Chapter 56 Peace
“Relax,” he told her.
“What are you doing?” She asked when he got hold of her leg.
“Just cleaning you up, so you can be comfortable. I don't think you'll be able to stand in the bathroom to wash”.
“That's true, I feel so sticky”. Her eyes widened, “No way” she said, clamping her thighs together.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He asked, laughing. “Don't you think it's a little too late to close your legs”. He added, teasing her.
“I..”
“Don't be silly, babe. Let me clean you up”. He said, looking at her flushed face.
Her face grew warm with embarrassment, “I…” she said, trying to lift her body. She moved her hips, her eyes scanned the bedsheet and then the floor. “Well, nothing,” she said, finally relaxing.
“Looking for something?” Dante asked, his eyes scanning the bedsheet.
“No, I…nothing,” she said, stretching her hand to collect the tissue. “Let me have the tissue, I'll clean up myself”.
“No, you're not doing anything,” he said, moving his hands away from her reach. “Just relax and let me finish my job”.
She released her thighs and spread her legs a little for him. He moved his hand with the tissue and a few wipes were enough to dry. And he stood up, walked into the bathroom, and disposed of the tissues properly.
On his way back to the bed, he turned off the lights except the bedside table lamp. He slid in next to her, turning off the lamp and pulling the duvet over their bodies. Without hesitation, she nestled against his body. He cuddled her as they both fell asleep. They just had a memorable night together.
The first light of morning began to spill through the curtains. Sienna stood up, moving to the balcony. Dante followed her, slower, steadying himself on the cane. The air was cool and salt-sweet, the sea calm after the long night of rain.
They stood side by side, neither speaking.
The horizon glowed pink, gold, and soft orange, a sunrise that didn’t care about their broken hearts, but somehow made them feel smaller and lighter all at once.
Dante looked at her profile, the way her hair moved in the breeze, the way her eyes softened when the light touched the water.
“You’re my reason to stand, Sienna,” he said quietly. “And you'd always be my reason.”
She turned to him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Then stand with me,” she said softly. “Not above, not behind. Just with me.”
He nodded, the ache in his chest easing a little. “With you.”
For the first time in months, it didn’t hurt to breathe.
Later that evening, Dante stood by the window, watching the faint lights of the street below. “It’s small,” he said finally.
Sienna smiled as she set two mugs on the table. “That’s what makes it mine.”
The air smelled like garlic and burnt bread. They’d tried cooking together for the first time, and it had gone terribly with a mixture of smoke, laughter, and flour on the floor. He’d sliced the tomatoes wrong, and she’d dropped the salt into the sauce, but somehow, neither of them cared.
He sat now at the tiny dining table, one hand resting over the cane beside his chair. The muscles in his legs still trembled from the day’s therapy, but his eyes held something lighter. Something she hadn’t seen in him before.
Peace. He looked like he was finally enjoying peace.
“Do you ever stop moving?” she teased, pouring him tea.
He smirked faintly. “You tell me to keep moving every day.”
“That’s during therapy.”
“And what’s this?”
She shrugged. “Dinner, maybe.”
He leaned back, looking at her across the small space, the lamplight soft on her face. There was no distance here, no villa walls to hide behind.
After a few minutes of eating silently, he asked suddenly, “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Stay calm. When you’re touching other men during therapy especially when they’re half dressed and trusting you completely.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his tone. “It’s my job, Dante.”
“I know that.” His gaze didn’t move. “But you’re a woman. And you’re… you. You can’t tell me you don’t ever feel something.”
Her heart thudded. The air seemed to thicken between them. “I’ve learned to focus on helping,” she said quietly. “Not feeling.”
He leaned forward a little, voice lower. “And with me?”
Her breath caught. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “With you,” she said softly, “it wasn’t easy.”
He didn’t speak. His jaw tensed, his fingers tapping the table once. Then, quieter, “That’s what I thought.”
There was silence between them for a few minutes.
When she stood up to clear the plates, his hand brushed hers and the simple touch made her heart trip.
Later, she showed him her shelf of books. The old ones, the ones she’d carried through dorm rooms and rented apartments.
He traced a finger over the spines like they were foreign objects. “You’ve read all these?”
“Most of them.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ve never finished a book.”
“Never?”
“I was too busy trying to be what people expected. Racing, training, pretending I didn’t want anything else.”
“So what did you want?” she asked.
He looked at her then. “This. A quiet night with someone who sees me.”
Her throat tightened. She turned away, pretending to rearrange the books. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is,” he said. “You just have to stop running from it.”
They ended up on the couch with the same book between them, sharing pages and silence.
Sienna read aloud a paragraph about forgiveness, and Dante listened, his eyes following her mouth rather than the words. The clock ticked softly.
She leaned slightly against him, her head resting near his shoulder. His breathing slowed and became steady.
He whispered after a while, “I don’t remember what peace felt like before this.”
She smiled.“Maybe this is it.”
He didn’t answer, but the way his hand brushed hers on the couch cushion said enough.
Hours passed like minutes. Sienna eventually drifted to sleep right there, curled slightly toward him, the book still open in her hand.
Dante stayed awake, his gaze fixed on the faint movement of her breath. He’d seen her angry, tired, laughing but never like this. At peace, because of him.
It terrified him.
He rose quietly and carefully not to wake her, and stepped out onto the balcony. The cold air bit at his skin, but it cleared his head.
For the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking about pain, or rehab, or the crash. He was thinking about how her laughter filled rooms that used to echo. About how he wanted to be the man who made her smile like that again.
Behind him, the door creaked open. Barefoot, sleepy-eyed, Sienna appeared, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
“You couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“I noticed you weren't there,” she said quietly. She moved closer, standing beside him, their arms almost touching. “It’s colder out here than you think.”
“I’ve been through worse.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But you don’t have to stand in the cold alone anymore.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Dante said, almost to himself, “I’ve never felt peace like this. It scares me.”
Sienna turned her head, her eyes searching his face. “Why?”
“Because peace means you have something to lose,” he said simply.
She reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve. “Then maybe it’s time you learned how to keep it.”
His eyes met hers dark, unreadable, filled with something fragile and dangerous.
For a heartbeat, he almost leaned in.
But he stopped himself. The storm inside him was still too loud.
When she woke up the next morning, Dante wasn’t beside her. The coffee pot was warm, two empty mugs were on the bedside table and a note beside them.
“I went for a walk. Don’t worry. I needed to think.”
Her chest tightened as she read it. He was learning peace, yes, but he was also running from it. And from her.