Page 72 of Broken Rules
I pluck the courage to ask about something I’ve suspected since Dante told me who his mother is. “There was something between you, wasn’t there?”
“Dante’s right. You’re very clever.”
“I can add two and two together.”
“It was a short affair. A misunderstanding,” she says, repentant. “A stupid mistake.”
“You don’t have to explain.” I sit up, tugging on the sleeves of my sweater. “I don’t blame you. My parents’ marriage is a farce. They’re together only because of Frank’s image. I assume Dante doesn’t know about this?”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t. I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way.” She puts the violin on her knees, her shoulders tense. “Dante’s father passed away when he was fifteen. I didn’t handle it well. Dante ran to his uncle in Chicago soon after that, and a few months later, I found out what career my son chose.” She wrinkles her nose, visibly burdened by the past. “I flew over there to change his mind and met your father. It was the wrong time. I was mourning my husband, and—” She blushes, shaking her head.
“And you need a distraction,” I finish for her. “He loved you, didn’t he?”
“Very much. We were only seeing each other for two months, but your father was ready to divorce your mother. I broke him when I left, but he took it like a man. He mentored Dante for years. He always had his best interests at heart. I think that deep down, he hoped I’d change my mind.”
I can’t help but wonder how different my life would’ve turned out if Isla had stayed with Frank. She couldn’t have known, but their short affair had indescribable repercussions. Frank’s broken heart changed him forever, and Dante’s betrayal was the last nail in the coffin.
“I think he stopped hoping a long time ago,” I say, offering Isla a small, sympathetic smile.
Isla picks the violin up, inhaling deeply as she touches the bow to the violin’s strings. The soft, familiar melody brings back memories of all the evenings I sat in the living room with Frank, surrounded by darkness and this masterpiece. Instead of watching cartoons, I listened to classical music because it meant spending time with my Dad. He was happy back then, peaceful. I miss him. I miss the person he was before he killed Dino, and Chicago was split in half.
Frank was never a great father, but back then, he waspresent. Six years ago, he became uncatchable like smoke.
Isla finishes playing, but I remain curled in a ball, buried under an avalanche of memories. It’s not until she pulls me into a tight hug that I snap out of it.
The characteristic sound of the elevator doors sliding open resonates throughout the penthouse. Dante walks in, eyes on me, his muscles instantly tense.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Your mom played the violin for me.”
“You’re just in time,” she points toward the dining room. “Lunch will be ready in ten.”
“Give us a minute, Mom.” He helps me up when she leaves. “I’ll ask again, Star. This time I expect you not to lie.” He curls his finger under my chin. “What’s wrong?”
“Your mom’s amazing.” I rest my forehead on his chest. “She’s been lovely all morning, kept calling mesweetie, and hugged me every few minutes as if I’m her daughter. She even played the violin when I asked, and I realized how awful my parents really are.”
He kisses the top of my head, but I turn toward the dining room, not letting him speak. There’s nothing he can say to change reality.
The flight back home and the thirty minutes we spent in the cab were unnaturally silent. On our way to the airport in New York, Dante picked up a call, and after twenty seconds, during which he said three words, his good mood evaporated.
Three hours of silence is long enough.
“What do you feel like doing?” I ask, watching him drop our bags by the staircase. “Should I pick a movie?”
He doesn’t answer, rounding the bar as if he hadn’t heard me to pour himself a drink, staring at the glass.
I hug his back when he sits at the bar. “You’re not here, baby. Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
He presses his lips to my wrist, mindlessly spinning the glass. “It’s nothing, Star. Pick a movie. I’ll grab a shower.”
I collapse on the couch, taking the remote control with me. Dante’s distraught. I want to distract him, but I don’t know how... I turn the TV on, then switch it off when a thought flashes in my mind. I follow him upstairs, stripping off my clothes in the bedroom, and tiptoe to the bathroom wearing nothing but white lingerie. Clouds of steam, thick like cigar smoke, hang in the air.
Dante stands motionless with his back to me, his head under the stream of hot water, hands resting on the wall. My heart slams against my ribs, and my hands feel damp. He hasn’t touched me yet, but it doesn’t stop my breath from slowing or my lungs not filling to capacity.
He turns around as if he can sense my presence, his eyes roving my body before meeting my gaze.
The muscles in my abdomen contract when he parts his lips. Water trickles down his tattooed arms and broad chest. Worry disappears from his face when I slide my thumbs under the fabric of my panties, pulling them down until they fall to the ground.
