like . . . like I’d destroy anything that tried to come between us. Like I’d burn the whole world down if I had to.”
His eyes keep hold of mine. I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away. I only want to nod.
“I know,” I say.
“I want you. Nothing else,” he says.
“You have me. All of me.”
“Promise me, Simone.”
“I’m yours. Till the day I die.”
He smiles and presses his heavy lips on mine.
“I want you longer than that,” he growls.
I was never raised to fall in love like this. Without reason or choice. Only wild, intense obsession.
I never meant for this to happen.
But now that it has, there’s no escaping.
I belong to Dante. And he belongs to me.
10
Dante
This summer has been the best of my life. I’m in love for the first time. The only time.
Simone is perfection in my eyes.
She’s a beautiful dreamer. I’ve never been able to see things like she can. She’s always pointing out the colors of things, the textures, the shapes.
“Look at those swirls running through those clouds over there—it reminds me of wood grain, don’t you think?”
“Look how the buildings are lit up from the side. The glass looks like gold.”
“Do you smell that? Those are damask roses. Some people think they smell like tea leaves . . .”
“Oh, feel this stone, Dante! If you closed your eyes, you’d think it was soap . . .”
We get more and more bold, going all over the city together, because I want to show Simone all my favorite places. She hasn’t been here as long as me.
I take her to Promontory Point, to the Botanic Gardens, to the Arts Corridor to see all the murals painted along the walls.
I even take her to an exhibit of 1930s and 40s Old Hollywood costumes. Simone loves that more than anything. She loses her mind over the green dress from Gone With the Wind, apparently sewn out of curtains—I never saw the film. I do recognize the ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz—one of several pairs made for the movie, according to the little placard next to the display.
Watching her excitement over the clothes, I tell her, “You should accept the offer from Parsons. You should go there.”
Simone pauses next to a display of outerwear from Casablanca.
“What if I did?” she says, not looking at me. “What would happen with us?”
I’m standing right behind her, almost close enough to touch the curve of her hip. I see the edge of her face, her lashes laying against her cheek as she looks down at the floor.
“I could visit you,” I say. “Or I could come to New York . . . plenty of Italians in Manhattan. I’ve got cousins there, uncles . . .”
Simone turns around, face lit up.
“Would you?” she says.
“I’d rather go to New York than the fucking UK,” I say.
The truth is, I’d go anywhere to see Simone while she’s at school. But I know it’s Parsons she wants, not Cambridge.
“My parents are already annoyed at me that I delayed my acceptance,” she sighs. “I said I’d go for the winter semester . . .”
“It’s not their life,” I growl.
“I know. I’m the only one they’ve got, though. Serwa . . .”
“It’s not your responsibility to make up for all the things your sister can’t do.”
“She’s actually been doing much better lately,” Simone says happily. “She’s on a new medication. She’s been applying for jobs in London. At least we’ll be close by each other, if I do go to Cambridge . . .”
I haven’t met Serwa, or any of Simone’s family.
Simone thinks they won’t accept me.
She’s probably right. I know what I am. I look like a thug and have the manners of one. My father can be dignified when he wants to be. He can hobnob with politicians and CEOS. I never learned to do that. Papa turned over the uglier parts of our business to me, and that’s all I know.
I tell Simone that she doesn’t have to bend to her father’s demands.
But I have my own responsibilities to my family. What would they do if I went to New York? Nero isn’t old enough to handle things on his own. And there’s truth to what Edwin Dukuly said right before I killed him. Papa is still powerful. But he hasn’t had the same focus since Mama died. He tells me what needs doing. I’m the one that has to do it.
Simone isn’t the right wife for me in my family’s