Page 65 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
She eyed me suspiciously. “Not even Cinderella.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Especially not her.”
“How come?” she pushed.
I thought about it because she deserved a good answer. “Princesses always need saving, and I’ve always wanted to be the type of woman that saved herself. Maybe even the one who saved her handsome prince in the end instead.”
Aurora’s big brown eyes went wide before she nodded soberly. “Yeah, that’s why I don’t like them either. They’resciocco.”
“There are different types of women in the world,gioia. There are soft ones who need saving, but maybe they have good, tender hearts that need protecting. And you know what?” Dante asked, stroking a big hand down her head as he shot me a sidelong glance. “Even the strong ones need saving sometimes.”
“Not me,” she crowed, turning to jump up on the marble coffee table, dislodging a vase that tumbled harmlessly to the carpet. She struck a sword-fighting pose. “I’m going to be the saver.”
“The savior,” I corrected.
“Okay,” she said easily. “That’s why I think my name’sstupido.”
I considered her for a second, then grabbed the long vase from the floor and used it to dub her like a knight. “Then, I think we should call you Rora, warrior princess.”
Her eyes bugged out at me. “Like the lion’s roar.”
“Exactly like that,” I agreed, beaming back at her.
“Okay,” she said again in that adorably confident way like nothing in life fazed her. “You and me can be friends, okay?”
“Bene,” I agreed, offering my hand to shake.
She took it in her little one, and we smiled at each other so big it hurt.
“I knew you two would get along,” Dante interjected as he winked at me before heading back into the kitchen. “Elena is a fighter too.”
I passed the wink on to Rora as we both followed him into the kitchen. The place was a disaster zone, double zero flour and eggshells everywhere along with little folded ears of the orecchiette pasta.
“Your mama is not going to be happy about the mess,” Dante admitted as they returned to their stations at the island, Rora using my hand to help herself up onto the stool and then the counter.
“No, but you’re lucky. You’re old enough you don’t get time-outs,” she pouted before looking over at me. “You want to make ears with us?”
I was wearing a five-hundred-dollar white silk blouse and Chanel wide-legged pants that I usually meticulously kept clean, even going so far as to sit on napkins if I had to take a seat in public. I could feel Dante’s eyes on me as I nodded.
“Sure, Rora.”
She rewarded me with a smile and then launched into a monologue about her day at school and her best friend, Maria Antonia.
While she babbled happily, Dante appeared from the pantry with an apron and approached me. Instead of handing it over, he stood behind me, close enough I could feel his heat, and reached around my body to tie the fabric around my waist. Once secured, he lifted my hair with one hand to tie the other strings beneath it.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his hot breath fanned over the back of my neck, followed closely by the warm press of his nose skimming along the side of my throat.
“Mmm,” he hummed, the vibration tickling thin skin. “You smellintossicante.”
A shudder wrenched between my shoulders, impossible to hide from the predator at my back. When I spoke, I made sure my voice wasn’t as weak as my knees felt. “It’s just Chanel number 5.”
“The body’s natural chemistry reacts with a scent,” he murmured as he slowly slid the apron strings against my sensitized flesh, the rough fabric somehow deliciously sensual. “No one scent ever smells the same on different people. And this? It suits you. Elegant and sultry like a midnight assignation in a garden.”
“Can I smell?” Rora asked, interrupting the electric tension between Dante and me.
Silently, because my voice was somewhere at my toes, I offered her my wrist. She pressed her entire nose to it and sniffed deeply before smiling at me. Her happy, easy energy was contagious.
