“Paolo doesn’t build bridges. He’s full of rage, man. Like a bear or something. He tried to fight me once... stepped to me in my ivory fucking tower, when he knew my boys were tooled up outside. That’s how much he loves my brother.”
“You admire him,” Sid hedged, because perceptive or not, even with Dante’s patented, inscrutable expression, it was hard to miss the respect in his voice.
“Course I do,” Dante said around a dry chuckle. “He’s a fucking lion.”
“Thought he was a bear?”
“Whatever he is, he’s top of the food chain, morally if nothing else.”
“You have morals.”
Dante snorted. “I have something. I’m not sure what it is yet.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about yourself.”
“And it wasn’t even that nice.” Dante guided Sid around a spot of uneven ground.
Sid rolled his eyes but let him, ignoring the fact that he’d never allowed even Anna to be so fuckingsweetto him. They were nearly at the car. Beyond the next glade lay the car park where Sid kept his ancient VW Golf. Disappointment filled his chest, though he couldn’t say why. They had the entire evening ahead of them.With my sister. Score.
As if he’d read Sid’s mind, Dante slowed to a stop before the hazy forest gave way to daylight. He slipped his arm from Sid’s and let it drop to his side, hands twitching.He’s nervous.But why? Was an evening with Anna so terrifying, or was it something else? Sid’s mind drifted back to how the conversation had begun and tried to look past Dante’s calm exterior, to reallyseethe anxious energy buzzing in his long limbs, his hands, and his honeyed gaze.It’s not Anna that’s scaring him. And Sid’s heart broke a little for the tough guy quietly falling apart in front of him.
He wound his arms around Dante’s neck and brushed a soft, barely-there kiss to his wonderful lips. “No one’s perfect, you know. It’s okay to be apprehensive of something you haven’t done in forever.”
Dante shivered. “You’re pretty fucking perfect.”
“Am not. If I was, I’d have warned you my sister is a terrible cook, but I didn’t because I wanted you with me tonight, because I’m selfish, Dante, just like everyone else.”
12
Anna’s quaint cottage, tucked away in a village even prettier than Wilburn, was a world away from anywhere Dante had ever been. She waited for them on the steps, surrounded by pink roses in full bloom and other flowers Dante couldn’t yet name.
She skipped down to meet them, ignored Sid, and attached herself to Dante’s arm. “You made it. I was worried Sid’s driving would kill you.”
“More like anyone who got in his way. What?” he said to Sid’s answering scowl. “I was right. You’re an angry driver.” Sid had tried to hide it, but despite everything he’d said in the woods, he was an honest man, and he couldn’t hide the truth.
Anna laughed. “At least he didn’t get out and fight anyone. He grew out of that a few years ago.”
“Wonder why,” Sid deadpanned. “Maybe I’ll go back to it when I have walking sticks to use as weapons.”
He stomped into the cottage, leaving Dante to deal with the image of Sid fighting combining with the low-grade panic attack simmering in his gut. Sid was rugged and strong, but he wasn’t mean enough to fight, not really. Not over something as inconsequential as a late indicator at a junction.You’re not much of a fighter, either. Not like Luis.But that was like comparing a wolf to a Labrador. Not that Dante was sweet, kind, and obsessed with snacks either. But still. He could fight. And he would if any fool looked twice at Sid.
He kissed me again.
How the two things were connected, Dante had no clue.
“I ordered pizza,” Anna said from somewhere beside him. “In case you were worried about enduring my terrible cooking.”
Dante pulled his head from the clouds and looked down at her. “I wasn’t worried.”
“No?” Anna stretched up and swiped Dante’s bottom lip free of his teeth. “Could have fooled me. Come on... come inside.”
She tugged him up the steps and into the cottage, revealing a cosy interior that was full of wild prints, houseplants, and potted herbs.
Sid was already in the kitchen, inspecting the contents of three giant pizza boxes. “You’re gonna love this, D. No greens to be seen—hey, that rhymes. Am I a fucking poet, or what?”
Dante couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, and it was the easiest thing ever to let Sid believe it was his bad vegetable joke that had put it there. “You’re a fucking wordsmith, mate. And wrong. I love the green.”
“Only if you can smoke it.”