* * *
As I promised, I let Noah watch television on Saturday morning. He’s ecstatic, even more so because Dante joins him on the sofa in front of the big flat screen.
I’ve been terrified that Noah would tell Dante I wanted to leave. I told Noah it was our secret, but he’s never been good with keeping secrets. He was so upset with me that I expected him to run straight to Dante and blurt out the truth.
Thankfully, he seems to have forgotten about the unpleasant episode. Maybe the idea of running again is so traumatic for him that he avoids thinking about it. I certainly understand the art of suppression. I have a suspicion Noah’s resistance to leaving had more to do with Dante than flying in a plane or living in his big house or even watching television.
Admittedly, it’s the biggest TV with the best quality pictures Noah has seen. The old ones in the motel rooms I rented had snowy images and bad sound. This one even comes with surround sound.
I’m surprised that Dante is willing to watch Looney Tunes, which is Noah’s favorite cartoon. Dante seems fully focused on the episode, even chuckling at the right moments. Despite myself, I can’t help but find the scene endearing. I never imagined Dante enjoying anything so lighthearted. He’s much too serious.
Noah is nestled against him, burrowing into Dante’s side while Dante has his arm thrown over Noah’s shoulders. Seeing them like this breaks my heart for reasons I don’t want to examine. As always, it hurts in a beautiful way, especially how Noah is more taken with Dante than with his cartoon. And that says a lot about Noah’s growing affection for Dante because Noah’s Saturday cartoons are sacred.
My small boy is staring up at Dante’s face with a delighted and expectant expression, bellowing from his tummy every time Dante laughs at something silly that happens on the screen. In Noah’s case, the major attraction is definitely his father. It’s crazy how much he dotes on him.
My chest squeezes with overwhelming emotions where I’m watching them from the doorway. At some point, I’ll have to tell Noah the truth. He deserves to know that Dante is his father. He used to ask me about that a lot around the age of three. I always told him we couldn’t be with his father. He stopped questioning me shortly after his fourth birthday. My poor angel must’ve believed he didn’t have a daddy or that his daddy didn’t want him.
One night, as I put him to bed, he asked me straight-out if his daddy had left him because he was naughty. That he could think that nearly killed me. All I could say was that it was circumstances and not his fault. I told him what a good boy he was, which was true. Noah has always been an easy child. Maybe he sensed how hard I was trying to keep him safe. The danger that always surrounded us was palpable even though I tried to shield him from the stress of that part of our lives.
After an hour of Looney Tunes, they watch a replay of a soccer match. Noah is allowed two hours of television every weekend day. I want him to play and not be stuck in front of the screen all the time. I believe play is an important part of the development of a child’s brain. I’ve read that inventing games stimulates all kinds of cognitive skills such as problem solving and creativity.
In the afternoon, Dante takes us shopping. He buys books and games for Noah as well as new sneakers. We all get a brand-new wardrobe, Jazz included. Only, in my case, Dante chooses the clothes.
He selects fitted dresses in nude pinks and feminine blouses like I used to wear when we started seeing each other. That’s not me any longer, but I have to admit that he has impeccable taste. He goes as far as matching each outfit with shoes and a handbag.
The underwear he picks out for me is lacy and decadent. At least they’re stylish and not slutty. He’s fussy, inspecting each item on show in the store with no qualms that Jazz is witnessing his meticulous lingerie shopping. I’m only grateful that he made his guards wait outside. My face is so hot by the time he saunters to the cashier with a basket filled with thongs, bras, and negligees that I don’t know where to look. No one has ever bought me underwear, let alone a man.
I’m intensely aware of the subtle whiff of his aftershave when his arm brushes against mine as he hands the cashier his credit card. His smell is intoxicating, making me miss things I shouldn’t, such as the warm, strong arms of a man. I’m still aching inside after our rough sex, and I’m thrown off kilter by how much I liked it. The roughness should’ve put me off, but the lingering sensations make me feel special in the way one does when owning a secret.
Jazz was right. I am in danger around Dante. The biggest threat he poses isn’t kidnapping and stripping me of my inheritance. The real hazard is breaking through the walls I put up around my heart. I can’t allow him to get close to me again. Dante doesn’t care about me like a man cares about the woman he loves. He cares about me because of what I’m worth to him as a pawn in his revenge scheme and as the mother he wants to raise his child.
Wait a minute.
My steps falter when we leave the store. If Dante was only using me, why did he take the risks he did? On the night he took my V-card, I asked him to use a condom. He said he wanted to take me bare. And I let him, believing he cared so much about me that he was willing to own the consequences of our forbidden love affair. I always wanted to have children. I wanted Dante’s children above anything. But he wanted something entirely different. He slept with me to gather information on my father from our pillow talk. What if…?
I swallow, not even wanting to think about that question.
But what if falling pregnant wasn’t an accident?
My heart ices over, my body going cold in the warm afternoon sun. I glance at the hard-set lines of Dante’s handsome face where he walks next to me on the sidewalk with his hand on the small of my back. He’s the reincarnation of male power and virile strength. In his dark, fancy suit, he appears imposing and indestructible. Untouchable. We make such an odd pair with him in his expensive, tailored clothes and me in my leggings and faded T-shirt. Anyone can see we don’t belong together.
Noah is skipping ahead with Reino staying close to him while Ulysses is following our group. Jazz is walking in front of us, trying her best to ignore Reino. A few of Dante’s men are carrying the shopping bags.
“What?” Dante asks when I continue to stare at him.
He’s vigilant, his gaze trained straight ahead, but that didn’t prevent him from noticing my attention on him.
I keep my voice down. “Why didn’t you use a condom when we started sleeping together for the first time?”
His expression is neutral when he finally looks at me. “I told you why.”
“You knew we took a risk. Did you simply not care?”
He holds my gaze squarely. “I had a good reason.”
I stop dead. My pulse starts hammering in my ears. “Did you hope I’d fall pregnant?”
His answer is curt. “Yes.”