A Ruthless Proposition

by Natasha Anders

  “It’s nothing,” he shrugged. “Morning wood. Although waking up next to you has definitely made it more impressive than usual.”

  It reminded her of Tokyo and how comfortable he had been with his own nudity.

  “You’re getting out of those pajamas today,” he mandated. “And we’re going out.”

  “Dante,” she murmured miserably. She really didn’t want to be among crowds of happy people when she felt like she was only half-alive.

  “Trust me, cielo,” he implored, and she bit the inside of her cheek painfully as she considered his words.

  “Please, I don’t think I can be around people right now.”

  “Nothing like that,” he said. “Just us. Trust me.”

  To her surprise he took her to a yacht, the Arabella, which he proudly told Cleo was his. She recognized it from the photograph in his study.

  “This is nice,” she said as he helped her on board. She looked around, fascinated, and was reaching out to touch one of the intricate knots on the crossbar of the mast when Dante barked, “Stop!” She jerked back her hand in fright.

  He took her hand and led her to a cushioned seat by the steering wheel.

  “Sit here and don’t touch anything, okay? If I need your help, I’ll let you know.” Bossy Dante was back. Great.

  She pointedly folded her arms over her chest and stared back at him mutely. His lips quirked when he turned away from her and started untying rigging and doing the other mysterious and fascinating-looking things that boat people did. Because he hadn’t brought a change of clothes with him last night, he was wearing a pair of Luc’s faded old jeans, battered sneakers that her brother used for handiwork around the house, and a T-shirt that was a size too small for him. He looked scruffy and absolutely scrumptious, and it was hard for Cleo to focus on much else. While she had definitely learned to value many other aspects of Dante’s character—his warmth, his sense of humor, his kindness and thoughtfulness—she still fully appreciated the packaging all that unexpected generosity of spirit was wrapped up in. The man was damned fine.

  But she was soon distracted by his seeming skill around the boat. As with all things, he just looked supremely competent and confident. Cleo had never been on a boat before and had no idea how things worked. So in hindsight she should probably not have reached for that knot like a child who didn’t know better. She might have broken his boat.

  After he used the motor to steer them out of the harbor, he unfurled the sails and switched off the engine, leaving only the creaking sounds of the boat, the swish of water as they skimmed across the surface of the ocean, and the sound of the wind billowing in the white sails.

  It was magnificent. Absolutely and unutterably peaceful.

  “Got your sea legs yet?” he asked after about half an hour of not a single word exchanged between them. The silence had been enjoyable and comfortable. Cleo, who was still sitting where he’d left her, looked up, not sure what to make of the question.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve just been sitting here, very industriously not touching anything,” she said pointedly, and he chuckled.

  “Since you usually do your own thing, I had to speak a bit sharply to ensure you understood that I meant business this time,” he said, and she gasped, clutching a hand to her chest.

  “Oh my God, are you kind of, almost, sort of apologizing to me?” She squealed, and he very uncharacteristically rolled his eyes. A habit he may have picked up from her.

  “Yes, I am,” he acquiesced. “Kind of. Almost. Sort of. I’m still trying to work my way through that list of yours.”

  She laughed merrily and then immediately sobered.

  “Cleo, it’s okay to laugh,” Dante said gruffly. “It’s okay to be happy. There is no right or wrong way for you to deal with this.”

  “And how do you know this?” Since when had he become an expert grief counselor?

  “When I went back to the hospital the next day and found you gone.” His voice broke slightly on that last word, and his eyes darkened. “I immediately went to Luc’s place to fetch you. Luc and I had a long conversation.” That was news to her. Luc had never told her about it.

  “He convinced me to give you space, and even though it went against my every instinct to walk out of that house without you, I thought it might be best. I told myself not to be selfish, that even though I needed you, I had to do what was right for you, not for me. So I left. But . . . I couldn’t go back to the apartment alone. I couldn’t face that.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “The hospital offered grief counseling, and I thought maybe it would help. So I went to talk to someone. And when you’re ready . . . I think you should go as well. We could go together.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice so soft she doubted he could hear her above the sound of the wind in the sails. Dante Damaso never failed to surprise her, and she wished he would stop because each new thing she learned about him made her love him more. How hard it was for a man like Dante to reveal his vulnerability, and yet he’d done it often over the course of the last few weeks. She wanted to suppress her feelings for him, but it got harder and harder with every moment spent in his company.

  “Do you want to steer?” he invited, quite deliberately changing the subject, and she was happy to let him.

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to sink your precious boat.”

  “Wimp,” he taunted, and she narrowed her eyes in mock outrage.

  “Ooh, you’re going to pay for that one.” She got up and walked over to the wheel on wobbly legs. It certainly wasn’t very easy to walk on these boats.

  He grinned and stepped aside to let her take the wheel. The boat immediately listed to the side, and she squealed. He chuckled and stepped up behind her, caging her with his body when his hands dropped on top of hers on the wheel. As usual, he smelled absolutely divine, and as his scent wrapped around her, she could barely concentrate on his instructions.

  “Got that?” he asked, after a whole lot of gobbledygook that she hadn’t been paying attention to, and stepped back. It was a sheer fluke that Cleo managed to keep the boat upright. And this time when she squealed, it was with excitement, and when she laughed, it was without guilt.

  They spent a delightful afternoon on the boat, and Dante took her to dinner at a Mexican restaurant afterward. Cleo enjoyed herself, and the evening was relaxing and stress free. Their conversation centered around the hotel in Tokyo, the cute cards and paper flowers Cleo’s dance-class students had made for her, and Luc and Blue’s ramshackle old house. He was sweet and conscientious, and the one little sour point in the evening was when he asked her if she wanted a glass of wine and she refused, forgetting that she was no longer pregnant. Then the memory had hit her like a ton of bricks, the pain fresh and intense. It was seeing the same flash of pain in Dante’s eyes that helped her get over it, knowing that she wasn’t the only one feeling the loss. Being with somebody who understood what she was going through helped immeasurably.

  On the drive home, he broached the subject of Zach again.

  “What would you like to do with Zach’s ashes?” he asked quietly, and Cleo, who had been on the verge of dozing off after her two glasses of wine, was immediately wide-awake.

  “I haven’t thought about it,” she said.

  “Cleo, we have to lay his soul to rest. We can’t leave him in limbo like this.”

  “I’m not ready to think about it,” she said stubbornly.

  “Why did you name him Zach?” Dante asked.

  “I read on a few of the baby-name websites that the name meant remembrance or something similar. And I just want him to be remembered.” She swiped at a stray tear that slipped down her cheek.

  “And what made you decide to add Damaso to his name?” His voice was quiet and filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

  “It would have been wrong not to,” she said simply, and he kept his eyes glued on the road.

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  Whe
n he pulled into Luc’s driveway, he turned to face her, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

  “Cleo, I know it’s tough, and I want to do what’s right for you . . . but I also want to do right by our son. I can’t stand the thought of his ashes remaining there unclaimed. That is not how it should be; he was loved. I thought I could keep them until you’re ready to make a decision, but they won’t release the ashes to me. I’ve tried.”

  “Maybe—” she started to say, and then hesitated, before swallowing loudly and plunging ahead. “Maybe we should take him out on the Arabella and scatter his ashes at sea? It was so peaceful out there, so beautiful, and the view was lovely. I think it would be n-nice.”

  He reached out with one hand, hooking the back of her neck and tugging her toward him to plant a gentle kiss on her lips.

  “I think that’s an amazing idea,” he whispered, his own voice wobbling with emotion.

  “Will you come with me to . . . to pick up his ashes tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you going to stay again?” she asked, hating the edge of neediness in her voice. He ran his thumb over her cheekbone, his eyes gleaming in the dark interior of the car.

  “Much as I’d love to, I don’t think I can spend another day in your brother’s too-tight clothes or wear his nasty shoes again. I need a change of clothes, dulzura. Would you like to come home with me instead?” he asked gently. “Most of your clothes are there, and I’m sure you’d prefer sleeping in your own bed, sí?”

  “I can’t, Dante,” she whispered, and his hand moved to cup her cheek.

  “That’s okay. I can go and fetch a bag and return here later.”

  She was tempted to say yes to that suggestion but didn’t think it would be fair to ask him to make the half-hour drive to his penthouse at the Waterfront and back to Hout Bay again.

  “I can’t ask you to do an hour of unnecessary driving,” she said regretfully. “It’s okay; you go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Picking up the ashes the following morning wasn’t as much of an ordeal as Cleo expected. With Dante by her side, it was surprisingly easy. He took charge and was even thoughtful enough to bring a beautiful, ornate little urn along with him. They waited in an uncomfortable, sterile office while the worker took the urn away to transfer Zach’s ashes into it. When he returned moments later, he handed it over with a sympathetic nod.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said somberly. Cleo couldn’t contain the sob that escaped when she saw the urn and acknowledged what the contents were. Dante wrapped an arm around her and held her close, while the morgue worker discreetly left them alone.

  “It’s so stupid to be this . . . sad about the loss of someone who never really lived,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

  “He lived,” Dante said firmly. “He lived inside you, and in a different way, he lived inside me. He lived in our hearts and in our heads; we saw him, we felt him. Don’t ever say he never really lived, Cleo. He may not have had a life, but he lived.”

  “You know, for a guy who only ever said or did the wrong thing in the past, you’re doing pretty great with the pep talks lately,” she said, trying to sound a little more lighthearted even while she plucked a white handkerchief out of his breast pocket and blew her nose inelegantly. “How do you always manage to say the right thing?”

  “In this instance, I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.” He stroked her hair back and kissed her sweetly.

  She was getting used to his kisses, and it scared her because one day he wouldn’t be around to give her any more. She dreaded the inevitability of that day.

  They left the hospital hand in hand, Dante carrying Zach’s ashes. When they reached the car, Cleo turned to him impulsively.

  “Could we . . . do you think we could do it today?”

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked. “Don’t you want your brother and Blue to be there too?”

  “They’ve been amazing, but they don’t understand, Dante. Not really.”

  “Don’t you think you’ll come to regret excluding them?”

  She thought about that and then sighed.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed miserably. “Maybe I would.” He squeezed her hand and lifted it to his mouth to plant a kiss on her knuckles.

  “Let’s do it properly, okay? Would you like me to take care of the arrangements?” She hesitated at his question, feeling horrible about letting him bear the brunt of the responsibility, but he stared down at her with those infinitely patient eyes, and she found herself nodding.

  “Do you want it to be a religious ceremony?”

  “No, something intimate but informal.”

  “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

  Dante asked Cleo, Luc, and Blue to meet him at the Waterfront by seven thirty the following evening. He was waiting beside his berthed yacht, dressed all in white. Cleo was wearing a simple white summer shift dress, and Blue and Luc had also respected Dante’s request that they wear white.

  He helped them aboard and cast off after making sure everybody was comfortably seated. Naturally, Luc didn’t remain down for long; he wandered over to pepper Dante with questions about the boat, and the two chatted amicably while Blue and Cleo sat down.

  “You okay?” Blue asked, taking her hand.

  “It helps to have you and Luc here,” she said honestly, grateful to Dante for persuading her to include them. Her eyes drifted over to the big, handsome man who was talking to her brother. He was wearing a pair of expensive dark sunglasses, effectively shielding his emotions from all of them. But she knew exactly how he was feeling today.

  “It helps to have him here too,” Cleo admitted, nodding toward where the two men stood. Dante was casually winding some thick rope around his elbow and thumb.

  “I’ve known Dante for a few years now; he’s visited the house on occasion for dinner or to hang out with Luc,” Blue said unexpectedly.

  “Yes?” Cleo prompted, curious to hear where this was going.

  “Yes, and he was . . .” Blue shook her head. “Very different from this guy.”

  Cleo snorted, knowing exactly what Blue meant.

  “Let me guess.” Cleo held up a hand to stop Blue from saying more. “He was bossy, arrogant, a little too self-assured, and a little too unconcerned with the world around him?”

  “Sounds about right,” Blue said with a smile. “I could never fault his friendship with Luc, though. Classic bromance if ever there was one. You don’t expect them to have much in common, and yet they can talk for hours. I think that’s one of the reasons Luc reacted so strongly to the news that Dante was your baby’s father. It felt like a betrayal. His best friend had disrespected his sister, and his sister had robbed him of his best friend.”

  “Well, he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore. After today, Dante and I will probably not be seeing much of each other again.” She couldn’t think of a single reason they should have any connection after this. Zach’s remains were all that tied them together. Life would have to go back to normal, even if Cleo would never be the same.

  “Why not?” Blue asked. “You guys are good for each other.”

  “We’re helping each other get through this, Blue. After this, we have nothing tethering us to each other. We can move forward and carry on with our lives.”

  “Have you spoken to him about this?”

  “He’ll agree with me. He has to. It makes no sense to drag this out when there’s nothing more between us.”

  The boat finally started moving, and Luc sat down on Cleo’s other side and dropped an arm around her shoulder in casual affection, giving her a comforting squeeze.

  “It’ll be okay, Pattypan,” he said beneath his breath, and she gave him a small smile.

  “I know,” she whispered, and dropped her head on his shoulder. She watched the Waterfront slide by and get left behind, watched the beautiful flat-topped Table Mountain recede and become flatter and flatter the farther out the
y went. The view was breathtaking. Once they were far enough away from other boats to be alone, Dante switched off the engines. He didn’t unfurl the sails but pulled a lever that he’d told her the other day was the anchor release.

  He stared off into the distance, the orange orb of the setting sun reflected in his sunglasses. He took a deep breath, and the lowered angle of his head told Cleo that he’d shifted his focus to her. He stepped away from the wheel and held out his hand to her, and she took it without hesitation, getting up to join him.

  “Look at that,” he said, pointing out at the horizon and the huge, shimmering globe of the sun as it sank silently into the ocean. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and tugging her back until she could feel his hard warmth against her. His next words were spoken directly into her ear. “I want you to always remember the beauty of this sunset when you think of Zach, dulzura. Can you do that for me?”

  Tears flooded into her eyes, and she gulped back a sob as she nodded mutely.

  “Good.” He seemed to silently communicate something to Luc, who got up and went into the cabin. He emerged moments later with the urn in his hands. He came up to stand on their left, while Blue moved to their right.

  “Cleo, you have to be prepared . . . there’s not much in there. He was so tiny.” This time her sob couldn’t be swallowed back, and he gave her a squeeze when he heard the sound.

  “Are you ready?” he asked as the sun disappeared completely, leaving only a bright-orange-and-scarlet sky in its wake, making the ocean look like it was on fire.

  “Yes.”

  He released his hold on her and took the urn from Luc.

  “We do this together? Okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Would you like to say something?”

  “Yes.” Her response was so faint she wasn’t sure if he heard her, so she straightened her shoulders and found her voice. “Yes.”