DIANA
***
The sound of laughter and the noises of the city at night lingered in the air as we walked through the familiar dimly lit streets of Brooklyn. It was around 10 pm on a regular summer night. The usual ambiance of sirens lingered in the background of our conversation.
We came from his uncle's Trattoria, a typical spot where we hung out at night.
The shift between the Italian neighborhoods to the Black neighborhoods was clear as day.
Italians hanging out in groups outside bars and corner stores, turned their heads to stare. Some even leaned out of apartment windows.
I made sure not to make eye contact with any of them because I knew they scrutinized me.
As they continued to stare, Dante's arm found its way around my shoulder, innately closing the gap between us.
He spoke with a calm confidence that easily reassured me, "It's okay, Ana," He briefly looked at me, "Just the way things are around here. Don't let it bother you."
We continued our walk, the echo of our footsteps blended with the distant beats of a boombox playing "All Night Long" by The Mary Jane Girls as we got closer to my apartment building.
Occasionally, Dante nodded to some of his friends who spotted him. When they shifted their gazes to me, they looked at me quizzically, likely wondering why he was with a Black girl.
Throughout our walk, my gaze naturally tilted upward when stealing glances at him, admiring his effortlessly slicked-back hair that caught the shimmer of streetlights. His accent, a mix of Italian warmth and Brooklyn cool, added a charm to his every word.
The glow of streetlights cast a soft halo around us as we approached my apartment building. Though I didn't live in the best neighborhood he still offered to walk me home.
"Thanks for walking me home, Dante," I said, my voice sounding happier than expected.
Dante's large leather jacket draped over my shoulders, a protection against the night's breeze. With each blow of wind, his addicting Cologne wafted in the air.
He smiled, the dimples on his cheeks exuding a charm that I adored ever since I met him, "You're welcome."
I began to slip off his jacket to return to him, "Keep it," he insisted, "It looks better on you anyway."
I chuckled, a warmth spreading through me as I felt the soft leather against my skin again.
The glow from the living room window spilled onto the stoop. My mother, a silhouette against the warm light, leaned out and called, "Diana, come inside. It's getting late."
My mother's trust in Dante and his family allowed these late-night walks. She knew he'd protect me, I did too.
With a reluctant glance toward the door, I sighed, "Guess I should head in."
Dante nodded, his hazel eyes shimmering in the moonlight, his olive skin appearing almost like gold, "I'll see you around, principessa."
(Princess)
Though he knew I didn't like the nickname he still called me it anyway.
His knuckle stroked my cheek before he began to walk away.
Wanting to repay him for the evening he spent with me, I called out, "Dante, wait!"
Rushing to catch up, my dress swayed with each step. I stood on my tiptoes to reach his face and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
Once I pulled away, I swore I could've seen his cheeks turn the softest shade of red.
"Goodnight, Dante." Stealing one last glance, I smiled at him before walking to my doorstep.