Chapter 29 The first kiss
The piano sounded like the sea that night uneven, heavy, pulling her toward it.
Sienna stood in her doorway, the notes drifting up from below. She should have stayed where she was, let the music die on its own. Instead she wrapped her cardigan tighter and followed the sound down the hall.
The living room was dim. Only the lamp beside the piano was lit, its glow catching on Dante’s profile. He played without sheet music, fingers slow and deliberate, every pause stretching between them like something unsaid.
She leaned against the wall, watching.
He didn’t look like the man who barked orders or shut people out. He looked tired and human.
The melody faltered when he noticed her.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” he said quietly.
“You shouldn’t play this late,” she answered.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I.”
Silence ensued, filled by the soft hum of the piano’s last note.
Sienna moved closer, stopping a few feet away. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “The song.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. Something I used to play before” He stopped. “Before things changed.”
“Before the crash?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the keys. She wanted to take the words back, but they were already there, hanging between them.
“You ever wonder,” he said, “why do people call survival a gift?”
Sienna frowned. “Because it means you’re alive.”
He gave a small, humourless laugh. “Being alive isn’t always the same as living.”
For a moment she saw something break behind his eyes not anger this time, but exhaustion. The kind that sinks into the bones.
She stepped forward without thinking. “You’re allowed to be angry,” she said. “You’re allowed to feel lost.”
“I’m not lost,” he said. “I just don’t know where to go.”
The honesty of it startled her. She reached out, hesitated. Her fingers hovered near the edge of the piano. “Then let someone help you find it,” she said.
He looked up at her and the room felt smaller, air tighter. His eyes, usually sharp and guarded, softened for a second.
“Why do you care so much?” he asked.
“Because someone has to.”
He shook his head slightly. “You shouldn’t.”
“It’s late.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”
“Try me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was alive, humming with all the things neither of them knew how to say.
Sienna sat on the arm of the sofa beside him. “Play something else.”
He stared at the keys. “You give too many orders.”
“I’ve learned from the best.”
A breath escaped him that might have been a laugh. He started to play again slower, quieter, the melody almost hesitant.
She watched his hands move, the faint tremor in his fingers. There was strength there still, and something fragile under it.
When he stopped, she whispered, “Why did you stop?”
“Because I can feel you staring,” he said.
Her face warmed. “I wasn’t..”
“You were.”
And then the space between them wasn’t wide enough anymore.
He turned slightly, the movement of his chair drawing them closer. She could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the small scar at his temple. The scent of his aftershave is clean, and sharp mixed with the salt from the open window.
“Dante,” she said, half-warning and half-pleas.
“Don’t,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”
Her breath caught. “You’re angry.”
“No,” he said. “I’m tired of pretending not to feel anything.”
She didn’t move. Neither did he. The quietness stretched until it trembled.
“Tell me to stop,” he said.
She should have. Every reason lined up neatly in her mind, the contract, the ethics, the thin line between care and something else entirely. But her body betrayed her before her voice could catch up.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her wrist, the lightest touch and that was all it took. The room disappeared, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the steady beat of the sea outside.
When his mouth found hers, it wasn’t desperate. It was cautious, searching, as if he was trying to remember how to be gentle.
Sienna froze for a heartbeat, then leaned in just enough to answer it. The kiss was soft, almost tentative but it burned through every wall she’d built.
He pulled back first.Her pulse was loud in her ears. His eyes searched hers, uncertain now. “I shouldn’t have”
She shook her head quickly. “Please, don’t.”
But the space between them had already changed. The air felt heavier, full of things they couldn’t name.
He exhaled, a shaky sound. “You should go before I forget I’m supposed to be good at pushing people away.”
She stood up slowly, her legs shaking visibly, she struggled to steady her legs as she walked towards the door.At the door, she looked back. He hadn’t moved, his hand still resting where hers had been.
“Goodnight, Dante,” she said softly.
He didn’t answer.
When she got to her room, she pressed her fingers to her lips, half expecting the warmth to fade. It didn’t. Every part of her mind screamed that it was a mistake that she’d crossed a line she shouldn't cross. But another part, smaller and stronger, whispered that it had been inevitable.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint echo of the piano still ringing in the house.
For the first time since she’d come to the villa, Sienna Hale didn’t know whether she wanted to run away or stay.
And downstairs, in the quiet, Dante touched
The keys again, playing the same melody she’d walked in on. Only this time, it was softer. And almost sounded like hope.