Page 50 of Ivory Obsession
I couldn’t push him on it, which made this more difficult than I wanted it to be. I just had to wait for him to tell me himself.
Yet, as I watched his silhouette framed against the soft glow of wall sconces, his shoulders tense, the air around him seemed charged with something more than familial obligation.
His voice was too low for specifics, but the way his free hand clenched and unclenched spoke volumes. The murmur of his voice ebbed and flowed, a current I couldn’t ride but felt all the same. Words like “immediate” and “handle it” slipped through the cracks in the ambient noise, and they stuck to me, cold and foreboding. This was no ordinary call about business or a family squabble over Sunday dinner.
When he returned, his face was a mask of composure, but his eyes betrayed the storm just passed. They flicked to my face, searching for signs of suspicion or fear. Perhaps he found neither, or maybe he saw both.
“Everything okay?” I asked, unable to temper the worry edging my words. My heart thundered in my chest, not from the wine or the rich food, but from the gnawing thought that Dante’s world was bleeding into mine, dark and unbidden.
“Family business,” he replied, the phrase rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. His lips curved into a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t reach those piercing eyes, windows to a soul caught in a vice. “Nothing to worry about.”
His answer did little to quell the unease that had taken root inside me. The man before me was an enigma, cloaked in charm and danger, and every instinct screamed that there was so much more beneath the surface—more than I might be ready to face.
But fuck. I needed to try.
“Sometimes sharing what’s weighing on you can help lighten the load,” I offered softly, hoping to coax him into opening up. My own experiences had taught me that much.
Dante’s laugh was short, devoid of humor. “In my world, sharing can get you killed.” His words hung heavy between us. He snapped his head up to look at me. “I mean, uh, figuratively, of course.”
“Of course. Was that your father?”
“Yeah, that was my old man. I don’t know, Jade. It’s just that Enzo has high expectations,” he admitted, his jaw tensing. “And the stakes are...let’s just say they’re higher than in most families.”
“High expectations...I know them well,” I began, taking a deep breath. “My parents pushed me toward academia. Becoming a neuroscientist wasn’t just an aspiration; it was a mandate. The pressure was suffocating at times.”
“Are your parents academics?” he asked, obviously eager to stop talking about his own father.
“My mom was a teacher before she had me and my siblings,” I shared, hoping my openness would encourage Dante. “She gave up her career so that we’d have the best upbringing possible. My dad was a scientist, worked at one of the top research facilities in the country. He was--is--very prestigious. They both expected us to follow in his footsteps.”
“He’s a neuroscientist too?”
I laughed. “No, his job is harder,” I replied. “He’s a theoretical physicist. He worked on projects I can’t even begin to understand. But his brilliance...it was both inspiring and daunting. I never wanted to disappoint them.”
Dante waved me off after taking a sip of his wine. “Wait. I understand familial pressure, I get that. But how is his job harder than yours?”
I chuckled lightly at his question, shaking my head slightly. “Theoretical physics deals with concepts and dimensions that bend the fabric of reality. They attempt to understand the universe, its origins and structure, it’s a task of cosmic proportions.” I paused, looking into his curious eyes. “But what we do in biotechnology is more...here and now, I guess.”
“Your job is hard too!”
“Well, no, my job is specialized,” I replied. “That doesn’t make it hard. With the brain, you can map it, study it, predict its responses to stimuli. But the universe? It’s constantly expanding, constantly changing. The rules aren’t as clear-cut. My father’s work, it’s poetic in its complexity.” I paused, swirling my wine in my glass. “Not that biotechnology isn’t fascinating in its own right.”
He cocked his head. “I don’t understand a lot about physics. I do agree that the brain is fascinating. Did you ever think about going into that instead of neuroscience?”
“I did,” I admitted, “But my passion leaned towards something more tangible, more immediate. Neuroscience felt...right. It’s like understanding the hidden language of our minds, our very essence. And it’s in being able to decode that language where I find the most satisfaction.”
His eyes displayed an intense curiosity as they held mine. “And what about your siblings? Did they follow the path laid out by your parents?”
“Somewhat,” I mused, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. “My sister Emily is a research chemist and my brother Tom...he rebelled.” I laughed lightly at that. “Well, he went to law school first. Then he moved to Nashville and became a professional musician.”
“Is he any good?”
“He’s so good,” I told him. “I don’t think he would have gone to Nashville if he wasn’t. He said being there was humbling.”
Dante’s eyes softened with amusement. “I mean, that makes sense.” He took another sip of his wine, his attention never wavering from me. “A family of overachievers. No pressure, huh?”
I let out a short, mirthless laugh. “You could say that,” I replied. “But I mean, you feel it too, right?”
“Yeah, my dad can be hard to please,” Dante said. “He’s very traditional. I’m the eldest son and I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger. I didn’t always listen to him when I should have, which put me…behind.”