Free The Shape of Desire by Sharon Shinn

way to stay in my life. I hope you will be—not a father to my baby, but an eccentric friend, maybe. A mysterious but fascinating visitor. An intermittent delight.” I stretch the seat belt to the limit so I can lean over and kiss his cheek. “Which is how
I
see you. Every time. Without fail.”
    He does not answer, but he does not pull away from my hand, which now rests on his shoulder. His face shows an expression that is somewhere between unhappy and resigned, but that’s better than I had expected. In my mind, when we’ve had this conversation, he’s sometimes stormed off in a rage and sometimes argued me into tears. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re in a car and there isn’t much room for theatrics that has kept him so calm.
    “I’ll have to think it over,” he says at last.
    “You have plenty of time,” is my amiable reply. “I’m not planning on doing anything anytime soon.”
    He nods and, surprising me, twists his head suddenly to kiss the back of my hand. I am unutterably pleased. I think Christina’s astonishing secret has proved to be a much bigger gift than I could have hoped for, if it has made it so easy to have this conversation with Dante. It makes me adore little Lizzie all the more—and I had already fallen in love with her the minute I took her in my arms.
    I anticipated that the long drive and the emotional upsets of the day would leave Dante moody and withdrawn, but instead, he is extraor-dinarily affectionate for the rest of the evening. After dinner, we lie entwined on the couch as we start to watch
How to Steal a Million
on cable, but he cannot keep his attention on the screen. His hand slips under my shirt; he plays with my breast when he should be smiling at Audrey Hepburn’s madcap plan. I am hardly one to complain. I turn in his arms to kiss him full on the mouth, pressing myself against him with all my strength.
    We move to the bedroom and make love with all the desperation of a young wartime couple who realize their honeymoon might be the only night they ever spend together. I know this means Dante feels the animal instincts starting to overtake him; I also know this means he willnot be beside me tomorrow night. I cling to him as if he is my only source of light and heat and air; I kiss him as if only the pressure of my mouth against his can ward off my impending death.
    He falls asleep a little after midnight, but I don’t. I sit up and watch his face, studying its shape, trying to catalog its dreaming emotions. I want to memorize it, in case I never see it again. In case he never comes back. In case this ends up being all I ever have of Dante.

CHAPTER FOUR

    M ondays are always bad, but this one is worse than most. I managed to get only about three hours of sleep the night before, and I leave the house knowing Dante probably will not be there when I return. I yawn through the entire morning, despite drinking three cups of coffee before 11 a.m., and I keep my eyes averted from the mirror every time I go into the bathroom. I know I look like hell.
    “Seriously, did someone tie you to the back of a car and drag you down a dirt road yesterday?” Ellen asks when she drops by my desk a little before noon.
    I manage a wan smile. “I think I got food poisoning over the weekend. I was throwing up most of Sunday afternoon. Didn’t feel like the flu, so I don’t think I’m contagious, but—I know. I look like shit.”
    “Marquez and I are going to lunch. You hungry?”
    I shake my head. “Not even. I think I’ll heat up a can of soup and be miserable.”
    “Well, drink some 7UP. You need those electrons.”
    “Electrolytes.”
    She smiles faintly. “I knew that. I was just checking to see if your food poisoning had damaged your brain.”
    “I think I’ll be okay after I get a good night’s sleep.”
    I’m sitting in the lunchroom spooning up a bowl of soup and paging listlessly through a three-year-old
People
magazine when Kathleen steps through the door, carrying a