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I slid my hand into the crook of elbow, and we continued to walk to Maura’s flat on Via Aldo Manuzio.
“You said you wantedusto have a second chance. What does that mean?”
“It means we keep doing what we’re doing. But this Monday, on your day off, I want to take you out on a date.”
“No sex?” I licked my lips. I missed making love with him, especially now that he was around all the time, smelling as nice as he always did, being charming and sexy.
“Baby, I’ll fuck you anywhere any time,” he said in his deep voice that hit me right on my clit. “But you don’t trust me and I need you to do that before we make love again.”
“What if…I want tonow?”
He took a deep breath. “Don’t make itandme harder than I already am,bella mia.”
I chuckled as we approached Maura’s flat, which was above afruttivendolo. Her small iron balcony was barely visible through the tangle of potted plants that carried some of the herbs we used at the bistro.
When we stopped at the door of the apartmentbuilding, I wrapped myself around him and just held on. He stroked my back and my hair. This was intimacy—more potent than sex could ever be. This was us opening ourselves to each other. This was easy affection. It was scarier than a commitment.
I raised my head. “Kiss me.Per favore.”
He settled his lips against mine, slow and steady.
Dante could kiss. He knew when to go soft when to give it to me hard, when to seduce, and when to just show me he cared for me. I always liked his kisses, but recently, I’d fallen in love with them.
By the time we let go of each other, we were both breathing hard.
“Ah…I’d…like to go out with you next Monday,” I said boldly.
“Grazie, mi leoncina.” He brushed his lips against mine, just a soft nibble, no tongue.
That night, I replied to his ‘goodnight’text with more than just a simple ‘buonanotte.’ I told him I had enjoyed our walk, our talk, and—most of all—that I was looking forward to our date.
TWENTY-FIVE
Dante
"Get on, Elysa." I patted the seat of the yellow Vespa, watching as she crossed her arms and eyed me with deep suspicion.
"Do you even know how to drive this thing?" she asked, tilting her head. "You’re more of a limousine and private driver kind of guy.”
I smirked, adjusting my grip on the handlebars. “Amore, I grew up in Rome. I was riding a Vespa before I could legally drive a car.”
She huffed, still eyeing me as if I might crash us into the nearest monument.
“You’re hesitating,” I mocked. “That’s not like you. What happened to fearless, take-no-prisoners Elysa?”
“I wasneverthat,” she muttered.
“No time like the present to take some chances,” I suggested.
She let out an exasperated sigh, but I caught thetwitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth before she got behind me.
"Hold on," I warned.
She scoffed. “I think I’ll be?—”
I hit the gas, and she barely had time to yelp before her arms flew around my waist. I laughed, the sound rumbling through my chest as we weaved into the chaos of Rome’s streets, her grip tightening. She wasn’t so confident in my driving skills…yet, but she’d get there.
We spent the afternoon as tourists in our own city. The last time I’d done this was with Elysa, back when we’d first married. I had spent a few hours—grudgingly—as she dragged me to the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, and every little alleyway that caught her eye. She had been so eager, so determined to make the best of our marriage, to make us work, and all the while I’d been impatient.