Chapter 28

Dafne gritted her teeth as Basta pulled her none too gently along the street.

"Basta you've proved whatever point you wanted to make, let go of me," she demanded, digging her heels in.

Basta said nothing.

But he released her unexpectedly and her resistance backfired, nearly sending her toppling over.

She let out a small cry but managed to steady herself.

Her arm was throbbing and she rubbed it, glaring at him resentfully.

But he had kept walking and was ahead of her now.

Dafne could only direct her displeasure at the back of his head, as she followed.

She looked back, expecting to be able to make out the figure of Dustfinger in the distance. But he had already gone. He was probably on his way back to the lot and his tree.

"Dustfinger was only helping me get back to your house," she said softly.

She turned back and found herself face to face with Basta's glare. He had probably slammed on the brakes as soon as he heard the first word.

"Oh really?" he said, his voice spiteful with sarcasm, "Because it looked more to me like you were getting cosy over a matchstick."

Dafne rolled her eyes at what he was implying.

"He was just showing me a trick," she said exasperatedly.

"How else do you think he gets women to fall for him?" Basta snapped then sneered, "Not with his looks that's for sure."

'You sound so proud of that," Dafne said with distaste.

"See? You're on his side now," Basta said accusingly.

"You mutilated his face."

"He took my Roxanne away!"

Dafne shook her head with disbelief.

Earlier today he had professed to love her. When she had first come here, he had been attempting to woo Resa. Obviously Roxanne hadn't left him so heart-broken that he was unable to pursue relationships with other women albeit unsuccessfully. It made no sense for him to cling to this past injustice as fiercely as he did.

If he was in love with someone else.

In love with her.

"I don't see why this is still an issue," she remarked, "You both seemed to have moved on from her."

Basta flinched, perhaps knowing she had called him out. But he didn't yield.

"It's an issue because I'll never allow it to happen again. I won't let him steal you away from me."

His voice was low and certain. His possessiveness disturbed her, especially since she had already made her feelings clear to him. His conviction was just as appalling, making her recall his knife on Dustfinger's throat.

While she was staring at him in alarm, he reached out to touch her cheek tenderly, as though he had said something romantic instead of the exact opposite.

Dafne batted his hand away angrily,

"Steal me away? What kind of stupid talk is that? I've only met him twice and he's obviously interested in Resa."

"For now he is," Basta muttered darkly, unconvinced.

"Regardless," Dafne said, stressing each word, "We aren't together."

Basta looked disappointed.

"I thought you might have reconsidered," he said quietly.

"Reconsidered?" Dafne repeated in amazement, "Are you serious?"

He had just come thundering onto the scene, held a knife to a man's throat and dragged her away, trying to justify his actions with obsessive nonsense. What did he expect? For her to suddenly throw her arms around him and say, God Basta I've been so stupid, of course I love you!

He obviously thought so.

"Yes," Basta said defensively, "That's why I left. To give you time to think it over."

Was it possible for her eyes to get any wider? He had punched a wall and stormed off. If his intention had been to give her space to contemplate the matter, he could have been clearer and less dramatic about it.

"Oh so that's what you were doing? I thought you were just abandoning me."

"I came back for you. I just didn't expect you to wander off," he groaned, shaking his head, "I don't why I thought that. Given that you tend to go traipsing off into trouble whenever I let you out of my sight."

"I wasn't in trouble. You made the trouble," Dafne reminded him, "for no good reason."

"He deserved it," Basta said stubbornly, looking like a petulant child, "Stupid Dirtyfingers."

"You should be grateful I ran into him instead of someone else," Dafne pointed out. She didn't need to mention names.

"Well maybe you should have considered that before wandering off," Basta said exasperatedly.

"Maybe you shouldn't have left me on my own not knowing what to do," Dafne retorted.

They glowered at each other for a moment.

Then Basta's face softened.

"So have you?"

"What?"

"Reconsidered," he said, looking tense.

Dafne sighed.

"Basta, you really just proved my point back there. I can't be with someone who thinks its okay to whip out a knife on someone."

Basta's face fell and he lowered his gaze to stare hard at the ground.

"It wasn't just anyone," he murmured then changed his tune, "I wouldn't pull my knife on you anymore."

"Maybe. But you hurt my arm just now," she said.

By now it had reduced to a dull ache. But it was still present, still proof.

His eyes flew back up at her in distress.

"I'm sorry," he said repentantly, "I just overacted. I won't hurt you ever again I swear."

The promise fell on non-believing ears. She couldn't trust that, no matter how well-meaning Basta was presently. Resorting violence seemed to be second nature to him. She didn't foresee it being a habit he couldn't easily break. She knew it was not all his fault. It had been inbuilt into him along with all the memories of desperation and loneliness, shaping him into the man he was. But he was also in the real world now, free to choose his own path. There was no one writing his plot for him, unless you counted Capricorn.

"It's all well and good for you to say that," she said, "I want you to prove it."

Basta nodded eagerly,

"I will. I will. Does that mean we can be together?"

Dafne shook her head.

Basta's enthusiasm rapidly dissolved.

"Why?"

I'm really not getting through to him, am I? Dafne thought wearily.

"Why do you want to be with me?" she asked, taking a different approach.

For all his previous certainty, Basta seemed unprepared to answer.

"Well I..." he said, eyes flicking everywhere as if trying to draw inspiration from around him. He found none because he sighed and went for obviousness, "because I like you."

"Why do you like me?" Dafne pressed him.

Basta furrowed his brow at her, looking slightly aggravated.

He answered all the same.

"Because you're, um, pretty," he cringed, starting to blush, "and you pay attention to me. Well not all the time," a touch of annoyance entered his voice, "I mean when I tell you to do something you don't listen, like when I told you not the leave the house. But that's..." he seemed to have gotten distracted, "what was I saying?"

"I'm a good listener," Dafne supplied, trying not to roll her eyes. When he said it like that, it didn't really constitute as praise.

"Oh yes, that. What else? I, um, I like your stories. And you're a good cook. It's a shame you're not as good at cleaning. What?" he said defensively at her irritated expression, "It's not my fault you aren't thorough enough. You know for someone who scolds me about everything, you aren't good at taking constructive criticism."

"It's not constructive, it's just you being pedantic," Dafne shot back.

Basta frowned,

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said edgily.

Dafne sighed,

"Nothing. Why is it that your list of reasons for liking me seems more like a list of reasons why I annoy you?"

Basta shrugged,

"I'm just sorting out what I do and don't like out loud," he replied, "I haven't finished yet."

This time Dafne did roll her eyes.

"Oh great."

"You're the one who asked me," Basta protested.

"You're the one who wants to be with me," Dafne countered, "Your just not making it clear as to why yet."

Basta answered almost immediately this time.

"Because you're the first woman who actually seems to care about me," he said, nothing in his voice now but sincerity, "who wants to be my friend."

"Then why can't we just be friends?" Dafne reasoned.

Basta shook his head,

"It's not enough."

"Why?" Dafne asked.

Basta shifted uncomfortably.

"Because..." there was a tremor in his voice and he was refusing to meet her eyes, "I want you. I want to kiss you and hold you and have you all to myself."

Dafne was glad he couldn't bring himself to look at her, because she had gone red.

"I..." she croaked, but that was all she could manage.

He glanced up at her for a split second before jerking his gaze back down,

"Do you know many times you've been yelling at me and all I could think about was that I wanted to kiss you?"

"No," Dafne said in a small cringing voice, wishing he hadn't confessed it.

"I've lost count," Basta admitted, "But I stopped myself because I was afraid of you reacting... the way you did after I kissed you today," he sighed regretfully, "I wish I hadn't have done it now. I shouldn't have told that you loved you."

Dafne took a deep breath, preparing herself. She knew she had to tell him.

"I already knew," she admitted quietly.

Basta looked at her with pained confused eyes,

"What?"

"I knew," Dafne said, "I knew that you liked me."

"How?" Basta asked, sounding like a child.

"Capricorn told me. He assumed that's how you felt toward me. That it was the reason you asked him to make me your maid," Dafne smiled bitterly, "He was right all along."

Basta looked at a loss,

"If you knew, why didn't you say something?"

"Well I wasn't exactly sure," Dafne said.

Basta made a noise of frustration.

"But you said..."

"Yes I know. I suppose I was trying to avoid it. I've settled in with you and Silvio and I knew if it came out, it would change things."

Basta's face hardened,

"Were you scared I'd send you back to Capricorn's if I found out you didn't like me?"

"I do like you. Is that what you're going to do?" Dafne said, not able to hide her uneasiness at the prospect. No doubt Mortola would rejoice to have her back under her thumb.

Basta stared up into the dark sky, his expression conflicted.

"No," he said finally, "I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't give you up just like that."

"Thank you," Dafne said gratefully. That was one relief at least.

Basta was still looking upwards.

"The boy wouldn't forgive me if I did. I wouldn't want to lose him too."

Dafne suddenly recalled Silvio's words from that morning.

If we both left, he would be lonely.

How awfully astute the boy was.

"So what happens now?" she asked.

She wasn't sure how they were going to progress from this point with everything out in the open, all raw and awkward.

Basta looked at her sadly.

"I don't know. We go home I suppose."

"Just like that?" she said.

Basta shrugged,

"Do you have a better idea?"

Dafne shook her head. She really didn't.

"Do you think you could ever love me?" Basta asked.

The configuration of his question alerted her that he had accepted that she didn't love him, on this day, at this hour, this minute, these passing seconds.

But in the future would she change her mind?

"I don't know," Dafne said. Her reply was automatic.

She didn't know why she didn't simply say no.

'I don't know' carried no certainty but at the same time carried potential.

Basta smiled faintly. He chose to interpret it as hopeful sign.

What harm was there in allowing him to hope? It didn't mean anything was going to happen.

Dafne was just glad to hear him say the next words.

"Let's go home,"

To be continued...