Unbetrothed (A 19th Century story)

Dante's Game

I walked the long way to our outer patio, thanking Edna, who opened the white patio doors for me. The moon was bright and full, illuminating the thin layer of snow beneath me. I was glad for my winter shoes, but a chill crept up on my exposed arms. Edna, as if she could read my very thoughts, draped a shawl across my shoulders.

"Is everything all-right, Madam?" Edna spoke softly into the cold night air.

"Yes, everything is fine, thank you Edna." My reply sounded like a lie, and I wasn't sure how much I believed it myself. "Don't freeze yourself, I shall be perfectly comfortable here alone."

After trying to convince me otherwise and failing, Edna reentered the warm house and I wrapped the shawl tighter against my chilled frame. My breath clouded before me and I found myself focusing on it, allowing it to cool my burning cheeks.

The door clicked open and I was half expecting Edna to have returned, or my mother to be checking on me, outraged at my sudden disappearance, but no—it was Dante.

My shock must've shown on my face for his eyes narrowed bemusedly. I turned my head away, indicating my lack of desire to see him.

"What is it, Dante?" My voice was no soft soprano of a lady.

He chuckled a low sound that I almost mistook for something animalistic.

"Merely curious as to why you ran off."

"What do you care?"

There was silence, and then—"I don't care."

I scoffed.

"Brilliant, Thank you for disturbing my peace."

I expected him to go, but he stayed.

"Do I intimidate you?"

I was so stunned by the arrogant question that it took me far too long to answer. Or perhaps, I was intimidated by him, but either way, I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of knowing.

"Annoy is the righteous word for it."

"I annoy you?"

"That's right."

"The last time I checked, I've barely spoke to you at all since I've arrived."

"It matters not; your mere presence is rude and irksome."

He laughed and my head whipped round to glare at him.

"And you call me the rude one?"

"You threw your overcoat to me as if I were a mere servant, in my own home."

The humour in his eyes dissipated and the coolness returned.

"I see you still can't take a joke."

"Is that what you call them? Jokes?" I scoffed once more and walked a few steps away from him.

"Oh Daph, surely you didn't think of them with such distain?"

"Don't call me 'Daph'."

"It was so long ago, can't we start a-new?" His question lingered in the open air between us.

I turned and scrutinised him with my gaze.

"You don't deserve my forgiveness."

His jaw clenched and I forced myself not to focus on how the hard line was statuesque. That intensity returned to his grey eyes, and I once again couldn't make out if he were staring down at me with distain or attempting to undress me with his eyes—perhaps adulthood had turned him dazed with women.