Chapter 161 One More Chance
Chapter 161 One More Chance
Lorelei's POV
I woke to the sound of machines beeping—steady, rhythmic, the particular symphony of an ICU that meant someone was still alive.
My neck screamed in protest. I'd fallen asleep bent over the hospital bed, my hand still wrapped around Dante's, my cheek pressed against the scratchy white sheets.
Then I felt it—his fingers, moving against mine. Just barely. A twitch that could've been a muscle spasm.
But it wasn't.
I jerked upright, nearly falling out of the chair. "Dante?"
His eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice.
I slammed my hand on the call button so hard it probably left a dent.
The door burst open. Nurses, a doctor, all of them swarming the bed with practiced efficiency.
His eyes opened.
Grey. Bloodshot. Searching.
They found me immediately.
"You—" His voice came out like gravel. "You okay?"
I laughed. It came out broken, half-sob. "Am I okay? You got shot, you absolute idiot—"
"Answer the question." His fingers squeezed mine weakly.
"I'm fine. I'm—" The tears came before I could stop them. "I'm fine because of you."
The doctor was checking his vitals, asking questions Dante answered without looking away from me.
"Mr. Ashford, you need to rest—"
"Everyone out." Dante's voice was rough but firm. "Need to talk to her. Alone."
Something in his tone made them comply. The doctor gave me a warning look and they filed out.
---
"This is my fault." The words burst out. "If I hadn't come back to New York—"
"Stop." He tried to sit up, winced, fell back. "Not your fault."
"You almost died—"
"But I didn't." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "And you're safe. That's all that matters."
"Why?" The question came out smaller than I'd intended. "Why did you come?"
"Julian called me." His jaw tightened slightly. "Told me you'd been taken."
"You ran straight into gunfire. You could've been killed."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because a world without you in it—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "There's no point. If you're not in it, there's no fucking point."
And I couldn't breathe.
"I love you." He said it simply, like he was stating a fact. "I've loved you since—hell, I don't even know when it started. But I know I never stopped. Not when you left. Not when I couldn't find you. Not ever."
Stop. Please stop saying things that make this hurt more.
If you knew the truth. If you knew we share the same blood. If you knew this love was forbidden from the very beginning—
"Dante—"
"I'm not asking you to say it back." His hand squeezed mine. "I just need you to know. Before Julian gets here. I need you to know that everything I did—it wasn't because you didn't matter. It was because you mattered too much and I didn't know how to handle it."
Every word he speaks is a knife twisting deeper. Because I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it physically hurts.
He shifted slightly, grimacing. "Come here."
"What?"
"Lie down. Next to me." He tugged weakly on my hand. "Please."
"I can't—your shoulder—"
"I don't care about my shoulder. I just spent hours in surgery not knowing if I'd see you again. I need you close. Just for a minute."
---
I climbed onto the bed carefully.
Terrified of how right this feels. How natural. How completely wrong it all is.
He made a sound of frustration and pulled me closer with his good arm.
"You won't hurt me." He settled me against his left side, my head on his chest. "See? Perfect."
His heart beat steady under my ear.
Proof that I'm lying next to my half-brother and my body doesn't care. Doesn't know. Just wants to stay here forever.
"Sleep," he murmured into my hair. "You look like hell."
"You're one to talk."
But I was already drifting. The last thing I felt was his lips pressing against my forehead.
---
I woke to the feeling of being watched.
Sunlight streamed through the window now.
Dante was staring at me. Had probably been staring at me for a while.
"Creepy," I mumbled.
"You snore."
"I do not—" I sat up, carefully extracting myself from his arm. "I need to get you breakfast."
"Don't go far."
Something in his voice made me pause. Not commanding. Almost... scared.
"I'll be right back. I promise."
---
The hospital cafeteria was depressing. Fluorescent lights. Beige walls. The smell of industrial cleaning solution.
I stood in front of the breakfast options, completely paralyzed.
When did I start caring this much about what he eats?
I grabbed oatmeal, some cut fruit, orange juice. Then I saw the pancakes and remembered—that morning in his apartment, the terrible breakfast he'd made.
I added a pancake.
---
He was still awake when I got back, looking more alert.
"I brought options." I set the tray on the rolling table. "Oatmeal, fruit—"
"Feed me."
I stopped mid-reach for the spoon. "What?"
"My right arm hurts. Left arm's weak." He settled back against the pillows, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"You're left-handed. Your left arm is fine."
"Is it though?" He lifted his left hand, let it drop dramatically. "So weak. Probably the blood loss."
"You're unbelievable."
"Please?" He hit me with those grey eyes. "I almost died. Have some sympathy."
I grabbed the oatmeal with more force than necessary. "Fine."
I scooped up a spoonful, held it to his lips. He ate slowly, his eyes never leaving my face.
"Stop staring at me."
"Can't help it. Missed this."
"Missed me force-feeding you hospital food?"
"Missed you." Simple. Direct. Devastating.
A bit of oatmeal stuck to the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, I reached out to wipe it away.
My thumb brushed his lip.
We both froze.
His hand came up, caught mine, held it against his face. His eyes were dark, intense, asking questions I couldn't answer.
Don't look at me like that. Don't make me want things I can never have.
"Lorelei—"
My phone rang.
I jerked back. "I should—that's probably—"
"Julian." Dante's voice had gone flat.
I stepped into the hallway to answer. "Hey."
"I'm landing in two hours." Julian's voice was tight. "How is he?"
"Awake. Eating. He'll be okay."
"And you?"
"I'm fine."
Silence. The kind that meant he knew I was lying.
"I'll be there soon," he said finally. "I love you."
I closed my eyes. "I know."
I hung up before he could say anything else.
---
When I came back, Dante's expression had shuttered.
"He's coming." Not a question.
"In a few hours."
"Right." He looked away, jaw tight.
"Don't do that. I'm going to marry him."
I'm going to use this cold, contractual marriage as a shield. Try to block the depth in your eyes, even though I know it's just a transaction.
"You're actually going to marry him?"
"Yes." I stopped. "He was in Geneva. You were in New York. It's not his fault he couldn't get here faster."
And marrying him means I'll never have to face the truth. Never have to tell you what we really are to each other.
"I didn't say it was."
But his tone said everything his words didn't.
The nurse came in to change his bandages. I moved to leave but Dante caught my hand.
"Stay."
"You need privacy—"
"I need you here."
So I stayed. Watched him grip the bed rail as the nurse peeled away the old dressing, watched his face go white, watched him not make a sound even though I knew it had to hurt like hell.
Without thinking, I reached out and took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine immediately, holding on like I was the only thing keeping him anchored.
When the nurse finally left, he didn't let go.
"Lorelei." His voice was quiet. Serious. "I know you feel something for me. I know you do."
I tried to pull away. He held firm.
"You can lie to Julian. You can lie to yourself." His eyes met mine. "But don't lie to me. Not after everything."
I'm not lying. That's the problem. I do feel something. I feel everything. And that's exactly why this can never happen.
"I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm not asking you to leave him." He pulled me closer, just slightly. "I'm just asking—can you give me one more chance?"
If you knew the truth. If you knew we share the same father's blood. If you knew this feeling between us is forbidden, has been from the very beginning—
If you knew that every time you touch me, every time you look at me like that, I'm committing a sin that has no forgiveness—
I choked. "I can't..."