Dance with the Devil: A Dark Standalone Romance (The Midnight Series Book 1)

Frankie

Six Weeks Later

“Frankie.”

“Frankie.”

“Francesca.”

I snap my eyes open and look over at Dante, realizing he’s trying to get my attention.

“Sorry. I’m really nervous.”

He grips my hand tighter and brings my fingers to his lips, kissing them once. “Whatever happens, you have me. I’m here.”

I pull my lower lip between my teeth and look away, trying not to cry. Jake said the same thing. He promised we could get through anything together.

And then he left.

The medical room feels so sterile, and it all reminds me of what happened last time. The smell of antiseptic mixed with latex is enough to churn my stomach, threatening to bring up the lovely breakfast my boyfriend made me just a couple of hours ago.

I haven’t had much nausea during this pregnancy, but being back here in this familiar, hellish environment is enough to make me gag.

“Hey.”

I turn my head to face Dante. We’re waiting for the doctor, and I’m lying on the table with a racing heart and clammy hands. The nurse had asked me to take my pants and underwear off for the ultrasound, which would have to be internal today.

“Hi,” I tell him, forcing a smile.

“I forgot to ask you, did you finish those reports I asked for this morning? The ones for my pro bono clients?”

My brain is thick with anxiety, but his question cuts through all of that as I think back to what I’d been working on before we left for this appointment. Why is he asking this now?

“Nearly. I just have to organize them by last name and then our new system will be ready to go.”

“And you can help me figure it out?”

I smile. “You’d be lost without me.”

A crease forms between his brows. “I’ve been using the same system for fifteen years. Of course I’d be lost without you.”

“You’re going to love the new setup. I’ve color-coded everything so that you can quickly glance at a patient’s file to see what the diagnosis is, if you’ve previously prescribed medication, as well as flags for all the common medical history notes.”

He squeezes my hand again. “You need a raise.”

I scoff. “I won’t say no, but you can’t keep giving me raises. It’ll look bad since we’re dating.”

“To whom? I run my own business.”

I hardly hear the doctor knock, and when she enters, I realize that all of the anxiety from earlier is gone.

He’s distracting me on purpose.

I quickly look at Dante and he winks once before turning to face the doctor.

“Hi, Francesca. I’m Dr. Hartfield. How are you feeling?” the doctor asks, washing her hands before turning to face me.

I shrug. “I’m okay. Just a little nervous.”

She’s young—and I briefly start to panic that she’s not experienced enough—but Dante squeezes my hand. He’d looked into all of the doctors for me, and she was his choice. Apparently, Dr. Hartfield is known for her care with mothers who have previously had miscarriages. At first I didn’t want to have that label thrust upon me, but as the weeks went on, I realized having someone who was familiar with my medical history would only work to my benefit.

“I can assure you that you’re in good hands.” She looks at Dante. “Is this Dad?”

I nod, looking over at Dante—who is here between meetings, so he’s in a light blue Oxford shirt and dark gray slacks. To an outsider, he might seem like a formal doctor. But to me, I know the man underneath the nice clothes.

It’s hard to remember how I used to see him before I got to know him.

“Good.” She grabs my chart and her eyes skim over it. “Blood pressure is good. You’ve had a recent Pap test, so we don’t have to do that today. I see you’re taking prenatals—that’s excellent. I would like to do an ultrasound to check the viability and estimated due date, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine,” I squeak.

“Any symptoms? Nausea, vomiting, things like that?”

I shake my head. “I’m just exhausted all the time.”

She walks over to the ultrasound machine. “That’s totally normal.”

“And I⁠—”

I bite my tongue. How do I phrase my next question? My hands are shaking as I run one of them through my hair.

Dr. Hartfield must notice, because she looks down at me and gives me a reassuring smile. “I’ve read your chart, and I know it can be nerve-racking to conceive after a loss. Your medical history says you lost your last pregnancy at 20 weeks?”

I nod as my eyes begin to sting. “Yes.”

“A history of placental abruption in a previous pregnancy can raise the risk in subsequent pregnancies, but please don’t worry yourself too much.” My pulse spikes with every new word out of her mouth. “The chances are still low, and we will keep a very good eye on you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dante scoots closer and grips my hand firmly as Dr. Hartfield takes a transvaginal ultrasound wand and gets it ready for me. The room begins to spin, and Dante reaches his other hand out to my sweaty forehead.

“Do you remember that burrito we had in the Mission District that night?”

I nod as my mouth waters. I’ve had a lot of cravings this pregnancy so far, and burritos are one of them.

“What if we take another trip up to San Francisco for the weekend?”

My lips part. “Really?”

He tilts his head and kisses my hand again. “Really.”

“Spread your legs, Francesca. You might feel a bit of pressure.”

I watch as Dr. Hartfield inserts the ultrasound, and I hold my breath for several seconds. Suddenly, a loud whooshing sound fills the room.

“That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor murmurs, squinting at the screen. “Everything looks good. See that?” she asks, pointing to a small blob. “That’s your baby.”

I’m mesmerized as she takes measurements—as the heartbeat sounds through the small room. When I turn to look at Dante, he’s looking down at me with pure adoration.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, kissing my hand again. “I love you so much.”

A tear slips down my cheeks. “I love you, too.”

“Baby is measuring perfectly at just over eight weeks, which puts your estimated due date at…” she huffs a laugh. “December 25th.”

My mouth drops open. “Really?” When I look over at Dante, he’s watching the screen with reverence and awe. It makes my chest ache, and I’m suddenly so worried I’m going to lose this baby, too.

“Really.” She removes the ultrasound wand and prints a few pictures of the baby for us to take home. Once I’m cleaned up, she helps me sit up. “I’d like to take some blood work, just to be sure you don’t have any blood clotting disorders. That can cause the placenta to detach early. I’m also going to have you come in more often since you’re a bit more high risk and I want to do some additional monitoring. That means coming in every other week instead of every four weeks. Keep doing what you’re doing—baby is perfectly healthy.”

Emotion clogs my throat as she turns to Dante, but I don’t hear what they’re saying over the rush in my ears.

A few minutes later, the nurse returns to take some blood, and then the appointment is over. We walk out of the medical building and I’m carrying the ultrasound picture of our baby. It suddenly feels so real, and when Dante opens the passenger door for me, I burst into tears.

Warm arms envelop me as he kisses the top of my head, and we stand there as I let it all out. Everything from the last two months. The last three years. I didn’t realize how scared I was that something would be wrong today. That I was defective, or that there would be no heartbeat after what happened to me.

But everything is fine.

When I’m done crying, I feel lighter than I have in years. Dante helps me into the passenger seat of his Jaguar, and as we get on the freeway, I realize we’re going in the opposite direction of my house.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, looking over at him.

“I’m taking you to lunch. Your mom called me this morning, and I invited her.”

Something warm and affectionate passes through me. Ever since he met my mom a few weeks ago, they talk all the time, and have become fast friends. She knows what happened in San Francisco—the PG version, at least. And unlike Ari, who took a few weeks to warm up to him, my mom instantly befriended him.

“But I have to work⁠—”

“I’m still your boss,” he says from the driver’s seat. “So I’m giving you a long lunch break.”

I roll my eyes as I smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“After lunch, I thought we could stop by the dealership.”

“What dealership?”

“You can’t keep driving your Fiat with a baby. You’ll need something bigger, and honestly, so will I,” he says, tapping the leather steering wheel.

“But you love your Jaguar.”

It was true. When Dante moved in over a month ago, he’d sold his other cars and had driven his convertible Jaguar down to my house. It’s still strange to see his shiny, fancy car sitting next to my ten-year-old Fiat. And I soon learned that Dante loved cars—and had sold them all to move in with me.

His Jag is the last thing he has of his old life, especially since his house in Santa Barbara just closed last week. He’s officially moved in with me now.

“A convertible isn’t exactly suitable for a baby.”

I don’t say what’s on my mind—notably that it’s still early, and something could still happen. He senses what I’m thinking, though, and rests his hand on my thigh.

“You heard the doctor. You have no reason to worry.”

I’m quiet the rest of the way to the lunch spot, and when we park, I grab the ultrasound photo.

“My mom will want to see it,” I say glumly.

Dante turns to face me fully. “Talk to me.”

I look down at my lap—at the glossy photo. “Everyone is going to be so excited, but what if something happens?”

Dante takes my hand and I look up at him, meeting his eyes. The green orbs burn into mine with such intensity that I suck in a sharp breath. Since moving in with me, he seems more relaxed. Happier. And my happiness is important to him—I’ve come to find he’s actually very easygoing, except when it comes to me. He’s protective and doting, and it’s something I never knew I needed in my life.

“If something happens, we will deal with it. Together.” I look down at my lap again. “Frankie, look at me.”

I snap my eyes up to his. “Sorry. It’s just that—Jake—he said the same thing⁠—”

“There isn’t anything you could say or do that would make me walk away. If you wanted out of this relationship, I’d beg you to stay. If something happens to this baby, I will be there for you day in and day out, ensuring you’re happy and healthy. I only want to exist with you. There is nothing else for me. Fifty years from now, I’ll love you just as much as I love you now.”

“Yeah, but⁠—”

He reaches out and takes my chin between his fingers. “I’m not interested in a life without you. One day soon, I’m going to make you my wife.” I let out a tiny gasp, and his thumb brushes against my skin. “I’m going to love you every single day for the rest of my life, because I’ve never felt anything like this before. My world consists of two parts—before you, and after you. Christ, I don’t know what else I can say to prove that I worship the ground you walk on⁠—”

“Will you marry me?” I ask, heart pounding.

His eyes flick between mine urgently. “Did you just propose to me?” he growls, looking almost annoyed.

I can’t help but smile. “Maybe.”

“Fuck,” he rasps, eyes dipping to my mouth. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

He lets out a tortured groan. “God, you’re so⁠—”

I lean forward and pull his face to mine for a kiss, and when his warm hand comes to the side of my face, I can’t help but smile.

“Is that a yes?” I ask against his lips.

“I had a proposal planned for this weekend, baby girl.”

Pulling away, I look at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

His green eyes bore into mine. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Bringing a hand to my mouth, I let out a shocked laugh. “Oh my god. We’re actually doing this?”

He cocks his head and smirks. “I have to ask your mom first. But yes.” Getting out of the car, he walks around and opens my door, holding a hand out. “Ready?”

I let him help me out of the car before he tugs me into his body. “For which part?”

Wrapping his hands around my waist, he kisses my forehead before brushing his lips against my ear and sending a shiver down my spine.

“All of it.”