His three rules

Chapter 22

"Okay." The words left my mouth before I could even taste them.

"Okay? Yeah, okay. Uhm, do you want to spend the day together maybe ?" He suggested seeming surprised by my answer.

"Sure," I answered reluctantly. I could see my answer made his whole face light up like a child on Christmas.

It was strange seeing him this way, and even more strange to hear those words come out of his mouth. But I also knew that he was right about the things he had said about me, I do look for the good in people.

So why not him?

We went back to the dining room, and he sat down with me to finish my breakfast. For the first time in 5 months, I didn't have to eat my breakfast alone, and it was kind of nice.

"Okay, go ahead."

"Go ahead, what?" I asked confused eating another strawberry.

"Go ahead and ask me any questions you want to. "

"No rules?" I asked skeptical as I watched Dante display a proud smile saying, "No rules."

I thought about it for a minute because I knew I had so many questions I could ask and wanted to for the past 5 months. But I also knew that he was really trying to build something here, so I decided to leave the heavy questions for a bit further down the road.

For now anyway.

"Okay, any siblings?" "No. Just me. "

"Okay, that feels a little obvious. Uhm...any bad habits?" I asked as I watched him think really hard about his answer.

"Excessive caffeine intake and working too much."

"Easy fixes." I joked as he let out a chesty laugh. "Okay, how about...favourite thing you own ?"

"That's easy," He started as I watched his smile start to dim a little bit. "My Little Prince Book."

"Really? Why that?" I asked curious as I could see I had struck something personal in him.

"My mom read it to me every night when I was growing up before she... died when I was 12 years old."

"Dante, I'm...so sorry. I didn't realise." I apologized, feeling bad for opening a wound I had no intention of opening.

"It's okay."

"Is that why you got so upset when I made the broccolini a while back? Because it reminded you of her?" I asked as I watched him try hard to keep it together as I placed my hand over his, watching him give a slight nod. "I'm really sorry Dante. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine, really." He tried to reassure me. "I was the one who said no rules."

I felt bad for causing such pain in him when things were going so well just 5 minutes ago. I knew that we couldn't just move on from this and act as if I didn't just hit a sensitive spot. So I knew the only thing I could do in this moment, was build on it.

"I never knew my parents." I started as I watched his glossy eyes meet mine.

"Sophia, you don't have to,"

"I want to," I replied as I took a breath, bracing myself. "I think I remember my mother. But the older I get the more blurry my memories do too. My foster parents told me that I was 2 years old when they met me. They said that they were told, my mother died on her way to work and that there was no record of my father, only a signature on my birth certificate. No name. I stayed with them until I was 13 and then my foster dad got transferred for his job, so they had to stop fostering me. After that, I was already a teenager and everyone knows no one wants to foster a teenager. So I went through 15 different group homes for about a year. I had enough of people not wanting me and treating me like scum for just being alive and in their homes. So, when I turned 14 I left. I ran away and I started living with different friends, going to underground poker games to make money, never staying in one place very long. I hated every second of it, constantly feeling as if I was on the run. I eventually stopped running when I turned 18 and I knew they couldn't put me back into the system anymore. But nothing changed. Other than I stayed in this city. I still spent each night on a different person's couch, making bets and losing most of it. I really hated my life. That is before I met you."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to share that," Dante answered barely audible as he put his hand over mine, slowly brushing his thumb over my hand.

"Thank you, for sharing your story with me first."

It was weird how we bonded over our childhood traumas and how we could relate to different parts of each other's hurt. In a way, it was comforting. Almost healing.