This Dante was more vulnerable. More human. I’d spotted glimpses of him before, but this was the first time I’d been in his presence for so long.
It felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long day in the rain.
“This wasn’t how I’d planned to spend our first day in Bali,” he said. “I promise family history lessons aren’t the norm here.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a history lesson. But…” I switched to a more playful tone. “I want to learn more about this diving your father was talking about. I’ve never been to Bali before. What else is there to do?”
Dante’s shoulders relaxed. “Don’t bring up diving in front of my father, or he’ll talk your ear off,” he said as we started our walk back to the restaurant. We’d been gone for almost an hour; his parents must be wondering what happened to us. “To be fair, the island is one of the top diving destinations in the world. There are also some beautiful temples and a great art scene in Ubud…”
I half listened as he ran through the top activities in Bali. I was too distracted by his voice to pay attention to his words—deep and velvety, with a faint Italian accent that did unspeakable things to my insides.
I’d teased him about loving Kai’s British accent at Valhalla, but it was his I couldn’t get enough of.
Not just the voice, but the intelligence, loyalty, vulnerability and humor that lurked deep, deep beneath his grumpy surface.
Somewhere along the way, Dante Russo had morphed from a caricature of a rich, arrogant CEO into an actual human. One I liked, for the most part.
It was awful.
No matter what happened at Valhalla, or how much Dante shared about himself, I couldn’t delude myself into thinking our relationship was anything more than what it was. That was a surefire way to a broken heart, and I already had enough broken things in my life.
Dante stepped closer to me to let another couple pass. Our fingers brushed, and my traitorous heart leaped into my throat.
This is just business, I reminded myself.
If I said it enough times, maybe I’d believe it.
CHAPTER 18
Vivian
Over the next three days, Dante and his parents took me on a crash tour of Bali. We scuba-dived in Nusa Penida, trekked to waterfalls in Munduk, and visited temples in Gianyar. The Russos had a private driver and boat, which made traversing the island easier.
By the time Thanksgiving night rolled around, I’d tanned into a golden brown and forgotten all about the pile of work waiting for me in New York. Even Dante frowned less.
I was glad I’d taken him up on his offer to see one of his company’s therapists. Though I could’ve probably moved past the robbery without therapy over time, talking with Dr. Cho helped me process it in a way I couldn’t have on my own.
Our sessions would continue after Thanksgiving, but for now, they were enough to ensure my trip wasn’t marred by sleepless nights and flashbacks to the press of metal against my chin.
“Luca, get off your phone,” Janis admonished during dinner. “It’s rude to text at the table.”
“Sorry.” He continued texting, his plate of food untouched.
Luca had arrived Monday night and spent the majority of his time texting, sleeping, and lounging by the pool. It was like being on vacation with a teenager, except he was in his thirties and not his teens.
Janis pursed her lips, Gianni shook his head, and I quietly ate my potatoes while tension gathered over the table.
“Put your phone down.” Dante didn’t look up from his plate, but everyone, including his parents, flinched at the cutting steel in his voice.
After a drawn-out second, Luca straightened, set his phone to the side, and picked up his knife and fork.
Just like that, the tension dissipated and conversation resumed.
“If you ever tire of the corporate world, you should become a babysitter,” I whispered to Dante while Gianni waxed nostalgic about his last trip to Indonesia five years ago. “I think you’d do great.”
“I’m already a babysitter.” Dante slid the words from the corner of his mouth. “Thirty-one years with no promotion. I’m ready to resign.”
He grimaced at a speck of stuffing on one of his green beans and shoved the offending vegetable to the side.
A laugh bubbled up my throat. “Perhaps you should. I think your charge is all grown up.”
“Do you really?” Dante cut me a skeptical glance.
“Well…” I flicked my gaze at Luca, who was shoveling food in his mouth and sneaking peeks at his phone when he thought his brother wasn’t looking. “To an extent. But you’re his brother, not his father. It’s not your job to babysit him.”
Dante assuming a caretaker role was a natural consequence of his parents’ abandonment, but it was a heavy burden for one person to bear. Especially when the cared for was a grown man who seemed content to let his brother do all the heavy lifting.
The tiniest flicker passed through Dante’s eyes. “It’s always been my job. If I don’t do it, no one else will.”
“Then no one does it. You can support someone without fixing everything for them. They have to learn from their own mistakes.”
“You seem very passionate about this topic.” A hint of amusement laced his words.
“I don’t want you to burn out. But if you take on too much, for too long, you will.” My voice gentled. “It’s not healthy, physically or mentally.”
Dante was thirty-six, working a high-stress job with a high-stress family. He had little to no downtime. If he kept this up…
My stomach tightened.
The thought of anything happening to him bothered me more than it should’ve, and not just because he was my fiancé.
The flicker in his eyes returned, hotter and brighter. His expression softened. “Enjoy the meal, mia cara. Don’t let my family bullshit ruin it.”
A velvety flutter brushed my heart. “Don’t worry. I can enjoy good food under any conditions.”
It wasn’t true, but it made Dante smile.
I shifted, and our legs grazed beneath the table. It was a whisper of a touch, but my body reacted like he’d slipped his hand beneath my skirt and caressed my thigh.
The conversation from the rest of the table fell away as the mental image of his touch entered my bloodstream in an intoxicating rush.
There must be an invisible thread connecting my fantasies to his mind, because black bled into the edges of his eyes like he knew exactly what I was picturing.
My pulse drummed.
“So.” Luca’s voice snapped the thread with brutal efficiency.
Our heads jerked toward him in unison, and my pulse pounded for an entirely different reason when I noticed the speculative gleam in his eyes.
The table was too large and our voices too low for him to have heard us talking about him, but he was clearly up to something.
“How’s the wedding planning going?” Luca asked.
“Fine,” Dante said before I could answer. The softness was gone, replaced with his usual curt tone.
“Glad to hear.” The younger Russo took a bite of turkey, chewed, and swallowed before saying, “You and Vivian seem to be getting along great.”