( Dante's Pov)
The doctor finally gives the green light for Alina to be discharged, but I don’t move from my seat. I’m sprawled out on the shitty, uncomfortable hospital chair, arms crossed, legs stretched, eyes fixed on her as she shifts around in the bed. The gown is loose on her shoulders, slipping down to reveal the creamy skin at the base of her neck, the slow rise and fall of her breaths. Her hair’s a wild mess, a cascade of caramel, gold, and auburn waves that spill over her shoulders, catching the dull hospital light like dying embers.
She knows I’m watching. Hell, I’m not even trying to hide it. I want her to feel my eyes on her. I want her to know that even like this — bruised, battered, skin marred with dark purples and reds — she still has my undivided attention.
"You mind?"
