Chapter 33 Distancing during therapy
The villa felt heavier that week like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Sienna noticed it the moment she woke up that morning, the air was still, the usual sound of the piano absent, the quiet almost too quiet.
Dante had vanished into himself again.
He no longer met her eyes when she entered a room. He answered questions with one-word replies. Their sessions were mechanical, the rhythm of movement and silence, muscle and restraint.
It wasn’t the first time he’d shut her out. But this time, it felt different, like it was deliberate,it felt colder and almost cruel.
And Sienna didn’t know if it was because of Luca, or because of her.
The morning session started at exactly nine sharp.
She entered the therapy room to find him already there, sitting rigidly on the bench, hands clasped so tightly the veins stood out across his knuckles. His hair was damp, his jaw unshaven, he looked like he hadn’t slept.
“Good morning,” she said carefully.
He didn’t look up. “You’re late.”
“I’m on time.”
He gave a small, sharp sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. “Then maybe my clock’s broken.”
She ignored the jab. “We’ll start with stretches. Your back and shoulders first.”
“Fine.”
The word dropped like a stone.
Sienna moved behind him, her hands steady though her pulse was not. She pressed lightly against his shoulder blade, guiding his movement. He followed stiffly, every motion controlled, as if he were trying to prove something.
“You’re forcing it,” she murmured.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
His eyes flicked up to hers in the mirror. “Then fix me, Doctor. Isn’t that your job?”
The tone cut through her calm. She stepped back, her hands falling to her sides.
“This isn’t working,” she said quietly.
He turned his head, one eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this. The silence. The attitude. I can’t help you if you keep shutting down every time something doesn’t go your way.”
He gave a low, humorless laugh. “You think this is about not getting my way?”
“I think you’re punishing me.”
“For what?” he said, too fast.
She swallowed. “You tell me.”
The air between them tightened.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the steady tick of the clock on the wall.
Finally, he looked away. “You take everything too personally.”
“Maybe because you make everything personal.”
Something flickered in his jaw, a muscle tightening, an almost imperceptible flinch. But when he spoke, his voice was flat again. “Let’s just do the exercises.”
Sienna stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded once. “Fine.”
The next half hour passed in brittle silence.
She guided him through resistance bands, through lifts, through the slow rise and bend of his legs. Every instruction was met with cold obedience. Every correction with quiet defiance.
When she reached for his arm to adjust his posture, he jerked slightly, not enough to pull away just enough to remind her of the distance he wanted.
Something inside her snapped.
“Enough,” she said.
He froze. “Excuse me?”
She stepped closer, her voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to treat me like I’m invisible. You don’t get to decide when I exist and when I don’t.”
His eyes lifted to hers, startled not by her words, but by the fire in them.
She kept going. “You can hate me all you want, Dante, but you will move.”
Her hand pressed lightly against his shoulder like a command, not a touch.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond. Then, with a slow breath, he leaned forward, his muscles tightening under her palm.
He moved.
One step. Then another.
His breathing grew ragged, not from pain from something else entirely.
“Good,” she said softly, her tone softer now. “Keep going.”
He did until his balance shifted and his hand shot out instinctively, catching her wrist.
For a second, neither of them breathed.
His fingers wrapped around her skin, warm, strong, trembling just slightly. Her pulse jumped beneath his touch, she was sure he felt it.
Their eyes met.
It wasn’t like the other times, not like anger, not like pity. This was something quieter, more dangerous. The kind of silence that said everything words couldn’t.
He didn’t let go.
Her throat tightened. “Dante,” she whispered, “you can release me now.”
But his grip stayed firm. Not hard, not painful, just there and steady.
As if he was afraid that if he did, something inside him would break completely.
He spoke finally, his voice was low and strained. “You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me,” she said softly.
He looked down at their joined hands, his thumb resting against the inside of her wrist.
“You shouldn’t care,” he murmured. “It makes things worse.”
She swallowed. “For who?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes moved over her face like he was memorizing it, or maybe trying to forget it.
She wanted to step back, to pull her hand free, to do something sensible. But she couldn’t move either.
The space between them hummed electric, fragile, filled with everything they hadn’t said.
Her voice came out quieter than she meant. “Let go, Dante.”
He didn’t.
Instead, he whispered, almost to himself, “You think I like being like this?”
“Like what?”
“Stuck,” he said. “Inside this body. Inside this house. Inside this.”
Her heart twisted.
“You’re not stuck,” she said gently.
He gave a small, broken laugh. “No? Then why does every time I reach for something, I ruin it?”
His grip loosened finally, but he didn’t move away. The air between them was thick, trembling.
She wanted to say something, something that could pull him back from that edge of self-loathing. But nothing she could think of felt enough.
So she just whispered, “You haven’t ruined me.”
For a moment, he looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. As if the words themselves hurt more than anything she could have done.
Then, with slow, deliberate care, he let her hand go.
Sienna stepped back, trying to steady her breathing. Her skin still burned where he’d touched her.
She turned away, pretending to check her notes. “That’s enough for today.”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded once, jaw tight.
As she reached for the door, he spoke again quietly, without looking at her. “You should stay away from me.”
She froze. “Is that an order?”
“It’s a warning.”
She turned slowly. “You really think you’re protecting me?”
His gaze lifted to hers. “No,” he said softly. “I think I’m protecting myself.”
Her chest tightened. “From what?”
He hesitated, then said in a voice barely above a whisper. “From wanting you to stay.”
Sienna didn’t know how to breathe after that.She could only nod once and leave before he could see her expression.
She sat in her room, staring at her wrist, the faint memory of his touch still there, like warmth that refused to fade.
Outside, the sea roared softly against the cliffs. The same rhythm as her heartbeat.
She closed her eyes, her mind replaying that moment his hand, his voice, the raw honesty that had cracked through all his defenses.
She should’ve felt angry. Confused. Maybe even afraid.
But instead, all she felt was the smallest tremor of something she couldn’t name.
Something that felt dangerously like hope.
She pressed her palm to her chest, whispering into the quietness in her room. “Why does it hurt to want him to heal, when I’m the one
breaking now?”
And from the room below, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of the piano again. Soft, wounded and beautiful.
Each note falling like an apology he didn’t know how to give