Page 102 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

Because I knew, even if Dante didn’t, that no fire ever burned eternally, and one as hot as the inferno between us would burn out before we knew it.

So I’d enjoy it—the pleasure, the bravery, the discovery—while I could.

And hope that after everything, I wouldn’t be bitter the way I was after Daniel left me. I’d be changed for the better from letting Dante storm past the walls I’d let no one behind before.

I’d almost assumed Dante would try to keep me from work the following morning because it was something Daniel might have done and even Seamus.

But he didn’t.

When I’d woken up in my bed alone because I’d insisted on it after showering with Dante, needing the space to shore up the walls around my heart, I’d prepared to fight him about my need to work despite the chaos of the previous day. I was focused on it to the exclusion of all else as I showered again and readied myself for the day with my arsenal of Chanel cosmetics.

It was easier to concentrate on a possible confrontation than it was to acknowledge the monumental way our relationship had shifted last night.

The monumental wayIhad shifted.

I’d entered the living room dressed in my favorite classic black Dolce & Gabbana high-waisted pencil skirt and slightly sheer white silk blouse, my hair pinned back in an artfully loose bun, my six-inch Valentino pumps at my feet. I wore my well-groomed professionalism the way knights had worn their suits of armor, ready to do battle with whatever might face me during the day.

And I was ready to fight Dante about my right to go to work.

“I’m going in to the office this morning,” I’d stated strongly right off, holding my Prada purse in front of me like a shield.

Dante lounged at the patio table through the open French doors even though it was almost November and the wind was icy, wearing a black cashmere sweater over a white button-up. He looked quintessentially European, the Italian language newspaper in one hand and a cup of espresso in the other.

He’d looked over at me with slightly raised brows and inclined his head slowly, addressing me as if I was an infant. “Yes, okay. It is a weekday.”

I blinked. “Well, yes. So, I have to work.”

He blinked right back, head cocked as he narrowed his eyes at me, assessing me. “Yes, that is typically how it happens.”

I nodded curtly, thrown off by his easy acceptance. “Okay, I’m leaving, then.”

“Buona giornata,” he called mildly as he turned back to his newspaper.

I blinked at the back of his head, struggling with the feeling pushing up through the cage of my ribs.

It took me a moment to identify it as I made my way to the elevator.

Disappointment.

I’d expected him to fight me about it so I could find him wanting, roast him for being misogynistic like so many Italian men could be, wanting to keep me in the home under his thumb and assuming I’d accept that just because we’d had intercourse.

But also, an even smaller voice in the depths of my lockdown soul whispered that I wanted him to fight me about it because it would show that he cared.

I struggled with the dueling sensations as I got in the elevator and rode down to the basement where Adriano usually waited to take me to work.

Seeing him in the black Beamer brought me mild satisfaction, and I smiled at him as I got into the backseat.

“Good morning, Addie.”

“Hey,” he grunted, completing our morning ritual. He wasn’t exactly the most verbose man. Then, as he pulled out of the parking garage, he met my eye in the rearview mirror and added, “Glad you’re good after yesterday.”

Warmth moved through me like a summer’s breeze. “Thank you, me too.”

“Acted like a realdonna,” he told me with admiration clear in his gravelly voice. “Made us proud.”

Donnalike the queen in a chess set or the queen on a playing card.

Donnalike a female boss.