Dance with the Devil: Chapter 17

Three Days Later

My arms are wrapped around my legs as I sit on the couch and wait for Dante to finish getting ready. Our respective flights leave in a couple of hours, and the car is already waiting for us downstairs. He’s going back to Santa Barbara, and I’m going back to San Diego. As much as I know it makes the most sense, I’m still disappointed. Especially because we haven’t left each other’s side since Sunday night.

For the last three days, he’s requested I attend every single talk and one-to-one meeting he had scheduled. And when the workday was over, he’d wine and dine me before taking me back to our hotel room and stripping me completely—stripping me of my clothes, of what I thought I wanted, of my inhibitions. It all went out the door with him. How could it not? He looked at me like I was already his. Like he’d been waiting for me for years. No one had ever looked at me like that. It was addicting, and the more we were together, the more I craved him.

We hadn’t talked about what would happen after this trip. We’d been too busy fucking, eating, sleeping, cuddling…

To be honest, I’m scared to bring it up.

What if this was all just about getting some tail on his business trip?

What if he doesn’t actually want me in the way he says he does while he’s inside of me?

What if I got pregnant? He’d removed my birth control ring. I knew it was a possibility, and so did he.

Would he deny it once he got back to his real life?

Because all of this—it was far from real life, and we both know it.

Dante opens the bathroom door and walks into the living area. His beard is freshly trimmed. He’s wearing a white button-up rolled to his elbows and dark gray dress pants. Meanwhile, I’m in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, tube socks, and sneakers.

His eyes roam over me for a second before he reaches a hand out.

“Shall we?” Tugging me up, we look at each other for a minute before he rocks back on his heels. “Did you get enough to eat?” he asks, surveying the room service cart by the door.

I nod. “I did, thank you.”

There are a few more tense beats of silence before he turns and grabs our suitcases. “We should go so we don’t miss our flights.”

I follow him out, casting one longing look at the hotel room over my shoulder before the door closes. Ten days ago, I never would’ve guessed this would happen. That I could feel so much for someone in such a short period of time.

In the elevator, Dante is just as quiet as I am, and the car ride is the same. We both check into our flights, and as we wait in the security line, my stomach curdles with dread.

Why isn’t he saying anything? Maybe he changed his mind—maybe he’s secretly married, and this was just a stupid fling.

Maybe he never intended to follow through with his words—because that’s what they are. Words. Empty, silly words that I apparently fell for.

Once we’re through security, I check my ticket, realizing that my gate is to the left, and his is to the right. We take off within twenty minutes of each other, and then… I have no idea when I’ll see him again.

Just as I open my mouth to ask, he pulls me in for a hug, wrapping his warm arms around me.

“I’m not good at goodbyes, Frankie.”

My eyes begin to water. “Me neither.”

“Have a safe flight. Text me as soon as you land.”

“I don’t have your personal number,” I tell him.

He pulls away, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “You’ve had it for two years.”

My heart stutters. “I assumed that was your business landline.”

His face softens as he brushes a piece of hair away from my face. “We’ll figure this out. Just give me a few days, okay?”

I bite my lower lip to keep from crying. I’m not naive—I know he’s probably just brushing me off gently. This is his way of not hurting my feelings. After all, he still needs me in his life to manage his business.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Before either of us can say anything else, he turns and walks away, dragging his carry-on behind him.

I watch him go. He looks over his shoulder as he turns a corner, giving me a small smile.

After he disappears, I find a nearby bench to cry on.

Fuck.

I got too close, too quickly.

I fell for him—hard.

All he had to do was be nice to me during the day, and fuck my brains out at night. Who knew?

Composing myself, I walk to my gate and stare out the window until first class is called to board. I feel numb—like these last ten days didn’t happen.

It feels like a dream.

The flight is quick and easy, and Ari is waiting for me when I descend down the elevator at San Diego airport. Her brows squish together as I jog toward her, my face crumpling as she hugs me.

“Frankie? You okay?”

I begin to sob as I hold on to her, as my body heaves. She squeezes me and strokes my hair, and I tell myself that I don’t need Dante. That I have Ari and my mom. That everything will be okay once it goes back to normal. That this was all just some wild daydream that never actually happened.

It’s too good to be true.

“Who do I need to kill?” Ari asks, smoothing my hair down.

I pull away as I swipe the tears from my cheeks and sniff. “No, it’s fine. It’s better this way.”

Her face hardens. “Who. Do. I. Need. To. Kill?”

I laugh as I assess my friend who’s barely five-foot-two. The thought of spunky, little Ari marching up to Dante is hilarious.

“Did he end things?” she asks.

I’d sort of kept her in the loop—obviously minus the birth control ring and the dubious consent. She knew that we’d been sleeping together.

“No, not exactly. But he was really quiet all day. It’s not like we live close, and since he didn’t come out and say, Hey, I want to date you, I assume it’s because he doesn’t want to. He just said he needed a few days to figure everything out.”

“So, he’s saying he needs space?” she asks, putting her arm around my shoulders and guiding us to her parked car.

I shrug. “I guess.”

“Did he mention anything at all about how this relationship would move forward?” she asks a few minutes later, once we’re in her car.

There’s no turning back for me. Do you understand?

I want your future, your heart, your children.

I want you near me at all times. I want to fuck you when I’m awake. When I’m asleep. I want you during waking hours and in my dreams.

“Yes, but I’m now wondering if he said it all because we were, you know⁠—”

“Fucking,” Ari says, rolling her eyes as she backs out of the parking spot. “Just say it. F-U-C-K-I-N-G.”

I laugh. “Fine. I guess I’m just wondering if it was all a part of the fucking.”

“I guess we’ll see. Men are pigs. I’m sorry, babe.”

I don’t bother texting Dante. He’d told me to take the rest of the week off, so I have no reason to communicate with him. But since we’d been in near-constant company for the past ten days, it feels strange to be away from him and to not update him.

But if he wants to contact me, he can contact me.

It’s a thirty-minute drive back to my house, and after I thank Ari for picking me up, she drives back to work.

I spend my day unpacking and staring longingly at the baby blanket supplies I’d ordered before the business trip, but my heart isn’t in it today. I mope around the house and make ramen for dinner. When it starts to rain, I curl up on the couch and read a murder mystery book with zero romance, because I don’t think my heart can take it.

Around nine p.m., my phone chimes with a text.

Doctor Devil

I assume you made it home safely.

His text doesn’t reassure me at all. It’s formal and stuffy, just like I’m used to.

Yep. Sorry, got distracted.

Doctor Devil

Good. Are you enjoying your evening alone?

I’m full of ramen and reading about dismemberment, so sure.

Doctor Devil

You had ramen for dinner?

…yes?

Doctor Devil

Open your door.

My heart skips a beat as I look at my door and then down at his text.

You’re outside my house?

Doctor Devil

I am.

I quickly stand up and look around at the mess. My ramen bowl is still on the coffee table, and there are several blankets flung onto the floor from jumping up so abruptly. The boxes of baby blanket materials are stacked in the corner, and I’m pretty sure I had some cheese go bad while I was away, so despite lighting a candle earlier, my house smells like moldy cheese and roses.

Not to mention, I’m wearing my rattiest pajamas—a pair of leggings with holes in the knees and an oversized t-shirt with no bra.

Quickly pulling my hair into a messy bun, I tidy the blankets and drop my ramen bowl in the kitchen sink before I pull my front door open.

Dr. Kincaid is standing there with his arms crossed, one brow arched. He’s wearing the same thing as earlier today, complete with his suitcase.

And a potted orchid. A pink orchid.

I open my mouth to ask why he’s here, but he takes a step forward into my house.

“My driver pulled up to my house and I didn’t even go inside,” he explains, looking tired all of a sudden. “So I told him to drive to your house.”

My breathing turns ragged as my heart pounds against my ribs. “You drove all the way from Santa Barbara? That’s, like… four hours.”

He gives me a tired smile. “Six hours, actually. I hit rush hour traffic in L.A. And I stopped to get this,” he adds, handing the gorgeous, flowering plant to me.

My mouth drops open as I take it from him. “Is your driver…” I look behind him.

“I sent him to a five-star hotel and paid him for the week. He’ll be okay.”

“And why didn’t you go home?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

“Because for the last ten days, I’ve grown accustomed to you. Hearing your sounds, smelling your scent… being away from you feels wrong, and I needed to be near you⁠—”

“I come bearing wine!” Ari walks around my small front porch and stops a few feet behind Dante, her mouth dropping open. “Well, if it isn’t the devil himself,” she says. “I hope you apologized for leading her on. And I hope you know what a catch she is. Just look at those tits.”

“Ari,” I hiss.

My eyes go wide as Dante laughs, turning to face her. “I had no intention of leading her on. I came straight from Santa Barbara.” Ari narrows her eyes, sizing him up despite being at least fifteen inches shorter than him. “I’m just about to order some food, if you’d like to join us. I’m Dante, and you must be Ari.”

He reaches his hand forward for a handshake. I can tell by the way he shakes his hand after that she must’ve squeezed the shit out of it, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Fine. I’ll join you. As long as I’m not interrupting anything,” she adds, looking at me with knowing eyes.

“You’re not interrupting,” I tell her, suddenly elated at the prospect of hanging out with my best friend and my—what is Dante to me, exactly?

“Bring the wine,” I tell her, ushering both of them inside. “We’re going to need it.”

March 14th

I thought I could handle a few days apart. A week at most, to get my affairs in order. I told myself that it was necessary, that I needed time to tie up the loose ends from our trip, to clear my head, to regain some sense of control. But I was wrong. Completely, utterly wrong. It’s been less than an hour, and already, I feel like I’m suffocating without her.

The moment we separated, something inside me twisted, a tightness in my chest that hasn’t eased since. The thought of her being so far away—it’s unbearable. I told myself I could manage it, that it was good for me to have this space, but the truth is, I don’t want space. I don’t want distance. I need her close, always within reach, where I can see her, touch her, know that she’s safe.

I’m currently trying to distract myself, burying myself in work, in the details of the emails I’m trying to respond to as I wait for my plane to board, but nothing is. Everything feels hollow, meaningless without her.

I keep imagining her, alone in her house, two hundred miles away. It’s too far. Farther than I can stand. What if something happens? What if she needs me? What if someone else is there, trying to take her from me? The thought drives me mad, fills me with a rage I can barely control.

I need to see her. I need to be with her. Today.

The more I try to convince myself that I can wait, that I can be patient, the more I realize how impossible that is. I can’t wait. I won’t.

I don’t care that it’s a two-hundred-mile drive. She needs me, even if she doesn’t know it yet. And I need her—more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.

I’ll be there by dinnertime, and when I see her, when I hold her again, everything will be right. Everything will make sense. I’ll figure out a way to explain it, to make her understand why I couldn’t stay away. Maybe I won’t have to explain. Maybe she’ll just see it in my eyes, feel it in the way I touch her, and she’ll understand. She has to.

I’m leaving now. I’ll be with her soon. Where I belong, where she belongs—with me.

Always.