Back then, this place was ours. We would sneak up here and drink, talk, laugh, and share our struggles. We became so close that we were practically inseparable. What started as spite grew into something more.
I raise my head to the sky, taking in the view above us. Stars are scattered like glitter across the black sky, and the slow drifting clouds only add to its beauty.
A comfortable silence settles between us as we both sink into our thoughts, but the stillness shifts when my hand accidentally touches hers.
She pulls away immediately, and a sting of hurt flares in my chest. I push it down. I don't want her to shrink back into her shell. I don't want her to build another wall between us. I want things to go back to how they were, so I ease the tension.
"Remember when you got so drunk I had to carry you all the way back to campus," I break the silence with a chuckle.
Her head turns slightly, and I can see the faint smile tug at her lips. She closes her eyes like she's reliving this moment. "Oh god, I remember. I was so embarrassed to face you the next day. I was a total mess."
"Yes you were, and you were always so cute when you got drunk. I got to see your goofy side more often," I say, remembering how close we were. How we matched in every sense. How we could make the most mundane thing fun. We never had to worry about our family or the business. Those memories will forever live in my mind.
"Those were simpler times," she says, her voice low and sad. "I never had to worry about my family when I was with you."
"I'm sorry about this morning and yesterday," I apologize. I know she's still carrying the weight of her family's rejection, and I hate that I added to it. She didn't deserve more pain.
"Apology accepted," she replies, offering a faint smile. "I needed this escape. Thank you for bringing me here."
"This place holds the best memories of my life, and it was because you were in it," I say honestly. Gianna's gaze settles on me, soft and searching, like she's looking for something behind my words. Her eyes soften, and a small smile graces her lips.
"We can't go back to how things were. But maybe we can move forward without arguing every second."
Gianna chuckles and runs her fingers through her hair. "Sure."
After a few seconds, I ask. "Do you remember where we had our first kiss?"
Gianna turns her head to me, and I meet her eyes, slowly. We remain like that for a second, just gazing into each other's eyes, like we're stripping down layers we've both built up.
The silence stretches, not awkward, but electric. "Yeah, it was here," she whispers, and my gaze drops to her lips. Her eyes move to mine, and suddenly the cold air is filled with tension. I raise my hand to touch her face. First, just lightly. My fingers brush her jaw, and she looks up at me, already knowing what's coming. But I don't rush it. Something about the way she looks at me makes me want to take my time.
When I finally lean in, our lips touch in the softest way. Barely a touch, but even that makes my chest tighten. So, I kiss her again, slower this time. Deeper, like I need to remember the exact shape of her mouth. The night at the chapel comes rushing back, the way she moaned against my lips, the way her hand fisted into my shirt.
Gianna leans in, hell, she melts, and I feel that familiar ache that only she can stir in me. I don't want to stop; I don't want to rush either. I kiss her like time has stopped just for us, like we have all the time in the world.
When I finally pull away, our foreheads touch, and her breath dances over my lips, shaky and warm.
I kill the engine and roll the motorcycle into the garage, parking it beside a line of sleek cars. The low hum of the bike fades, replaced by the hush of the late-night silence. Gianna gets off thebike and I follow after, turning to her. I unhook her helmet and lift it off gently, her hair spilling out in waves.
She runs her fingers through it, trying to shake it back into place. She looks at me, a question already forming on her lips, but I reach for her hand and tug her along, away from the elevator that would have taken us directly to our floor.
"Where are we going?" she asks, her voice low, but curious.
"Let's go," I say simply.
I don't want anyone to see us together this late at night. I lead her to the far end of the garage where a nondescript wall waits. I tap twice on the metal panel beside it, then press in the passcode. With a faint hiss, a slim section of the wall slides inward and to the side.
"What the..." she gasps, locking eyes with me.
We step inside. The interior of the secret passageway is dim, mirrored, and sterile. And instead of the usual panel of numbered floors, there are only three buttons: 10, 14, and 15. Gianna stares at them, confused. "Only three?" she asks.
"Fewer eyes between those levels," I mutter, pressing 10.
She frowns. "Where does ten lead?"
I glance at her, knowing I shouldn't show her things like this. The passageway is only known to close members of the Costellos, but I trust Gianna. "A hallway that splits into the old south wing. No guards there this late. It'll take us back to our floor."
"And the fifteenth?"
