Chapter 27 The distance
The next few days slipped into a rhythm that felt wrong.
Sienna woke up early, went through the same motions, coffee, notes, checklists but everything was different. The house, once tense but alive, now felt like it was holding its breath. Conversations were shorter. Meals quieter. Even the sea outside seemed to crash more softly, as if respecting the silence inside.
Dante didn’t speak unless necessary. He sat through therapy sessions with perfect obedience, no sarcasm, no resistance, no spark. It should have made her work easier, but instead, it felt hollow. Every good session left her more restless.
And maybe that was the worst part, the stillness. Because it didn't give her peace of mind, she felt empty like he was giving her space.
She would tell herself it was fine that he was healing, that this was progress. But deep down, she knew she’d lost something. The sharp edges between them had kept her awake, kept her alert. Now, there was nothing but the echo of what used to be.
That afternoon, Luca appeared again.
He came in through the front door like sunlight loud, warm, and bringing a different kind of energy to the villa. He carried a box of pastries and a grin that reached his eyes.
“Breakfast came late, so consider this an early dessert,” he said, setting the box on the table. “And before you say anything, yes, I brought one for you, Doctor Hale.”
Sienna smiled politely. “You didn’t have to.”
“Of course I did,” he replied easily. “My brother’s making you earn your salary. I thought I’d at least supply the sugar.”
He meant it as a joke, but Dante’s expression from across the room didn’t shift. His gaze flicked toward the pastries, then to Sienna once before looking away again.
Sienna felt a small sting of discomfort but ignored it. “Thank you, Luca. That’s kind.”
“Kind?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s called me this week.”
He leaned against the counter while she unwrapped one of the croissants. “You should see how miserable Dante looks when you’re not around,” he teased. “He pretends he doesn’t notice, but the house feels like a tomb when you’re gone.”
“Luca,” Dante said sharply, his voice cutting across the air.
Luca chuckled and held up his hands. “Relax, brother. I'm just talking.”
Sienna busied herself with cleaning up the counter, pretending not to feel the heat of Dante’s glare on her back.
Later that day, the therapy session was quiet again. Dante was focused, rigid, every move he made was a deliberate act. She adjusted the resistance bands, guiding his arms through a slow repetition.
“Any pain?” she asked softly.
“No.”
“Good. Let’s do one more.”
He didn’t look at her, but she could feel his thoughts pressing close, heavy, unspoken. When they finished, he wiped sweat from his forehead and murmured, “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Luca.”
She hesitated. “He’s been around. I can’t exactly send him away.”
“He’s not your concern,” Dante said. “You’re mine.”
The words came out colder than he intended. Sienna froze. For a moment, they just looked at each other, his jaw tightened, her eyes filled with uncertainty.
She set down her notes. “You’re not my responsibility, Mr. Varon. You’re my patient.”
He looked away, his mouth curving into something between a smirk and a wound. “Right,” he muttered. “A patient.”
She wanted to say more, but the weight in the air between them made her chest ache. So she turned and left, the sound of her footsteps the only thing breaking the silence.
Over the next few evenings, Luca made himself at home. He joined her for tea in the kitchen, helped with groceries, even made her laugh with his ridiculous impressions of Dante as a grumpy teenager.
For the first time in weeks, Sienna felt something close to normalcy, a small relief from the constant tension. Luca was easy to talk to, charming without pressure, kind without expectation.
But every time she caught herself smiling, guilt stirred somewhere deep inside.
Because she could feel Dante’s eyes on her from a distance, from the terrace, the hallway, the gym. He was watching silently.
She told herself she didn’t owe him anything. That it wasn’t her fault if he misunderstood. Still, it lingered the awareness of him, the quiet hurt he never said out loud.
On the fourth day, after Luca left, she found Dante in the living room.
He was sitting by the piano, something he rarely touched, his fingers brushing across the keys, not pressing down, just feeling the shape of the music.
She stopped at the doorway. “I didn’t know you played.”
“I don’t anymore,” he said without turning around.
“But you used to?”
He gave a faint shrug. “I used to do a lot of things.”
Something in his tone made her heart twist. The air smelled faintly of rain, it had started to drizzle outside, the light soft and gray through the windows.
She stepped closer. “You’re still allowed to enjoy things, Dante.”
He finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. “And you?” he asked. “What do you enjoy, Doctor? Fixing broken things?”
The question cut deeper than it should have. “I enjoy seeing people heal.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “Is that what this is? Healing?”
She swallowed, her voice quiet. “I’d like to think so.”
He turned away again, fingers tracing the piano lid. “You shouldn’t spend so much time with him.”
Her stomach tightened. “Luca?”
“Don’t say his name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you care.”
The words dropped like stones between them. Sienna felt something flare in her chest, frustration, anger, sadness. Maybe all of it at once.
She took a step back. “You don’t get to tell me who to talk to.”
“I’m not,” he said, his tone flat, but his hands trembled slightly. “I’m just warning you.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to look at her, to say something that made sense, something human. But he stayed turned away, his shoulders rigid.
After a long silence, she said quietly, “You’ve been cruel before, Dante. But this feels like punishment.”
He didn’t respond.
The sound of the rain filled the gap instead. Sienna turned and left.
At night, as she wrote her notes, she heard a faint noise from the hallway, a slow rhythm of uneven footsteps. Then, a soft thud.
She rushed out and found Dante near the stairs, one crutch fallen beside him. He’d tried to get to the terrace alone.
She bent down quickly. “You should’ve called me.”
“I don’t need help,” he muttered through gritted teeth, trying to push himself up. His face was pale, jaw clenched in pain.
“Yes, you do,” she said firmly, grabbing his arm. “Stop fighting me.”
He froze at her touch, breathing hard, then let her guide him to the nearest chair. Their eyes met briefly with exhaustion and pride,
For a moment, everything was still. The storm outside had grown louder, lightning flashing across the glass.
“You shouldn’t care,” he said finally, voice low. “It’s easier when you don’t.”
She took a step back. “I don’t,” she lied.
He almost smiled. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Sienna wanted to scream, to shake him, to tell him that he made it impossible not to care. But instead, she stood there in silence, her heart pounding, her throat tight.
When she finally turned to leave, his voice followed her softly through the rain.
“Luca will get tired. They always do.”
She stopped mid-step but didn’t look back.
They always do.
The words sank into her like cold water.
She got to her room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring out at the storm outside.
Every sound of rain, thunder, and the crashing of the waves seemed to echo his words.
She thought about Dante’s expression when she found him on the floor, the mix of pain and defiance in his eyes. She thought about Luca’s laughter, the ease of it, the way it briefly made her forget the tension pressing on her chest.
She thought about herself, how she had come here to help a man heal, and somehow ended up breaking herself in quiet, invisible ways.
And she hated that she didn’t know which brother hurt her more.
The rain softened near dawn, but the question in her mind stayed sharp, restless.
Why does it hurt when he pushes me away, when I told myself I’d never let him close?