Page 156 of Ricardo

"Maybe more than a few," she teases.

I chuckle. "Maybe. But I've never... this."

Her expression softens. "This? What do you mean by 'this'?"

"I've never brought a woman home after... after this," I say, gesturing vaguely at the space between us. "I've never... wanted to."

Her breath hitches.

"What do you mean," she asks quietly. "You haven't brought a woman home after a date?"

"I have," I say, careful with my words. "I mean, I've brought women home. I won't lie to you and pretend I've been celibate or lived like a monk. I like women. I've enjoyed women."

I watch her, gauging her reaction. She is listening intently, her eyes locked on me.

"But this... this is different," I say. "You agree?"

She nods slowly. "Yes," she whispers. "It's different."

That seems to be the best way to describe it. And it seems to be enough for both of us right now because she rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.

I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer as we drive home in comfortable silence.

Chapter Twenty One

Julia

By the time Dante knocks on my apartment door, I have rearranged the throw pillows on my couch three times, wiped down the kitchen counter twice, and poured a glass of wine I have not touched.

My phone sits face down on the coffee table.

Ricardo called twenty minutes ago.

He wanted to come. He did not like the idea of me telling Dante alone. I could hear it in every measured word.

I begged him anyway.

I hate that word. Begged. It makes me sound weak, and I am trying very hard to stop thinking of it that way.

But I needed to be the one to tell Dante. Alone. Before Dante saw us standing together like a united front. Before he looked at Ricardo’s hand on my back or my face beside his father’s and decided the two people closest to him had already taken a side opposite him.

“He’ll take it better from me,” I told him.

“You cannot know that.”

“I know Dante.”

“So do I.”

“Yes,” I said, gripping the phone so tightly my fingers ached. “And that is exactly why you need to let me do this. If you come with me, and he sees us together, he’ll get defensive before either of us can get it out.”

Ricardo went silent.

I hated that silence. I hated knowing I had reached him by talking about his son.

Then he said, “And if he is angry?”

“He will be.”