Page 75 of Ivory Obsession
My breath hitched at the cold determination in his voice. His words were chilling, but they resonated with an uneasy comfort. Framed by the soft glow of my living room lamp, Dante seemed more like a protective avenger than anything else.
But I definitely couldn’t tell him about being pregnant. Not until I managed to untangle all this.
“I wanted to warn you, tell you I have this handled and, uh, apologize,” Dante said. “I have a…hang on a second, I’ll be right back.”
He stepped out of my apartment for a brief moment, and he came back with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in his hand. “I put this just out of view,” he said. “In case you decided not to let me in. So thank you for letting me in.”
“Well, it seemed important,” I said as he closed the door behind him.
“It was. I was tending to this all day. I’m sorry I missed your talk.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t expect you to be there. You’re a hobbyist, not a pro. It would have been boring for you.”
He smiled. “I doubt that. Watching you talk about what you care about is my favorite thing. It was genome sequencing, right?”
I sighed, rubbing my temple as I gestured for him to sit down on my sofa. “Honestly, it was hard to let you in. I don’t trust you after what happened last time,” I said, the words sharp like broken glass underfoot.
He exhaled, a look of regret washing over his features. “I’m sorry, Jade. I got carried away. I just... I wanted to show you how much I needed you. That’s why I missed your conference.”
“Needed or wanted?” I corrected, unable to stop the scientist in me from seeking clarity. “And it was about biotechnological applications in neuroscience, not genome sequencing.”
Dante’s lips curled into a smile, a soft chuckle escaping him. His reaction was like a spark in dry underbrush, threatening to reignite something dangerous between us.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“Nothing,” he said, his smile lingering. “I just love hearing you talk about your work. You light up, you know? It’s captivating.”
My defenses wavered as he spoke, the genuine admiration in his tone disarming me. “The conference didn’t go great,” I said. “Well, the talk was fine, but the vibes were weird.”
“I’m sure it’s better than you think. And if it isn’t, hey, you’ll knock them dead next time,” he said, then looked at the flowers. “Do you want me to keep holding these on my lap or…”
I smiled, taking the flowers off him. I navigated the small kitchen, its familiarity bringing a sense of order to my thoughts. Plucking an empty vase from the shelf, I filled it with water before arranging Dante’s flowers within it. The petals were vibrant against the dull steel of the sink, a slash of color in the otherwise drab space.
“So what exactly were you doing today? You weren’t actually killing anybody, right?”
He shook his head. He scratched at the back of his neck—an awkward gesture that seemed out of place on someone who usually exuded such confidence. “That’s just a figure of speech.”
“But real estate?”
“Look, Jade, it’s just business stuff,” he said finally, his voice low. The apartment was tiny, so he remained on the couch as we had this conversation. “You know how it is.”
Did I, though? His vagueness gnawed at me, the unanswered questions piling up like the unread journals on my desk. But there was something in his tone, a hint of something deeper, that made me pause.
“Sure, Dante,” I replied, not quite ready to let him off the hook, but also aware that pushing might only drive him further away. “Just ‘business stuff.’”
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw a crack in the façade—the weight of worlds unspoken pressing against it.
“Jade...” he started, but the words trailed off, leaving an unfinished thought hanging between us like the steam from the tea kettle I’d forgotten on the stove. I watched Dante’s struggle, the play of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed whatever half-truth he had prepared. “Contracts, property negotiations, you know the drill.”
“Right,” I said, my voice flat. My arms folded over my chest as I leaned back against the counter, my gaze not wavering from his face. His answers were like breadcrumbs, leading me away from what I really wanted to know. And I could tell there was so much more he wasn’t saying.
“Why the rush to apologize?” I pressed, watching him closely. His eyes, dark and fathomless, flickered with something I couldn’t quite read. The silence stretched out, becoming another presence in the room, demanding an answer. “To be clear, what I want to know is why you’re apologizing about missing the conference and not about forcing me to come in a parking lot.”
He smirked. “Well, you loved that.”
“I didn’t--” I stammered, feeling the familiar heated flush creep into my cheeks. But I couldn’t deny a certain undercurrent of truth in his words. And beneath that, a long-buried desire began to stir, the memory of his hands on me quickening my breath.
“Jade,” his voice was gentle now, and he rose from the couch, closing the gap between us. His glance darted briefly to my stomach before finding my eyes again. For a moment, I was sure he knew about the baby. Then he shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, and held out his hand to me - palm up - like an offering.