THIRTY-ONE
As the nurse left us alone in the hallway, I couldn’t take my eyes off Cain.
He stood like a statue weathered by years of downpour: his shoulders broad but slumped, his free hand curled into a fist until his knuckles threatened to crack skin.
His hand squeezed mine once in a while, as if to make sure that he was still here.
The revelation of Ezio’s lies and Salvatore’s possible paternity had shaken him to his core, and I could see the surge of emotions cracking through his composed shell.
He’d always exuded control, always made himself seem untouchable. But now the cracks were visible, the mask slipping.
I wanted to help him, though I didn’t know if it was the carer in me, the friend – or something more. And I knew what crossing that line could mean, too.
But standing here, seeing him like this, I felt myself inching closer to it, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
My feelings had shifted from professional to personal in a blink. And we were already treading dangerous ground as it was.
His fingers, as they held me, were hot and tense, but he never pulled away. Instead, his grip tightened and loosened slightly, as though he needed the connection as much as I needed to offer it.
When he turned to me, his amber eyes locked onto mine, and for me, the chaos in the world faded. Something unspoken simmered between us, deeper than desire. It left my chest aching.
‘Whatever you want to do, I’m here,’ I assured him. There was a tick in his jaw, however brief – but I saw it. I felt the energy coming off him, controlled, but only just. He wanted me to hold him – but maybe not like this. Not now.
We stayed in silence for a short while, unspoken emotions thickening in the narrow space of the corridor. Every breath felt heavy, every minute stretched. This was his moment to process, let the turmoil within him settle.
I stayed close, a quiet presence at his side, silently reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this.
We didn’t return to Ezio.
Warm air wrapped around us as we walked to the car, the world muted and dull. The gravel crunched beneath our feet, the sound grounding me in the present even as the past clung to Cain like a shadow.
He didn’t say anything for a long while, and I didn’t expect him to. His shoulders hunched, memories weighing down each step. But there was something in the way he kept the pace… as though he couldn’t part with me.
I felt deeply honoured – almost awed – that Cain had let me see this side of him.
This unfiltered pain he allowed me to see was a part of him he kept from everyone else; a wound buried beneath layers of strength and deflection.
But he had let me in. Trusted me. And that warmth pushed everything else back.
Strange… how quickly this connection had deepened.
I’d never had that happen before – not even with friends. I was unsure how to navigate it.
Palming my phone, I called my uncle quickly and apologised for not calling sooner. I risked asking for Salvatore’s address, too. There was no point going back to the nurses, the policies dictated discretion when it came to personal information.
Glancing at Cain, a small, uncontainable joy bloomed in my chest when he nodded his approval at me.
We reached the car.
Cain’s pace slowed, his steps veering towards the front of his Audi instead of the driver’s door.
He stopped, leaning against the hood, his broad shoulders catching the golden light of day, accentuating the strength of his frame.
His navy shirt stretched taut over his muscular chest, every line and contour of his physique shaped by discipline.
His forearms bunched beneath the long sleeves as his hands rested on the car, fingers twitching against the warm metal.
He stood there, silent, gaze distant. Thick, black brows were drawn low in thought. His teeth worried at his bottom lip as if wrestling with things too heavy to voice.
I hadn’t even noticed I’d stopped walking, too.
When he saw I hadn’t come closer, his attention shifted to me, and whatever was in his eyes melted into something quieter.
For a beat, maybe two, we stood like that, locked in a silent exchange that acknowledged this new, fragile bond we’d found – something neither of us dared to name aloud, but both understood.
‘It’s a good thing, Cain,’ I said softly, my voice threading through the stillness. ‘It’s good to know he isn’t your father.’
Cain didn’t respond. He only stared at me, his gaze searching, unblinking as though etching me into his memory. My heart beat faster, my knees nearly giving out.
And then, slowly, his hand extended, palm up – a gesture that felt like both an offering and a plea. His chin tilted slight, his posture hesitant, as if bracing for rejection.
But how could I possibly deny him?
Every fibre of my being leaned towards him, irresistibly drawn by the gravitational pull of his presence. Each step I took towards him crunched against the loose pebbles on the old asphalt parking lot. When I placed my hand in his, I didn’t just touch him – I claimed him, together with his pain.
I stopped a single step away, but even that felt too far. The heat of him, paired with his sheer size, was a warning in itself – a delicious one, as if inviting me to cross a line I could never uncross.
‘Thank you,’ he rumbled, his voice hoarse and thick. ‘For being here for me. I didn’t know I needed that.’
I tried to smile, though the frantic pounding of my heart was deafening. ‘Of course,’ I said, my voice trembling with an attempt at lightness.
For a moment, I thought he would release me. That the tenuous bond would shatter.
And I made the decision to be the one breaking it.
But just as I began to withdraw, his fingers tightened around mine, and he pulled, closing the space between us, erasing the distance like it had never existed.
I stumbled forward, my chest colliding with his, and his arms enveloped me in one swift motion. The embrace was firm. As if he feared I might vanish if he let go.
His chin dipped, and he leaned into me, his forehead brushing my temple as he inhaled my scent, his breath warm against my skin.
My hands instinctively rose to his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles against the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. I told myself it was just a friendly gesture, a comfort shared between two battered souls. The weekend had run us both ragged.
But the way he held me told a different story. The way his fingertips played with the loose strands of hair on my neck, the way his skin scorched mine…
This was not a casual embrace.
When he pulled back, just enough to look at me, his eyes were glazed with something raw and dark. His lips hovered so close that the air between us turned electric. Then, after a breath it cracked with desperation when his hand rose, cupping the back of my head—
And he pulled me into him.
A kiss. Deep and hungry.
No.
Not a kiss – a meeting of souls. Hurried, but full of meaning, and heavy with everything we’d endured.
Our hearts, hungry for it, syphoned its charge, needing more.
Reality collapsed into the feel of his lips against mine, warm and searching, and the steady, grounding sensation of his hands on my back.
In that moment, everything else fell away – my past, his past, all the pain and fear.
It was just us, two broken pieces fitting together, finding solace in each other.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.
‘We can’t be doing this,’ he said roughly, as though the words themselves bled. ‘Things I need…’
‘No,’ I breathed, the sound barely audible, my voice trembling under the weight of everything unsaid. I hardly recognised it.
‘We work together.’ It rang hollow even as he said it.
‘We’re…’ I started, but the words got lost somewhere between my chest and my throat. The reasons we shouldn’t – gone. I hesitated, and in that hesitation, his gaze dropped to mine.
The words burned on the tip of my tongue, but reason rebelled. ‘It’s… complicated,’ I said finally, my voice faltering. ‘We’re both in a bad state.’
His forehead moved against mine in a faint nod, affirming the truth we both knew but didn’t want to accept. As if the contact might make it sink in faster.
‘We need time,’ I added, but it tasted bitterly. ‘For everything to settle.’
He inclined his head – just once. We both knew it was the right call, the sensible thing to do.
But still, neither of us moved.
His hands still warmed the small of my back; my fingers rested against the back of his neck, our heartbeats carrying between one breath and the next.
We stood like that, locked in a quiet standoff – each of us waiting for the other to find the strength to break away.
But neither of us moved. The gap between us narrowed, our breaths still mingling, heavy with unresolved desire.
His eyes lingered on mine, and despite the sworn restraint, I couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze drifted to my lips, as if daring me to be the one to break the fragile peace.
And, for one fleeting moment, I almost did.
Because despite the promises we’d just made, the spark that simmered, its dangerous pull – it burned brighter with each passing second.
And we half-expected the other to start the kiss anew.
But he pulled away then, rubbing his face with both hands, as if trying to scrub the moment away with force.
‘We’ll be late for the interview,’ he muttered, throat tight.
Nodding, I watched him round the hood of the car. His posture was all tension – shoulders drawn, steps hollow – as if each movement kept something darker caged beneath the surface.
He slipped inside, slamming the door with more force than necessary.
With a sigh that scraped the back of my throat, I followed. The quiet settled thick as I buckled in, every breath feeling borrowed.
Wiping my palms on my dress, I was already shifting gears in my head. Compartmentalising. Masking.