Chapter 18 The breakfast truce
The kitchen felt quiet that morning as she stepped in. Sienna hadn’t realized how much she’d gotten used to Dante’s sharp voice, the clipped remarks, the endless friction that filled every corner of this house. Silence was worse. It left room for thoughts.
She stood by the counter, staring at the coffee machine like it held the answer to something bigger. Maybe it did. Coffee solved more problems than most men she’d met.
She poured a mug for herself, then hesitated before filling a second. Dante had a way of turning simple gestures into battlefields still, she carried both cups toward the dining room.
When she entered, he was already there. His wheelchair sat pushed back slightly from the table, as if he’d been waiting but didn’t want to admit it.
“You’re here already,” she said.
“I couldn't wait anymore.” His voice was low, rough around the edges. He didn’t look at her. “it was a long night.”
She set one cup down in front of him. “Then this should help.”
He frowned at the coffee like it was a foreign object. “Are you trying to poison me?”
“Not yet.” She pulled out a chair and sat opposite. “Though the thought’s crossed my mind.”
Something flickered at the corner of his mouth, a little amusement, it was gone almost before it appeared. “You’re bolder in the morning.”
“Caffeine does that.”
They sat in silence for a moment. She sipped, watching him cautiously. He looked different this morning, less guarded, though the scars on his hands caught the light like faint reminders of everything that hadn’t healed. His fingers trembled slightly when he lifted the cup.
“You should eat,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I thought you were hungry when you asked for breakfast. You should eat anyway.”
He glanced at her. “You give orders like you own the place.”
“Someone has to. The new staff’s terrified of you.”
“Good,” he said, but without conviction. The corner of his jaw tightened. “At least she should stay out of my way.”
“And that’s what you want? Everyone out of your way?”
He didn’t answer. His gaze drifted past her, to the sea outside the window. For a moment, neither spoke.
She broke the silence. “I just finished toasting bread. Let me make you scrambled eggs.” she said as she stood up and walked towards the kitchen counter.
“I hate toast,” he said, stopping her midway.
“You hate everything.” she replied as she returned to the table
He turned his eyes back to her, sharp but tired. “And you’re still here, though.”
Sienna’s lips twitched. “Maybe I enjoy suffering.”
“I’d believe that,” he said quietly.
She laughed, a soft, surprised sound that startled them both. It slipped out before she could stop it, light and human in a house that had known only tension. The sound seemed to hang between them, fragile,yet alive.
Dante stared. He hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d never heard her laugh, not once in all these weeks. It was too natural and unguarded. For the first time in months, he didn’t know what to say.
“What?” she asked, noticing his look.
“Nothing.” He looked away, but his voice betrayed him. “Just didn’t think you knew how to…you know...”
Her eyes narrowed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Doctors don’t usually sound like people.”
“Well, billionaires who are athletes don’t usually act like toddlers,” she shot back.
That earned her a faint smirk. “Touché.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Strange, yes, but not hostile. The villa felt softer somehow, as if the walls had stopped listening for once.
Sienna pushed the plate in front of her toward him again. “Eat something, Dante.”
He eyed the toast with exaggerated suspicion, then picked up a piece anyway. “You really made this?”
“Yes.”
He bit into it slowly. “It’s terrible.”
She gave him a flat look. “Then stop eating it.”
He took another bite. “I didn’t say I was stopping.”
Her lips curved despite herself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“True,” he said, mouth full. “But I’m improving.”
She shook her head, but the faint warmth in her chest surprised her. He was still insufferable but he was also trying. Maybe not in words, but in the quiet ways that mattered: showing up, eating something, and not pushing her away.
He noticed her watching him. “You’re staring.”
“It’s a habit,” she said. “I analyze body language.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“Plenty.”
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. “You think you’ve figured me out.”
“I think you’re complicated.”
He gave a dry laugh. “That’s your medical opinion?”
“That’s my human opinion.”
He didn’t respond, but she saw something flicker in his expression, something uncertain. He took another sip of coffee, his hands were steady now.
When the morning light shifted. She found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t in weeks. It wasn’t peace, exactly. It was the fragile quietness that came after two people stopped fighting long enough to remember they were both tired.
Dante set his cup down. “Do you ever get tired of fixing people?”
Sienna blinked. “That’s an odd question.”
“Is it?” His voice was calm, but there was something behind it. “You patch people up, send them back out, and they break again. Doesn’t it get old?”
She tilted her head. “I don’t fix people. I help them move again.”
He looked at her for a long moment, as though testing the truth in her words. “And what if they don’t want to?”
“Then I wait until they do.”
He nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “You’re too patient.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“No,” he said, meeting her gaze again. “It’s part of you.”
The words landed heavier than he intended. She looked away first, fingers tightening around her mug. For a moment, the air between them felt suffocating.
He noticed it too. The awareness lingered making the space feel smaller, the silence louder. He shifted slightly, as if to break it, but didn’t speak.
She stood up abruptly, gathering their plates. “You should rest before your session.”
He didn’t stop her, though something in his expression tightened again. Watching her move around the kitchen, he realized how different the house felt with her in it, less like a cage, and more like a place he could almost breathe in. It unsettled him.
“You know,” he said after a while, “you could’ve left by now. Most people would’ve.”
“I signed a contract.”
“People break contracts, even vows.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
She met his eyes, steady. “Because I keep my word.”
He held her gaze for a long time, something unreadable flickering there. Then he said quietly, “You’re a strange woman, Doctor Hale.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Don’t.”
He smiled faintly. A small, genuine, and unexpected smile. The kind that crept up without permission. It caught her off guard. He almost looked human when he did it.
“Eat your toast,” she said, trying to sound firm, though the corners of her lips betrayed her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
They finished breakfast that way teasing each other, quiet, and almost normal. For a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. No reporters. No contracts. No ghosts from either of their pasts. Just two people pretending not to need the company they were both desperate for.
When she rose to leave, he said softly, “Thank you.”
She paused,her hand still on the chair. “For what?”
“For staying.”
Something in his tone stopped her. It wasn’t gratitude exactly, more like confession. His eyes had softened in a way she hadn’t seen before.
She smiled faintly. “Don’t make it a habit.”
“I’ll try not to,” he said, but his voice betrayed the lie.
Later, in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed, staring out at the morning light spilling across the sea. She could still hear his voice in her head, she could still feel the quietness that had filled the kitchen after that thank you.
Something in her chest ached not sharp like anger, but dull, persistent, and dangerous.
She didn’t want to like him. God knew she shouldn’t. He was arrogant, stubborn, broken in ways she couldn’t name. But he was also…
No.
She caught herself before the thought finished. That way lay trouble, and she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
But when she closed her eyes, she could still see him at the table with his hands steady, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, and the sunlight turning his scars to gold.
She’d spent her career helping people move again. She hadn’t expected to start moving herself.
When she finally lay down, the thought she’d
been fighting all morning slipped through anyway, quiet as breath.
Maybe, just maybe she was beginning to like him.
And that realization scared her more than anything else ever had.