Don’t trust anyone.
The bloodstained paper remained folded inside his jacket, waiting until they could examine it without wondering who might be listening. Rocco agreed to take the first shift, watching the cabin, so that Dante and Lark could get some sleep. The only problem was Lark hadn't slept, and neither had he.
He quickly showered and found her standing alone on the bed, wrapped in an oversized gray T-shirt that Rocco had givenher, with her hair still damp from her shower. "You'll catch cold," he said softly.
She didn't look over at him. "I feel like I can’t breathe.” He understood that. For a long moment, he simply stood beside her, leaving enough space that she wouldn't feel trapped. It struck him that even now, after everything they'd survived, he was still careful not to take away her choices.
"I've been thinking," she whispered.
"That can be dangerous,” he teased.
A quiet laugh escaped her. "So I've been told." She finally looked at him. The bruises on her cheek had begun to fade, but the sadness in her eyes hadn't. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?” he asked.
"This—" She gestured between them. "Whatever this is."
Dante's chest tightened. "You don't have to figure it out tonight."
"I've never been allowed to want anyone,” she admitted.
He swallowed hard. "I know."
"My father decided who I talked to." He nodded. "And whom I saw."
"I know,” he breathed, sitting on the bed next to her. "And now I have feelings for the man who locked my bedroom door every night."
Pain flickered across his face. "I'd understand if you hated me."
"I tried to hate you,” she said, smiling over at him sadly. "It didn't work."
He let out a shaky breath. "I don't deserve you." She reached out slowly, giving him every chance to move away, but he didn't.
Her fingertips brushed his jaw. "You don't get to decide what I deserve."
He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning gently into her touch. "I've wanted to hold you for so long," he admitted.
Her breath caught. "So hold me." Very carefully, as though she were something precious, Dante slipped his arms around her and Lark melted against him with a soft sigh. For the first time since he'd known her, there were no locked doors, no orders, no fear dictating where they stood with each other. She rested her cheek against his chest, and he gently kissed the top of her head.
"I like this," she murmured.
"So do I,” he whispered. They remained there for several quiet minutes, saying nothing. The silence felt comforting instead of empty.
Lark tilted her face up toward his. "I've been wanting to do something."
He smiled faintly. "What's stopping you?"
"Old habits,” she admitted. “And something else that we need to talk about.”
"You mean someone else, don’t you?” he asked. “You don't need permission from anyone, Lark. Not anymore."
She searched his eyes. "You'll tell me if I move too fast?" she asked.
"I promise,” he breathed. She smiled and then leaned into his body. The kiss was soft, tentative, and filled with all the emotions neither of them had known how to say aloud. Dante answered the kiss with the same care, one hand cradling her face while the other rested lightly at her waist.
"I've imagined that kiss a thousand times," he confessed.
She laughed quietly. "How did the real one compare?"
