“Seems like partying isn’t really your thing,” came a familiar voice.
I turned to see Dante’s hazel eyes, calm and devoid of the malice that once haunted me. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with that guarded, intent gaze, like he was examining me under a microscope, trying to figure out what made me tick.
“How would you know?” I asked, shifting my focus away from Chiara and Enrico. Chiara was dancing with a guy her age, chestnut-haired with olive skin, while Enrico was deep in conversation with a group of guys.
Dante shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching. “Well, you are just standing here.”
The Dante I remembered wasn’t so restrained, so calm. He used to be one of my worst bullies, spilling drinks on me whenever he had the chance. I remembered the time
