Chapter 2
1230 Words
Jennie
If anyone ever tells you walking through a crowd with a literal god of a man on your arm is fun, they’re lying.
It’s terrifying.
Every time Dante and I walk past someone, whether it’s my uncle, the flower girl’s mom, or some random man in a rental tux, they all look. Some are subtle. Some are not. A lot of them are actually staring at him like he’s the last piece of cake at the wedding buffet.
Dante doesn’t care.
He’s calm. Unbothered. The sharpest man in the room and getting all the admiring glances, and somehow he still looks like he’d rather be on a motorcycle with blood on his knuckles.
When we stand at the edge of the garden reception while guests mingle and clink champagne glasses, Dante has one hand casually in his pocket and the other resting on the small of my back. A barely-there touch that still makes my brain short-circuit.
Is this what they call getting starry-eyed?
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs near my ear. Mr. Actor and looking-like-a-model is so close that I can feel the vibration of his voice before I hear it.
Unfair how it makes me shiver.
“It’s the heels,” I lie.
“It’s not.”
I glance up at him, and I’m hit with a wave of Dante Evans. Perfect nose. Sculpted cheekbones. A jawline with the hint of stubble that every lady would want to find chaffing on their private parts. His eyes are gorgeous too, and watching me like he’s thinking about things no one should be thinking at a wedding.
“You’re not making this easier, you know,” I mutter, pretending to sip champagne. It’s juice. They gave me juice.
“Not my job to make it easy,” he replies. “You hired a boyfriend, not a babysitter.”
Oh, he’s rude. I hate that it works on me.
Before I can snap back and show him that this kitten has some claws of her own, some guy stumbles into our space like a human bowling ball. “Jennie?”
No, not him!
Standing there in khakis and misplaced confidence is Kyle. My high school crush. And ex. He is accidental reason I stopped trusting men with playlists and poetry tattoos.
He blinks between me and Dante. “Wow. You look… different. Like, in a good way. And is that—” he squints, “—your boyfriend?”
Dante turns his head slowly, his cold expression telling me nothing of his internal thoughts.
There’s a tiny pause before he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his side. Like he’s claiming me as his trophy girlfriend, even though he is the one everyone wants.
“I’m Dante,” he says. “Her boyfriend. Who are you?”
Kyle shrinks a little under Dante’s stare. My ex isn’t short, but my new actor boyfriend is tall. “Uh. Just a friend,” Kyle awkwardly mumbles.
“Hmm.” Dante doesn’t smile. He just stands there, carved from marble and draped in danger. “You always talk to your friends like that?”
Kyle flushes. “Didn’t mean anything by it. She just looks… different.”
“She always looks like this,” Dante sounds defensive. “You must not have been paying attention.”
Oh. My. God.
He is scary, but also hot. Very hot!
Kyle stutters something and scurries away. I glance up at Dante, heart pounding.
“That was…” I struggle to find the words.
Dante doesn’t.
“Necessary.”
“Was it? Why?”
His gaze drops to my mouth, then flicks back to my eyes. “He was looking at you like you were a memory he wanted to revisit. I don’t share.”
OH OKAY.
He steps back a little, but not enough to give me air. Not enough to let me recover from having him play the part of overprotective boyfriend. I feel the heat of him everywhere. On my back. On my hips. Even in places where his fingers never went.
“You know this is pretend, right?” I try, mostly because my brain needs a warning label. It is already planning our wedding.
His intense eyes land on mine. “This doesn’t feel like pretend.”
Woah.
My knees almost betray me. I need to sit down.
But before I can find a chair, a server passes with flutes of actual champagne. I grab one like it’s my only lifeline and down half in one go.
Dante is watching me again. That same half-lidded gaze, like he’s already imagined what I’d look like underneath him. He hasn’t touched me in two full minutes, and yet I feel marked.
“Come with me,” he says.
My voice comes out hoarse, “Where?”
He doesn’t answer. Just takes the glass from my hand and sets it on a table. Then he reaches for my fingers and threads his with mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I follow. Of course I do. Dante smells like a new mistake, and I’m good at making those.
He leads me to the dance floor. There’s a slow song. The kind of tune that says touch each other like the world isn’t watching.
“Dante,” I whisper, but he already has me.
One hand on my waist. The other catching mine. We are too close. His gaze traps me, and I’m melting like a marshmallow.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
The world falls away, and I don’t remember how to breathe.
All I can think of is Dange. His hand is on my back, sliding down. Delicious fingers brushing skin. Every move is smooth. Like he’s just good at making women unravel in public and have done it before.
I want to touch him too so my little hand lands on his broad chest. The heartbeat I feel is slow and strong. Like nothing concerns him.
His head dips low. Lips near my ear.
“You’re shaking again,” he murmurs. “Still the heels?”
“It’s you.”
A pause.
His fingers tighten on my waist. “Good.”
We dance.
And for a few minutes, I forget this is a lie. I forget my sister’s stares, my mom’s confusion, the whispers. I forget that this man is not mine. Because right now?
He feels like he could be my future, and I’m happy...until I hear my sister.
“Oh wow. He did not run off after the ceremony.”
I freeze and Dante stills with me, but slowly turns toward the sound.
My sister is standing near the buffet table. Her petite baby doll arm is linked with her husband, but her eyes are locked on us like she’s looking at intruders on her parade.
Her lips curl into something tight. “You really pulled it off and found yourself a man, huh?”
Dante’s mouth brushes my temple. “Smile,” he says softly. “Let her choke on your happiness.”
I smile at my sister, “I did.”
My smile is wicked. Today I’m not the ugly duckling standing alone in the corner. I’m the woman with the hottest man in the room dancing with me.
And damn, it feels good.
- Writer
