Still standing transfixed, Mireille tried to recall if there had ever been a moment when Dante Romano was warm to other girls, but she couldn’t remember—because such moments didn’t exist. The only time Dante ever smiled genuinely was when he was with her, annoying her with the ‘princess’ title. Those were the only times his eyes found warmth.
“You don’t have to just stare at me and strip me with your eyes. You could strip me with your hands instead,” he said, a one-sided smirk curling his lips.
Mireille quickly looked away, her face flushing as she realized she *had* been staring at him for too long.
Dante picked up the picture he’d been examining and waved it in the air. “You don’t just look cute anymore. You now look…” His eyes traveled slowly over her, from her still slightly damp hair to her toes.
“Beautiful.”
Damn, she *had* grown beautiful over the years. And yet, Dante was only saying “beautiful” because he didn’t dare describe her as what he really thought she was—*sexy*. The blue dress she was wearing did little to hide the curves beneath it. His gaze lingered up her waist to her bust. Those breasts had definitely grown bigger since high school.
When his gaze returned to her face, Mireille met his eyes again. For the next few seconds, she felt glued to the spot, unable to look away.
“It’s time to leave, Princess,” Dante said abruptly, tearing his eyes away from her. He brushed away the improper thoughts creeping into his mind—thoughts of how beautiful her eyes would look if she were on her knees with his cock in her mouth.
*Damn you, Dante! She’s supposed to be like a sister to you!* He cursed at himself silently, then walked up to her and grabbed her luggage.
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you, Dante,” Mireille said firmly.
Dante chuckled. “Would you rather I carry you over my shoulder, Princess?” He flicked his dark, curly hair back, and Mireille didn’t need to ask if he was serious. She could see it in his smirk.
“Stop calling me ‘Princess,’” she said, ignoring his question.
“I’m pretty sure we had this argument several times seven years ago,” he replied, leaning closer to her.
Mireille’s breath hitched as she caught the scent of his cologne. Yes, she didn’t like him for a lot of reasons, but still—she was a girl, she was straight, and this man in front of her was undeniably appealing to every straight girl. Quickly, she stepped back, putting some distance between them.
“And the conclusion of that argument?” she asked.
“That I keep calling you ‘Princess.’ Your name is too hard for me to pronounce, so I’m sticking to it.”
He finally leaned away, the playful smirk vanishing. “Let’s go.” His tone had shifted, suddenly authoritative. Mireille found herself walking toward the door without thinking, while he followed behind her with her luggage.
A sleek black car waited outside. Mireille reached for the door handle, but Dante stopped her.
“Don’t tell me you forgot I don’t let the Princess open the car door herself,” he teased, pulling it open for her.
Mireille wanted to retort but swallowed the words. She got into the backseat, deciding it was better to stay quiet and avoid more unnecessary conversation.
As Dante slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, Mireille pulled out her phone. She scrolled mindlessly, trying to distract herself from the temptation to steal glances at him. But nothing on her screen could hold her attention.
Eventually, she gave in and found herself staring at him through the rearview mirror. His face was stern, his expression hard as he drove. Yet even with that hard look, he was enchantingly handsome. She realized she’d been staring far longer than she intended—or perhaps she hadn’t intended to stare at all.
Dante’s eyes suddenly flicked to the mirror, catching hers. Mireille quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.
The sternness melted from Dante’s face. “You can stare as much as you want, Princess.”
“I wasn’t staring,” she lied.
“Good girls shouldn’t lie, y’know.”
“I’m not a good girl!” Mireille shot back, hating how both Dante and James always made her feel like some naive, innocent thing.
“You sure are, Princess.”
Mireille was about to argue further when her phone buzzed with a message. She checked it and smiled at her boyfriend’s text.
“What’s that?” Dante asked casually.
“My boyfriend,” she replied without hesitation.
Dante’s foot hit the brakes hard, and the car jerked to a sudden stop. Mireille gasped, clutching the seat. “What the hell?! Are you trying to kill me?!”
“Since when did James start letting you have boyfriends?” Dante asked, his tone icy.
“I’m more than old enough. I’m not a high school girl anymore,” Mireille reminded him firmly.
Dante slowly looked away, gripping the wheel tightly. Of course, she’d have dated by now—she was twenty-four, not a teenager anymore. But for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint, the thought of the sexy woman beside him having a boyfriend made his chest tighten uncomfortably.
Mireille sighed, putting her phone down and leaning back in her seat. She forced her eyes shut, trying to block out the magnetic pull that Dante still seemed to have over her.
But her mind wandered back to a memory from high school, one that made her frown.
---
*Flashback*
“I really like you, Mireille,” Dave said, pulling out a beautiful necklace.
Young Mireille’s heart raced. No guy had dared ask her out before, thanks to James and Dante always hovering around her. But Dave had just done it.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Dante’s voice cut through the moment like a knife just as Mireille reached for the necklace.
Dave’s hand froze midair, his eyes wide with fear as Dante stepped between him and Mireille.
“What are you doing, Romano?” Dave asked shakily.
Dante grabbed the necklace, his eyes blazing. “You think this cheap trinket is good enough for her?” He threw it to the ground and stomped on it.
“No one—not you, not any guy in this school—is good enough for Princess. Stay away from her, or I’ll make sure you end up in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.”
Dave bolted, leaving Dante alone with Mireille.
“Why won’t you let me have a boyfriend?!” Mireille shouted, hitting his chest. “I’m so sick of you and James!”
“They don’t deserve you. I’ll never let you fall into the hands of someone unworthy, Princess.”
“And who do you think you are to make that decision for me?” she demanded.
Dante stepped closer, closing the gap between them. Mireille gulped, her anger faltering under the intensity of his gaze.
“I’m your protector, Princess. Always have been. Always will be.”
*End of flashback.*
---
Mireille’s eyes snapped open. She glanced at Dante again through the mirror. Had he really changed since then? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t that naive high school girl anymore.
Or at least, she hoped she wasn’t.