"You are a brave and perfect young woman, Dove."
Hearing those words, Dove went blank for a moment before warmth crept up her cheeks, making her blush. She cleared her throat and chuckled softly.
"Perfect woman? That's a very big word to use, Dante. I am nowhere close to being perfect."
She shook her head slightly, her expression laced with amusement. She wasn't what people called perfect.
But Dante did not agree.
"I don't think so, Dove," he said, his voice unwavering. "Because what I see is that you are perfect. And nothing can change my mind."
His words sent a flutter through her heart, making it pound against her chest. They held each other's gaze, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
Then, after a moment of silence, Dante spoke again.
"Dove..."
"Hm?"
"Do you think he regrets it?"
He hadn't planned to ask that. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to say even —it could plant a seed in her mind that hadn't been there before. But he felt the need to.
