Days went by and the stillness in the apartment still lingered. The kind that stretches time into something unfamiliar. Abigail was asleep in her crib, wrapped in a pink blanket with tiny clouds stitched into it. The soft rise and fall of her tiny chest, the sweet little sighs she makes in her dreams—they calmed me. But only for a moment, because beyond that door, Dante exists. And with him, all the tension we've both refused to speak of. It was like being on the edge of a cliff, knowing if either of us leaned in just a little more, we'd fall.
We'd been dancing around each other like the sharp edges of broken glass—always too close, always too dangerous. Since we brought Abigail home, we've both busied ourselves with the newborn chaos: feedings, late-night cries, bottle warmers, burp cloths, diapers. But under it all, that thing between us—it hadn't gone away. If anything, it's deepened, quietly.
This evening, I found a single mug in the sink—his. Still warm from the coffee he probably downed in one breath, he always had his coffee whenever he needed to stay up late to work. I stood there for a full minute, staring at it, like it might explain him to me. Like maybe if I studied it long enough, I'd know what he was feeling, because I sure as hell didn't know and it was frustrating.
Dante had become both my savior and the source of every rapid heartbeat I'd had in the past few weeks. He was warm at times, cold the next. His gaze lingered too long. His touch was careful but left my skin burning. He'd tuck me into bed with a blanket, his fingers brushing my forehead too slowly to be platonic—but he'd never say anything. He never crossed that line, and neither did I.
I walked into the living room quietly, where he sat, elbows resting on his knees, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up the second I entered and sat up straighter, setting the phone down like he'd been caught.
His eyes always sold him out. He looked at me like he needed to say something, but didn't know how to begin.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.
I nodded, hugging myself with both arms. "Just checking on you."
He motioned for me to sit beside him, and for some reason, I hesitated. The air had shifted between us lately, growing heavier with the words we weren't saying.
I sat anyway.
For a while, we said nothing. Just sat there, inches apart, the heat of his body bleeding into mine, the sound of Abigail's baby monitor soft in the background.
Then Dante broke the silence. "Sienna, I know things have been seemingly odd and I can't make it make sense, but I'm sorry. I just can't explain it."
I turned my head slowly, my heart suddenly louder. "It's alright, I do appreciate you just looking out for me and Abigail."
He gestured vaguely. "In two months, this whole arrangement will be over and you wouldn't have to put up with me anymore"
I swallowed hard. "Of course."
He looked at me then, really looked. "I'm scared. I'm scared, because I want something I'm not sure I'm allowed to want. "
His words were like a striking force to my heart, I forced a smile. "Don't think about it too much," I said, trying to be casual and struggling to push back the tears that had welled up behind my eyes.
A beat passed. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs again. "Sometimes, I think about what it would've been like if we'd met under different circumstances."
His words undid something inside me. I stared at him, speechless.
Then he added, softer, "And sometimes, I wish I could tell you everything I feel, but I don't want to feel these things"
My breath hitched. "What if I feel the same way, Dante?"
He turned toward me sharply, like he hadn't expected that answer. His jaw clenched, eyes dark and searching.
That was when my phone buzzed.
We both looked down at it.
A message came in from an unknown number: "I'm sorry. I know I was wrong. Please, can we talk? Just once. I owe you that."
My blood went cold. My heart knew the sender before my brain confirmed it- Marcus.
I felt Dante's gaze shift to me, his brows furrowed. "Everything okay?"
I locked the screen, shoving the phone under my thigh. "Just spam," I lied.
His eyes lingered on me like he knew it was more.
But before he could press, I stood up. "I think I need to lie down. Just… overwhelmed."
He nodded, though his eyes still tracked me with too much intensity.
But I didn't go to the bedroom. I went to the nursery. I stood over Abigail, her tiny face so peaceful. I traced the air above her soft cheek and blinked hard to keep tears from spilling.
Why now, Marcus?
I didn't hear Dante walk in. I only felt his presence. He stepped behind me, close, so close his breath stirred the hair on my neck.
"Sienna," he said, voice deep and unsure. "If there's a problem, you know you can tell me right?."
I turned, forcing my face to remain composed. "Why? So you can protect me again?"
His jaw tightened. "If I could protect you from the whole damn world, I would."
I exhaled shakily. "And what if I don't want to be protected, Dante? What if I just want someone to tell me they're here because they want to be? Not because they feel responsible."
His hand rose to my cheek before I could move. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, the edge of my jaw. "You think this is about responsibility?"
His mouth was so close now. My eyes fluttered shut.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you since the day you walked into my office, Sienna. Even before the fake rings and the cameras and the public pretense."
His voice had dropped to a whisper. "You're the only woman who's ever made me question everything I thought I knew." he paused.
I felt his lips crash against mine. It wasn't a careful, cautious kiss. It was everything else. Deep, searing, the kind of kiss that wrecks you. The kind that speaks the truth before you're ready to say it out loud.
I clung to his shirt, my fingers twisting in the soft cotton. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him. We were no longer dancing around anything. We were crashing into it—headfirst, breathless.
It was slow. Intentional. Like we were both trying to memorize it—every brush of lips, every soft gasp, every heartbeat shared in that moment. His kiss deepened, and I let myself fall, my fingers threading through his hair, my soul unraveling as the last of my walls came crumbling down.
He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me toward the living room couch, where the fire was still dying in the hearth. He laid me down gently, his body hovering over mine, his eyes searching mine as though asking for permission.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
"Yes," I breathed, pulling him down to me.
We undressed each other slowly, reverently. He kissed every inch of me like a promise, and when he finally entered me, it felt like coming home. There were no more walls, no more contracts, no more pretending. Just us, skin to skin, heart to heart.
We moved together in sync, sighs and moans filling the quiet night, limbs tangled, breath caught, hearts exposed. He whispered my name like a prayer, and I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.