Page 19 of Obsession & Oath

“Oh, in that case, it’s all terribly justified then.”

I glare at him. At some point he got close enough to the bars to have pressed himself against them. Almost his entire head fits through the gap.

I wonder if I might be quick enough to wrap my hands around his neck before he can pull away.

“Why are you here?” I bite out instead.

“To see if you were in want of anything.”

There’s a moment when I merely blink at him. He can’t really expect any other response than: “Iwantto go home.”

“Ah, good. You haven’t gone insane yet,” he smiles cheerily as if this is somehow good news to him. “I was worried the lack of social interaction would melt your brain a bit.”

“Pierre has been very good to me.”

Dante takes a step back, reaching into his back pocket, and chucks something through the bars toward me. I awkwardly scramble to catch it before it can hit the floor. “But does Pierre bring you gifts of classic literature?”

I examine the title on the front of the small dictionary with alarm. “‘Talk dirty like an Italian’?” I read.

“I’m interested to see if you have it in you to curse out my mother in her native tongue next time.”

Flicking through the pages, I blanche at the lists of increasingly vulgar swear words and their Italian translations. “This isn’t what I would call classic literature.”

“What are you talking about? I studied that thing more extensively than Shakespeare,” he begins to back away, hands in his pockets. “Happy reading. Oh, and the highlighted ones are my favorites.”

* * *

The positive thing about my little book of Italian swears is that the next time Dante visits, I have a greeting readily prepared.

“Ehi, testa di cazzo.”

Unfortunately, this seems to have the opposite of my intended effect.

Dante merely grins at me through the bars in a way that is infuriatingly disarming. “Did you just call me a ‘dickhead’?”

“Do you prefer,figlio di puttana?”

He laughs at this, a warm sound that rumbles from his chest. “Son of a bitch. You really have it out for my mother.”

And that low rumbling sound really is a problem.

Because the negative thing about my little book of Italian swears is that I’m now burdened with the knowledge of Dante’s favorite ways to talk dirty.

Sunshine yellow highlights over phrases like,il tuo corpo è un’opera d’arte—your body is a masterpiece, andVoglio assaggiarti tutta la notte—I want to taste you all night andLo prendi così bene—you take it so well, have plagued me since his visit.

Imagining the words rumbling from his mouth sends a fresh wave of panic shooting through me every time.

Andthatis something I don’t want to examine too closely.

“You don’t sound that concerned.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I need you to make a good impression with her.”

It’s at this point I realize Dante hasn’t brought me any soup. In fact, Pierre had dropped by what can only have been an hour ago, which means he’s likely here for the hell of it.

I tilt my head curiously. “But arming me with a dictionary of curses? Were you hoping I might, what, scandalize her enough so that she’d drop dead and do your dirty work for you?”

“Trust me, I’m not afraid of a bit of dirty work,” he winks. Flirtatious again.

---