d leave, consumed by guilt.
He bent to retrieve a dropped sock. “You can’t blame yourself for panicking, waking up with someone pawing at you—”
“Dante, I wasn’t asleep!”
He froze so long she thought the silence might shatter.
“I—I thought, maybe you were awake, too.” Alessa hugged her arms to her chest, which felt about to cave in. “I’m sorry. It was wrong. I was wrong.”
Dante sighed so deeply his lungs had to be completely empty. “I told you I’d keep my hands to myself.”
“You were asleep. I wasn’t. Blame me.”
“It was my—”
“Can we just agree we both screwed up and promise never to touch each other again without making sure it’s okay first?”
He looked at the door.
“Dante, if you disappear, I’ll have to tell them why you left. Please don’t make me do that.”
He didn’t want her, but she didn’t want him to go.
He bit his lip. “I’m still sorry.”
Not as sorry as she was.