He came to visit exactly one week to the day I flew away.  He came with Gram's ring in his hand and a proposal on his lips. 

Well, it wasn't so much a proposal as him telling me that of course we were getting married. 

I put on the ring and didn't so much as consider turning him down.  This had been a long time coming.  Some promises are made before you ever say the words. 

"Your mom is going to lose her mind," I told him later, after our third round of celebrating. 

He stiffened, the chest under my cheek going stiff, and I knew I'd struck a nerve.  "I won't be telling her.  No reason to." 

I couldn't blame him but a part of me wanted to tell her myself just to see the look on her face.  That part was quickly overruled by any common sense I might have had.  Even I knew better than to tangle with his mother.   

For a time living apart didn't seem to so much as put the tiniest crack in our foundation.  I missed him, of course I did, but I had a purpose now.  I started to land small roles my first week, and just kept at it, feeling certain that it was my destiny. 

And when he did visit, or I visited him, the reunions were a powerful, heady thing.  We were combustible together on a normal day.  Add a little deprivation to that and it reached atomic proportions.  Addictive stuff, that. 

We lasted over a year like that.  I can't sugarcoat it.  We had our ups and downs.  It was as tumultuous as we were volatile.  Two insanely jealous people living apart while engaged did not make for a smooth romance.  More often than not when he left me or I him, he had scratches on his back from shoulder to ass. 

It wasn't that I thought he'd be unfaithful.  It was about ownership, marking my territory.

I trusted him almost blindly, but it took a lot less than the thought of actual infidelity to get me hot with temper.  Him talking to other girls, being friends with them, popping up in pictures with them on Facebook, studying with them, you name it, I lost my mind.

Needless to say, he was just as out of hand. 

If Dante had had his way, we'd have been married the day we were engaged, but I wanted to wait until we were living together for good.  Some strange last throwback to hold onto, I guess, something to save special for after the wedding. 

On his birthday weekend, roughly a year after the move I'd saved up enough money to buy my own airline ticket and surprise him with a solid three-week visit starting the Friday before his birthday.  I had to be crafty to surprise him, so I showed up at his apartment unannounced and let myself in. 

I wasn't certain of his everyday schedule.  I could guess based on experience, so at six p.m. I figured he'd be home soon, and I simply waited.

And waited.  It was midnight when I decided to go out to find him.  I was still trying hard not to ruin the surprise.  One text inquiring where he was would surely do that. 

I started with the closest bar, the rowdy little place I used to work, and there he was. 

But whom he was with could not have shocked me more.  He was sitting a table, drinking a beer, and sitting across from Tiffany. 

I don't know how long I stood there and stared.  I was so shocked that I wasn't even angry at first.  What could this be?  What could it mean? 

And as it started to seep in, still, I wasn't angry.  I was hurt.  And confused. 

It didn't take me long to decide to just walk in and confront them. 

I wanted to see what he had to say for himself.  Needed to. 

He was facing the door when I walked in and the movement caught his eye.  He glanced up and saw me first. 

His reaction was gratifying.  He stood up, moving to me, his happiest smile lighting up his face.  He caught on right away.  "You're surprising me for my birthday," he said, delight in his voice. 

I didn't answer with words, instead I waited until he'd moved close and rubbed up against him, pulling his face down to mine.

I brushed my lips to his, once, then again, until he groaned and started kissing me.

I took it further than I meant to.  I'd meant to take it somewhere, sure, but what I did was more than I should have, using my mouth on his ruthlessly, my tongue, my body, making him forget where he was, forget that we weren't alone, forget that he couldn't take me right there, making him lose all sense, intoxicating him relentlessly.  

It wasn't un-calculated.  Of course not.  Territory.  Marked.  Simple but irresistible.

And all the while, something inside of me had begun to rage, incessantly, powerfully. 

Oh yes.  I was jealous. 

When I finally wrenched my mouth away, he bent and started kissing my neck, his hands rubbing my ass, over and over, our groins flush, his stiff erection digging into me.

Okay, yeah, I'd let it go a touch too far.  We hadn't seen each other in a month.  Clearly with that much time apart we shouldn't have had our first meeting in public. 

"Dante," I said quietly.  I was going for composed, but even I could hear the desire in my voice. 

He groaned and kissed his way up to my jaw.

Gently but firmly, I pushed him away.

His glassy eyes just stared at me, dazed, for a solid thirty seconds before they began to clear. 

He blinked a few times and started to curse, dragging a hand through his hair. 

I gave him and myself some time to compose ourselves before I finally spoke.  "I've been at your apartment since six.  Waiting for you.  How's Tiffany?"  I let my tone say what my words didn't.