Chapter 58 – Private Date Escapade
The night air hit me like a warm, scented blanket as soon as we stepped outside the studio gates. For once, the hum of cameras, the endless lighting rigs, and the crew chatter faded into something that felt like a distant, ridiculous dream. Here, under the gentle glow of string lights lining the garden pathway of the private villa we had sneaked away to, it was just Dante and me. The world had narrowed to the space between us, and I could feel my chest tightening with anticipation—and maybe a little apprehension.
"This feels… rebellious," I whispered, glancing up at him with a half-smile. The mischievous glint in his eyes made my stomach do that familiar flip-flop.
He chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, and I swear the world tilted slightly toward him. "I was thinking more like 'adventurous,'" he said, his voice low, smooth, and teasing. "Rebellious sounds… dramatic. You'd make me look bad."
"Oh, please," I shot back, playfully jabbing his shoulder. "I've been making you look bad for weeks. You're lucky I'm feeling generous tonight."
"Generous," he repeated, smirking. "I like that version of you." His hand lingered near mine, not quite touching but close enough to ignite every nerve ending in my body. I fought the urge to grab it, to close that last tiny distance between us, but I settled for brushing my fingers against the edge of his sleeve.
"Careful," he murmured, leaning slightly closer. "Every time you do that, I think you're trying to hypnotize me."
I laughed, the sound spilling freely into the night. It felt so good—so grounding—to laugh with him like this, away from cameras and scripts, away from staged challenges and forced flirtation. For the first time in weeks, I could just be myself, and he could just be… Dante.
We wandered along the path, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating our way, until we reached a small, secluded terrace overlooking a glistening private pool. The reflection of lights danced across the water, creating patterns that felt almost magical.
"Wow," I breathed, stepping closer to the railing. "It's beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as the company," he replied smoothly, his words sending another shiver down my spine. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed casually, but the tilt of his head, the intensity of his gaze—it was all deliberate, all aimed to make me feel a little off-balance in the best way possible.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hide the smile tugging at my lips. "Smooth," I said. "I'd clap, but I'm trying not to trip over my own heart here."
He laughed, that rich, warm sound that always made me feel like I was hearing it for the first time, even though I'd known it intimately. "Oh, I'd never want you to trip. That would ruin the perfect image I've been cultivating of you—graceful, composed, totally unflappable."
I snorted, stepping closer until we were almost shoulder to shoulder. "Perfect image? Trust me, you haven't seen the real me. The one that trips on her own shoelaces, spills wine on herself, and makes awkward jokes in every tense situation."
He looked at me like I'd just revealed a precious secret. "I'd like to see that version," he said softly. "I think it would suit you."
And then, impossibly, I did something I didn't expect—I reached out and nudged him lightly, testing, teasing. "Careful. If I'm showing all my flaws, you might fall for me even more."
"Not a chance I need protection from that," he said, stepping closer, closing that last fraction of space between us. His hand brushed against mine, tentative at first, then firmer as if claiming a silent permission to stay close. My heart thundered in my chest, the kind of loud, chaotic rhythm that made it impossible to think straight.
We fell into an easy rhythm, walking along the terrace, talking about everything and nothing. He told me about ridiculous behind-the-scenes moments I hadn't witnessed, moments that had him laughing so hard he snorted. I told him things I had been holding back: fears about the show, anxieties about how much my private life was now public, and small, silly stories from my childhood. Every confession, every laugh, every shared smile chipped away the remaining walls I'd built around my heart.
At some point, our hands brushed again—more deliberately this time—and I didn't pull away. Instead, I let my fingers thread through his, the simplicity of the gesture somehow heavier with meaning than any declaration I could have made aloud. His thumb stroked my knuckles in a slow, casual rhythm, but the electricity it sent through me was anything but casual.
"You know," he said quietly, stopping mid-step and turning to face me fully, "I was hoping we'd get a chance like this. Away from all the chaos. Just… us." His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering, and I felt myself teetering on the edge of something exhilarating and terrifying.
I laughed softly, though my stomach twisted with nerves and excitement. "Me too. Honestly, I didn't know if I could handle another day of pretending, of playing the game. But… this," I gestured vaguely at the terrace, the lights, the water, and finally at him, "this feels real."
"It is real," he said, stepping just close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. "And I don't want to waste another minute pretending it's not."
My breath hitched. "I… I don't know if I can handle another heartbreak," I admitted, my voice trembling despite my attempt at calm. "I've been hurt before. I've been left in the middle of chaos, and…" I trailed off, letting the vulnerability hang between us.
He stepped closer, closing the distance, until the space between us was electric and charged. "Hey," he said softly, cupping my face gently in his hands. "I know. I know it's scary. But I promise, I'm not going anywhere this time. Not unless you tell me to."
The sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his hands, the steady, unflinching look in his eyes—it melted me. I couldn't help myself. I leaned in just slightly, testing the water, heart hammering, breath shallow.
"I want to believe that," I whispered.
"You don't have to just believe it," he murmured, brushing his forehead against mine, letting our breaths mingle. "You can feel it. Right now."
And I did. I felt it in the tremble of my hands as they gripped his jacket, in the way my chest ached with longing, in the heat that pooled between us. The world outside could scream, speculate, and leak scandal after scandal. But in this moment, under the soft glow of the terrace lights, it was just Dante and me. Just us, unfurling carefully and recklessly, all at once.
He leaned down slightly, just enough that our lips hovered in that delicious, teasing, impossible space. "I've wanted this," he whispered, voice low and husky, "for a long time."
"I've wanted it too," I admitted, barely audible.
Then, finally, impossibly, we closed the gap. One soft, tentative kiss that quickly deepened into something steady, deliberate, and burning. I felt him, truly him, and I let myself melt into the warmth, the safety, the longing that had been building for weeks.
When we finally pulled back, I rested my forehead against his, breathing uneven, heart racing, and felt the bubble of our private world expand around us. No cameras, no scripts, no scheming rivals—just two people rediscovering each other in the simplest, most perfect of ways.
He laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You know, I think we might actually survive this show… as long as we stick together."
I smiled against his chest, letting myself believe it. "Together," I echoed.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I didn't just survive. I felt alive. I felt safe. I felt loved. And I was ready to see what came next, as long as it was with him.
⸻