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What would it mean? She was going to him. He had told her she wasn't out of his system, and in all honesty, neither was he out of hers. But they were still who they were and their hatred hadn't gone down.
She remembered those glass walls, remembered that truce for one night as he'd sit beside her, an almost decent man. Could that truce prevail again? Should she even ask for it? Because she was not her best, neither physically not emotionally. And yet, as the building came into view, as the guards waved her in, recognizing her from before, Morana parked her car and sat in silence.
The comforting scent of her car, the sounds of her own breathing made her calm down a little.
But she didn't take a step out.
She couldn't.
She wanted to move, to walk, to get out. She couldn't.
Wiping her tears from her cheeks even as more escaped, Morana sat in the car quietly in the darkened area, her chest heaving with sobs. Sitting there, she let herself cry, let herself weep in a way she'd never allowed herself to do. She cried for the girl she had been, the girl who had died after the fall today. She cried for the lost hopes she'd been clinging to, for the lost dreams of maybes. She cried because she had no one to give her a shoulder and hold her as she cried because she had to wrap her arms around herself and hold herself together, in the basement of her enemy. She cried.
The sound of the elevator dinging had her wiping her tears. She looked up, alert. She didn't want anyone to see her even as a part of her wanted someone to.
Swallowing, she watched as Dante walked out in the suit he had been in at the restaurant, his phone held up to his ear, his voice low as he talked to someone. He headed to a black SUV two cars away from her, and she saw him still as he spied her vehicle lingering innocently in the lot.
"Morana?"
Shit.
Morana quietly opened her car, berating herself for not even knowing how bad her face looked with the injuries. She got out and closed the door, and saw Dante's eyes take her in, from head to toe, his eyes widening slightly in concern.
"I'll call you back," he spoke into the phone, his voice hardening as did his eyes, anger flashing through them.
Morana remembered what Amara had told her, about the two men being protective of women. She remembered Dante offering her comfort when she'd had to stay the night. And tears welled up in her eyes again, because that comfort, that concern, was a stranger to her.
He took a step towards her, still keeping his polite distance, his handsome face twisted in anger.
"Who did this?"
It touched her. The fact that he was the enemy and yet he wanted to hurt the culprit. It touched her deep.
Morana gulped.
"I fell down the stairs," she spoke quietly, her voice shaking just a bit. She really, really hoped he didn't ask her what she was doing there. She didn't have an answer.
He searched her eyes for a long moment before his eyes softened. "I will be away for the night. You can go upstairs and rest, Morana."
Morana felt her grip tighten on the car door handle, her lips trembling. She shook her head. "No. I'm okay. I'll go stay with some friends."
The fact that he didn't call her out on the obvious lie, that her presence there of all places was the indication that she had no friends, gave him a point in her books.
She shook her head again, and he cursed. "Tristan's up there."
Her eyes flew to his, her heart pounding. She didn't know why but it did. Anger burnished her.
Why? Why the hell did it matter? Why was her stomach in knots over it? Why had she come here of all places?
"Look," Dante's gentle tone broke through her spiraling thoughts. "Just let me call Amara. Stay over at her place if you're not comfortable at mine. You're hurt and Amara won't hurt you."
Morana was coming undone at his genuine concern. Unraveling bit by bit.
Her lips trembled but she shook her head. As tempting as the offer was, she couldn't drag Amara into this mess, not knowing that she couldn't protect herself, not knowing her history. Perhaps that's why she'd come here. Because she knew he could protect himself, that he had dragged himself into her mess. In a way.
"It's okay," she told him, opening her car door, ready to leave. "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone" – him – "about this."
Dante stared at her for a long moment, before suddenly moving towards the private elevator with a loud "Fuck it!"
