Wandering Soul (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

When they were alone at last, Dante and Elsa stood silently on the patio. She had said that she was fine, but he did not believe her. Something was very wrong. He could feel her trembling, could sense her fear.

“I am sorry I was not here for you.”

She slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his chest. He had not quite expected this, though he welcomed her seeking comfort from him.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, then rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I should never have left you alone. It was selfish of me.”

“No, it wasn't.” He felt her tense, and she stumbled over her words as she continued. “I mean, you should be able to go out and have fun with your friends. You don't have to stay with me twenty-four hours a day.”

“It would hardly be a chore,” he said, chuckling.

He had expected a lighthearted retort, but instead, her arms tightened around him. He had never known her to be frightened like this, and his anger toward Michael grew.

Dante did not have time to ask her more of what had passed between the two, as Winston appeared in the doorway on the far side of the studio.

“Dinner's ready. In case anybody cares.” At least Winston was his normal self.

When Elsa did not respond, Dante spoke in her stead. “We do, and we appreciate your efforts. We shall join you shortly.”

Winston shrugged, then shuffled down the hall. Dante took Elsa's hand and led her inside. He made sure the doors were locked behind them.

In the brighter lights of the indoors, he could see a strange haunted quality to her wide eyes. He wondered what ghosts lingered in her mind and how he could possibly banish them.

“Did you eat?” Elsa asked.

“Some time ago. I waited to dine with you and Winston. I missed having my meals with you.”

She gave him a subdued smile as they walked to the kitchen. She had always been so strong, but now she seemed to be made of glass. He was afraid if he said the wrong thing that she might shatter. It did not improve as they sat around the table for their supper.

“Did you have a good day out?” Winston asked.

Dante was grateful that someone was talking. Elsa was methodically eating her food, barely even making eye contact. Perhaps she was disturbed that he was wearing his new mask. He had not yet had a chance to remove it.

“Yes, it was both enlightening and productive.”

“What did you do?” Winston asked.

Dante glanced at Elsa, who showed a bit of interest in the conversation for the first time. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it again. Then she folded her hands in her lap and stared at her plate.

“Errands, I would say.” He wished that she would speak her mind, would confide in him about whatever had happened.

“You've got to be careful with that Rachel.” Winston laughed. “She'll run you ragged. I can't tell you how many times Elsa came back from a day like that and just collapsed in bed, groaning about how much her feet hurt.”

“I assure you, my feet are quite fine.”

The rest of the meal passed in a mix of silence and subdued conversation between Dante and Winston. Elsa barely spoke, and then only when spoken to. Dante missed the confident woman who had brought him to this time. And yet, his heart went out to the vulnerable Elsa sitting next to him.

After dinner was done and the dishes put away, Dante and Elsa sat at the table sipping tea. Winston had retired for the evening and, aside from Leonardo sitting on the counter, watching them through slitted eyes and twitching his tail, they had the room to themselves.

The silence stretched on for as long as Dante could bear it. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Her voice was so small he could barely hear her.

“What is troubling you.”

She shook her head. “There's nothing troubling me.”

“That is twice this evening that you have told me something I do not believe to be true. Have we not always been forthright with each other?”

“Like the way you're being open with me about your day?” She gasped, her eyes widening as she sat up straighter. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.”

“There is no need to apologize. And I certainly think you meant it.”

Her shoulders hunched, her brow knitting together so fiercely that his own head began to ache in sympathy.

“I have reasons for keeping my agenda from you,” Dante said. “Can you say the same of whatever is troubling you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall trust that your reasons are sound.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “And hope that you will share them with me when you are ready.”

She smiled faintly, which he found encouraging. Not knowing what else to do, he carried their empty mugs to the sink, then returned to the table.

“Shall we retire?”

He offered Elsa his hand, but as she rose, she wrapped her arm around his waist instead. He would certainly not complain. He smiled at her, putting his own arm around her shoulders and relishing her warmth as she nestled against his body.

They went upstairs and paused before the door to Elsa's room. She turned to him and grasped his shirt. “Will you stay?”

“Will you tell me what that man did to you?”

“Nothing.” She would not meet Dante's gaze. “He just scared me, that's all.”

“I am sorry I was not here to protect you as I promised.” Dante placed his fingers gently beneath her chin, tilting her face back toward him. “But I promise you, I shall not leave your side again.”

“That's not practical.” Again, her eyes widened as if she was panicked. “I mean—”

Before she could say more, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. He had meant for it to be no more than that, but her taste was too sweet. The scent of roses blossomed around him.

He slid his hands to her waist, pulling her against him. Elsa wrapped her arms around his neck, her kiss carrying all the passion he had missed. She held on to him as if he was the sole thing that kept her anchored in this world.

Her need left him breathless.

Dante lifted her up, carrying her into the room and closing the door behind them. As soon as he set her on her feet, she grabbed his neck and pulled him down to her.

At least here the odd timidity that shrouded her at dinner was gone. She devoured his lips, running her hands through his hair as she pressed herself against him.

He panted for breath when she finally released him. They paused only long enough for her to pull his shirt over his head. His lips found hers again, his hands sliding beneath her shirt as he explored the smooth skin of her sides.

Elsa pulled back once more, tearing off her own shirt and throwing it aside. The golden skin of her breasts bared before him, Dante bent his head to trail kisses over each in turn as he held their soft fullness in his hands.

Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths, her fingers buried in his hair. She started to lift his mask from his face, but then went suddenly still.

He smiled at her as he straightened. “Do you prefer me not to wear it?”

Elsa nodded haltingly. “I don't want anything between us.”

The irony was not lost on him, for he knew there was something keeping her from him—an emotional wall he did not know how to surmount.

“Nor do I.” Dante pulled off his mask and tossed it onto a stack of books near her bed.

There were still times when he could barely believe any of this was real, but perhaps the most miraculous thing of all was that she preferred him without his mask. She accepted him as he was, entirely. If only he could make her understand he felt the same about her.

He placed his hand over her heart, feeling the staccato of its beating against his fingertips, like the wings of a bird striving for the sky. He bent his lips to Elsa's once more, vowing that he would find a way to free her from her fears.

The next day greeted Dante with all the hope of a cloudless sky. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, clear and bright, but Elsa was not beside him.

“Elsa?” When she didn't answer, he sat up and glanced around the room. He was alone.

He quickly rose and pulled on his pants, then headed off to find her.

Winston was in the kitchen by himself, sitting with an untouched cup of tea, his brow knit with worry. As Dante entered, Winston sat a bit straighter.

“Is that you, Dante?”

“Yes.”

Winston stood up, adjusted his shirt, and then took two steps to the center of the room. “You and me, we're going to have those words now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What have you done to Elsa?”

Dante felt a flush spread across his face, memories of the previous night playing through his mind. He thought that this time had different sensibilities about a man and woman sharing a bed, but perhaps he was wrong.

“I assure you, my intentions are honorable.”

“I don't give a crap about intentions. I want to know what you've done to Elsa that's got her cowed.”

He was not sure what to say. That Winston had also noticed the change in Elsa both reassured and distressed Dante. But he could not think of anything he might have done to bring about such a change.

When he did not respond, Winston said, “Don't play like you don't know. Last night at dinner, she hardly said two words. And this morning was the same. It's not like her.” His voice rasped into a whisper at the end, as if it was breaking.

“Winston, I assure you, I am as disturbed by this change in her persona as you are. And I am equally mystified.”

“You two didn't have a fight?”

“No. I believe she was upset by Rachel's boyfriend visiting unannounced again, but Elsa will not tell me what transpired.”

“Then maybe he's the one we should be trouncing. Where does he live?”

“I do not know, nor am I certain that a trouncing is in order.” Dante was not a violent man by nature, though circumstances were beginning to tempt him.

“It'd make me feel better to trounce someone.” Winston had a dejected look about him.

Dante was just as lost. He sat, then leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “Winston, I do not know what to do.”

“Neither do I. But I have an idea who might.”

Dante found Elsa in the studio. She was bent over a tall table, so focused on her project that she did not notice his arrival.

It was good to see her working on something. Perhaps this was a sign that things had improved. He would certainly rather that than resort to using the advice Jazz had given him when he and Winston called her moments ago.

“Good morning,” he said.

Elsa started at the sound of Dante's voice, bouncing inches off her stool before landing again, eyes wide as she stared at him. Apparently, things had not improved so very much.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” Dante said.

“You didn't. I mean, it's fine.”

He crossed over to her and set his hands upon her shoulders, then ran them down her arms. She did not pull away, for which he was grateful. At least he could reach her physically, if not emotionally. She had become even more affectionate since her strange fearfulness had manifested.

He glanced at the table, curious about her project. A chill swept over him as he saw the mask he had worn to the ball. She had pieced most of it back together. An open container of glue sat at her elbow.

“What is this?” Dante stepped closer to the table.

“It's your mask. Well, not your mask. It's the one Jazz sent you. I'm fixing it.”

“But why? I thought you preferred me to not wear a mask.”

“You still wear them sometimes. Now you'll have two options.”

The remaining fragments lay on the table like a disjointed puzzle. She picked up one of the pieces and applied glue to the edge, then held it in place against the main body of the mask she had already repaired.

“Always you speak to me of options,” he said. “And yet you do not listen when I tell you I have already made my choices.”

He brushed her hair back over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear. The only response he received was a tightening of her lips. She did not even turn to look at him.

“Why will you not talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Her voice was flat when she spoke. Emotionless.

“I want you to say whatever is on your mind, as you have always done.”

After a brief pause, she said, “I'm thinking about fixing your mask. How I can make the cracks less apparent when it's done.”

“Elsa, please. Talk to me!” He put his hands on her legs, spinning her around on her stool so that she faced him. Her eyes widened again, her breath quickening.

“I don't understand,” she said. “I am talking to you.”

“Words. These are only words. What is on your mind? What is in your heart?” He leaned forward and kissed her, leaving his forehead resting against hers when he pulled back, his hands on the sides of her neck.

Lightly brushing his thumbs across her cheeks, he said, “I can touch you. I can kiss you. And yet, I feel that you are miles from me. I am bereft of your presence, and it is killing me. Please.”

“I don't know what you want.” Her voice was tight and thin. “I'm sorry.”

Dante closed his eyes, remembering his conversation with Jazz a few moments ago. Apparently, this had happened before between the two friends. When Elsa had been dispirited and distant in the past, Jazz would harangue Elsa using topics she was quite passionate about until she finally fought back. In that way, they had emotionally reengaged.

Jazz's advice was simply to
rattle Elsa's cage
.

It went against everything Dante felt was right, and yet, Jazz was Elsa's oldest friend. He had no other insight with which to work.

“There is no need to apologize.” He stepped away from Elsa, forcing his voice to be cold. “I believe I more fully understand the reality of our situation.”