C53 Can I Kiss You?

The sound of the vehicle door opening stilled Annabelle’s breath.

Her feet felt like lead as her heart thudded in her chest.

She barely managed to focus when the sleek shape of a familiar figure emerged, but the moment her mind registered who it was, disappointment hit her like a punch to the gut.

Antonia.

Her heart sank further, and the hope that had flared moments ago went out in a puff.

She stood frozen as fear crept in, wrapping around her like icy fingers.

Antonia looked composed and elegant as always, but Annabelle couldn’t help the thought that perhaps she was there to deliver bad news.

She moved with her usual grace, though her steps were quicker than the leisurely stride Annabelle had come to associate with her.

Her tailored coat hugged her figure, her heels clicking sharply against the stone driveway as she approached.

Even in the early morning hours, she looked pristine, as though she had stepped out of a high-society magazine rather than a car.

Annabelle tried to calm herself.

Surely, Antonia wouldn’t look so unruffled if something had happened to Dante, right?

But then she noticed the faint frown on Antonia’s otherwise flawless brow, and her chest tightened with renewed panic.

Antonia ignored her entirely as she addressed the guards. “Where is he?” she demanded, her tone brisk.

Annabelle blinked, startled as she wondered, “She doesn’t know where Dante is?”

“Where is Mikhail?” Antonia repeated hastily when the men hesitated.

Annabelle frowned. “Mikhail? Who is Mikhail? What about Dante?” She thought.

The guards gestured toward the house, telling Antonia Mikhail was in the recovery room.

She frowned deeper before she swung around to leave.

But then she suddenly stopped, turning back sharply.

Her calculating gaze swept over Annabelle’s pyjamas, bare feet and frazzled expression.

Her lips curled ever so slightly.

“What are you doing out here dressed like that?” Antonia asked, her cold voice surprising Annabelle.

Annabelle hesitated, rubbing her arms self-consciously. “I... I think he’s wounded…or worse. He hasn’t come back all night, and no one will tell me anything.”

For a fleeting moment, something passed over Antonia’s face.

She opened her mouth, her tone snapping as she started to speak. “Of course, he’s woun…”

She stopped abruptly, her expression shifting as she looked at Annabelle’s face again.

Her brows furrowed, and her lips thinned into a tight line. “You’re talking about Tay?”

Annabelle nodded wordlessly.

Antonia’s eyes darkened as her voice dropped. “You’re out here worried because you think Tay might be wounded? Looking like that?”

Annabelle supposed she did look ridiculous.

The tension between them stretched thick and heavy, the weight of Antonia’s unspoken thoughts palpable.

Annabelle didn’t respond.

She didn’t trust her voice not to tremble under the scrutiny of Antonia’s piercing gaze.

Antonia opened her mouth again. “How about you mind your…”

The sound of approaching vehicles made them all turn to look towards the driveway.

Annabelle’s pulse quickened as she recognised the line of cars pulling up.

The sleek black vehicles gleamed under the faint rays of the morning sun, and her breath hitched.

Without thinking, she moved.

The guards called after her, startled as she darted down the steps and into the driveway.

She barely noticed when one of them reached for his weapon instinctively, her focus entirely on the cars as they rolled to a stop.

The first door opened, and Angelo stepped out, his gun already drawn as his sharp gaze swept over the area. “What’s going on?” he barked.

Annabelle barely glanced at him.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw Dante step out of the next car.

Relief and fear collided violently within her as she took in the sight of him.

She saw a frown on his face as his eyes went to her bare feet, but only one thing mattered to her.

He was standing on his own two feet.

He was alive and in front of her!

But then, his always-pristine shirt was marred with blood.

“Dante!” Annabelle ran toward him, ignoring everything and everyone around her.

She stopped abruptly in front of him, her hands hovering uncertainly before she began patting his chest frantically.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Were you shot? Where are you hurt?”

Her eyes darted to the blood on his shirt, panic rising as her gaze landed on the raw, reddened upper edge of his ear.

“You’re bleeding…your ear…what happened? Dante!”

Her voice was rising in pitch, the words tumbling out in a barely coherent frenzy.

Her tears spilt over, blurring her vision, but she didn’t care.

Her hands moved over his chest and arms, searching for injuries, her desperation making her reckless.

Dante gripped her wrists suddenly, halting her frantic movements.

The touch sent a jolt of inexplicable warmth through her.

His grip was firm yet gentle as he held her still.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice low and steady, his dark eyes locked on hers.

Annabelle stilled, her chest heaving as her panic began to ebb, replaced by the realisation of what she’d just done.

She blinked rapidly, her face flushing as she tried to pull back.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was just…”

She wanted to step back, but Dante didn’t let her go.

“...worried about me?” he completed for her. There was something in his voice as he asked. “You were worried about me?”

Annabelle didn’t say anything but his gaze held hers in place.

He stared down at her, his expression unreadable.

And his eyes…those dark, piercing eyes…searched hers intently.

The tension between them crackled as the air around them seemed to grow heavier.

“You smell like heaven,” Dante murmured, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

Annabelle’s breath caught, panic and confusion flashing through her as she stared up at him.

The raw honesty in his gaze was disarming, and she couldn’t find the words to answer.

Dante exhaled softly, the intensity in his eyes shifting to something gentler.

“Fine,” he said, his voice tinged with a resigned edge. “I’ll take this, though.”

Before she could process what he meant, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her until her feet were off the cold ground and wrapped around him.

Then he hugged her tightly.

Annabelle stiffened, her heart racing as his arms gave her no chance to escape.

But then, she had no choice but to wrap her legs more tightly around him as he pulled her flush against him.

Beneath her thumping heart, a strange feeling settled into Annabelle’s consciousness.

A feeling that not all men’s embrace comes with pain.

When a disturbing image of having split lips while she was being commanded to give a hug wanted to interrupt the moment, Annabelle shut her eyes tightly against it and wrapped her arms around Dante.

She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her pyjamas.

His solid warmth seeped into her and soothed her shredded nerves.

He was alive and here.

Then he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice rumbling against her skin. “Like heaven.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thank you, dear reader, for turning the pages up until this moment.

I really appreciate you, and I can't thank you enough.

Dante and Annabelle's story will only get more and more interesting from here on.

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Thank you for being my source of inspiration.