Chapter 6 - THE SECOND TIME HE ASKED
Dante did not ask again.
Not the following week.
Not the following month.
That mattered.
They saw each other through restitution meetings occasionally.
He remained polite.
Nothing more.
Six months passed.
Then Leah invited him.
Not because he wore her down.
Because he had not tried to.
Her message:
Dinner Thursday. Public place. No expensive nonsense.
His response arrived two minutes later.
Define expensive.
If there is a sommelier, I leave.
Cruel. Accepted.
They ate tacos in Pilsen.
Dante wore a suit.
Leah mocked him.
He claimed he owned no jeans.
She did not believe him.
Halfway through dinner, someone recognized him.
The room changed slightly.
Voices lowered.
A man near the register looked away.
Leah noticed.
“Does that happen everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“You like it?”
Dante considered.
“Sometimes.”
Honest.
“Why?”
“Fear makes space.”
“And?”
“It also makes silence.”
He had learned something.
They talked about Lucia, his mother.
Matteo.
Leah’s sister Marisol, Matteo’s mother, who had died four years earlier after complications from lupus.
Dante did not turn grief into a bonding competition.
He listened.
Good.
At the end:
“Can I walk you home?”
“Yes.”
At her building:
“Can I kiss you?”
Leah looked at him.
Then:
“Not tonight.”
His face barely changed.
“Good night, Leah.”
He left.
Three dates later, she said yes.
Their relationship stayed separate from money.
Leah paid her own rent.
Dante did not pay Matteo’s medical expenses.
Court-supervised restitution eventually covered part of past costs because Matteo had been one of the fraud victims.
That money belonged to the claim.
Not Dante personally.
Important.
When Leah’s refrigerator died, Dante offered to replace it.
She said no.
He said:
“Okay.”
Then Mateo—her brother? Wait Matteo is nephew—Matteo asked why she bought a used refrigerator instead of letting “the billionaire guy” buy one.
“Because I can afford this one.”
“But his would be better.”
“Not the point.”
Eight-year-olds remain excellent economists and terrible philosophers.
Dante understood eventually.
Leah understood something too.
Independence did not require rejecting every kind gesture.
On her birthday, he bought her a first-edition copy of a novel her sister loved.
Not a car.
Not jewelry worth rent.
Thought.
She cried.
Then became angry because he noticed.
He enjoyed that.
Their relationship became public after a year.
Headlines returned.
WAITRESS WHO SAVED DANTE MARCELLI NOW DATING HIM.
Leah hated that too.
She was no longer a waitress.
The article did not care.
So she stopped reading.
Dante asked:
“Do you want my media people to—”
“No.”
He stopped.
Growth.
Then one night, Matteo developed a high fever.
Leah panicked.
Not rationally.
Marisol had died after an infection.
Old fear.
She drove Matteo to the emergency department.
Dante learned because Leah canceled dinner.
He did not arrive with doctors.
Did not call hospital leadership.
Did not turn a child’s fever into a power exercise.
He texted:
Do you want me there?
Leah stared at the message.
Then typed:
Yes.
He came.
Sat.
Brought nothing.
Matteo had influenza.
Miserable.
Not catastrophic.
At 3 a.m., Matteo slept with his head against Leah’s shoulder.
Dante sat opposite.
“You're scared.”
“Yes.”
“Want me to say he's going to be fine?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Because he could not know.
May you like
They waited.
Sometimes love looked like not pretending certainty.
