Fever
1131 Words
Dante POV
Dante sat beside Aria’s bed, waiting for the thermometer to beep. The nanny had told them she’d developed a fever after the gala, and Dante hadn’t left her side since.
Beep beep. He checked the number—37.2. Low-grade, but still enough to twist his stomach in knots.
He leaned down and kissed her damp forehead. How did other parents do this? Every time Aria got sick, he barely slept—his mind filled with worst-case scenarios.
“Daddy, I’m thirsty,” Aria mumbled, eyes still shut. He grabbed her water bottle, added a straw, and gently held it to her lips. She took a few sips and gave him a sleepy nod of thanks.
Behind him, heels clicked in the doorway.
“How’s my baby girl doing?” Isabella’s voice was light, almost bored.
Dante didn’t turn around. “Fine,” he muttered, laying Aria back on the pillows.
“Well, it looks like you’ve got everything under control.” Isabella chuckled and walked off, heels echoing down the hall.
Of course I do. You never even showed up last night. Dante clenched his jaw. Every illness, every scraped knee, every nightmare—he was there. Isabella was not.
He looked back at Aria. Her small hand had curled into the sheets.
Screw tradition. Screw appearances. He couldn’t keep doing this—for her sake, or his.
If it weren’t for her father and the damn family alliances, he would’ve walked away the moment he saw who Isabella truly was.
Maybe it was time to file for divorce. Get Aria away from the façade they were all pretending was a family. And maybe… maybe he could finally stop pretending he didn’t want Gia back.
The thought hit him harder than expected.
God, he missed her. Her voice. Her warmth. Her fire. He wanted her under his hands, in his bed, in his life—but what if she hadn’t forgiven him? Hell, he hadn’t forgiven himself.
“Daddy?” Aria’s voice was small.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Are you sad?”
He looked at her big brown eyes, heavy with sleep.
“No,” he smiled gently. “Just tired.”
“You can sleep in my bed,” she offered. “I’ll protect you.”
His chest ached. He kicked off his shoes and slid under the blankets, pulling her into his arms.
“I feel safer already,” he whispered.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—a reminder for the investor meeting he was supposed to lead this morning. Legal counsel, board members, contracts.
Didn’t matter. He opened the group chat with his team.
Not coming in. Aria’s sick. Reschedule the Allegro meeting or let Dario handle it.
Then, after a pause—And tell security no one enters my office without my say-so.
He set the phone down. He wouldn’t leave Aria alone—not with Isabella. He didn’t even trust her to notice if their daughter got worse.
Dante looked down at Aria again, brushing a curl from her cheek. How had he ended up here—with a cold wife, a sick child, and regret gnawing at his insides?
He unlocked his phone again. Opened his messages.
Gia.
She hadn’t texted since he gave her the burner. He didn’t want to pressure her, but the silence was unbearable. Was she okay? Did she still want this? Him?
He typed: How’s your morning? I can’t stop thinking about last night.
He hesitated. Then hit send. Aria shifted beside him.
“Can we watch something?” she murmured.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Anything you want.”
He picked up the remote and queued her favorite cartoon. The world could wait. Today, he was only a father.
Later that morning, Aria drifted back to sleep, her fever still low but steady. Dante kissed her forehead again, tucking the blankets around her tightly before heading downstairs.
He needed to grab more water for her, maybe a few crackers in case she woke up hungry.
The house was quiet—and for just a second he wondered where Isabella had gone. Probably out shopping or something.
He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a small tray, and started stacking it with a juice box, a fresh water bottle, and the crackers Aria liked. He was just reaching for a napkin when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Unknown Number. His heart kicked up. He tapped the message open.
Gia: Can’t stop thinking about you, either. Especially the way you looked at me while sucking on my c**t.
Dante exhaled sharply, a smile tugging at his mouth before he could stop it.
Dante: Oh yeah? I loved watching you c*m all over my fingers…need to do it again…soon…I’m hungry for more dessert.
He could feel his c**k stirring in his pants. Only months ago she’d wanted nothing to do with him, now they were sexting. It was so inappropriate, but he couldn’t help himself.
Another buzz.
Gia: Should I wear those heels again? Or do you want them digging into your back next time?
He bit his lip. This woman was going to kill him—in the best possible way.
He was just typing back— Bring the heels…and I’ll make sure we don’t have to be quiet next time.
—when a voice cut through the air behind him.
“You seem… happy.”
He didn’t turn around right away, but he knew that tone. Isabella.
Her arms were crossed, hair curled, full face of makeup—like she was going to brunch, not standing in her kitchen while their daughter was sick upstairs.
“I’m just getting Aria some snacks,” Dante replied evenly, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
“You were smiling at your phone.” She said, her eyes darting to his pocket as if she had X-ray eyes.
“So?”
“You never smile at me like that.”
He finally turned to face her. “That’s because you’re not funny.”
Her expression soured. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe if you spent more time being a mother instead of playing dress-up, I might still look at you like I used to.”
Isabella opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.
For a moment, he thought she might say something sharp—but instead, she flipped her hair and walked away with a scoff.
Dante turned back to the tray, added a few tissues, and picked it up.
His phone buzzed again.
Gia: PS. I’m in my office now… alone. Just in case you’re in the mood to misbehave.
Dante closed his eyes for a second, steadying himself.
If I don’t get my hands on you soon, I’ll lose my damn mind.
- Writer
