Hopping up on the stool she'd been sitting on the previous evening, she thought of preparing some coffee for herself then thought better of it. The truce was over. She'd already been drugged once. She wasn't a fool enough to be again.
The sound of the elevator opening made her turn quickly, her hand resting on her handbag, where her gun resided. Her grip on the bag eased slightly when she saw Amara walking towards her, her tall, curvy body encased in tan slacks, a red top, and green silk scarf, her dark, wild curls falling around her beautiful face, a small smile on her lips.
"Good morning, Morana," the woman nodded, her forest-green eyes bright.
Morana relaxed slightly and nodded back. "Amara."
Amara smiled and pulled open the fridge. The familiar manner with which she moved around the space as she got glasses from cabinets irked Morana for some reason. She grit her teeth and turned away, looking out at the view.
"Would you like some juice?"
Morana turned back to see her holding up some orange juice in her hand, her head tilted in a query. She hesitated and Amara smiled. "It's not drugged, don't worry."
Mentally shaking her head at herself, Morana nodded.
"I cannot blame you for worrying, though. Not after what happened at the club," Amara kept on speaking, pouring out the cool liquid in two tall glasses, her voice that same soft timbre it had been, making Morana's heart clench, her mind racing with questions about this woman who'd shown her only kindness. What was it like for her, knowing she could never speak above a whisper? Did it hurt if she spoke louder? Did she carry physical scars too? How badly had she been tortured?
Morana blinked the questions away, more pressing ones rising in her mind.
"Did you get back to the club safely that night?" she asked as the other woman sat across from her, her elbows on the table.
"Yes," Amara replied in her soft rasp. "Tristan was there. I was safe."
Coming from a woman who'd been tortured as a girl, that one statement told Morana a lot. She filed it away for later and continued with the questions.
"Do you know who got in the SUV after you and Mr. Caine made it to the club?"
Amara frowned slightly, her lips pursing. "No. Did something happen?"
Morana sighed, shaking her head. There was no point in telling her the story if he hadn't. Had he told Dante? Or had he omitted information again?
"Although," the woman mused, her dark eyes blinking in memory, "now that I think of it, Tristan did hurry back out when he saw the SUV going again."
Morana watched Amara take a sip from her glass, and satisfied that it was fine, she took a sip from hers. The sweet, cool drink washed down her throat, tingling her senses as she sat straighter, her eyes on the other woman.
"You're incredibly brave, you know," Amara spoke in that hushed voice of hers, a smile on her lips.
Morana blinked in surprise, before feeling herself flush slightly. "Um, thank you, I guess."
The other woman chuckled at her awkward response, completely relaxed in the space. "Tristan is an intimidating man, all on his own. And he goes out of his way to intimidate you more. The fact that you spent the night alone at his house tells me a lot about you. Although being the only child of a man as reputed as your father... I don't know why I'm surprised. You're strong. I admire that."
Flushing harder, even as she tried to keep it under wraps, Morana cleared her throat. She'd never received any kind of compliment on anything besides her intelligence. And getting one now, about something so rooted in who she was, was unsettling, to say the least.
Ready to change the topic, she took a deep breath and –
"Do you live here?"
– wanted to disappear into thin air.
Amara choked a little on her juice, her eyes widening before she burst out laughing, the sound soft but genuine. "With Tristan? Good lord, no!”
It bothered Morana that she relaxed at that.
Amara continued chuckling. “That man is territorial about his space. Very territorial. I once entered his room without knocking, he almost glared the life out of me!"
Everything inside Morana stilled with the information.
She had entered his room without permission yesterday. She had stood, right on the edge of his space, and he'd seen her. Except he hadn't glared. He'd been affected.
Words, his words, from weeks ago filled her mind.
'I have territory that is mine. Don’t ever invade it.’
Had those just been words in an attempt to assert his control as she'd thought, or something more?
Amara's voice broke her out of her thoughts.
"Tristan doesn't allow people into his space. Everyone who knows him knows that."
Morana blinked, still reeling from questions about the incredibly baffling man. "Then why did he let me, of all people, stay here?" Why had he insisted that she stay? Why had he growled like that when Dante had been ready to offer her his apartment?
Amara's eyes sharpened slightly, a smile on her lips. "It's curious, isn't it?"
Morana stayed silent. Amara shook her head. "So, to answer your question, no, I don't live here. But I live nearby."
Her curiosity piqued. "You don't live in Tenebrae?"
Morana saw Amara's eyes shadow as she looked away, out at the view. An air of pensiveness hung around her shoulders as she sighed, the sigh wrenched from deep in her soul.
"I can visit my family there, but I haven't been allowed to stay."
Interesting choice of words.
"Why?" Morana asked before she could stop herself.
Amara looked at Morana, her dark eyes pained, carrying dark burdens even as her lips smiled wryly. "Some things are better left unanswered, Morana. My home is there. My mother still serves the Maroni household. My roots, everything I am, everyone that I love - it's all there. But I'm cursed not to stay."
Morana blinked, feeling her heart ache for the woman. Amara had a home, a loving place where she could never live. Morana lived in one place but didn't have a home. And in that moment, she felt the woman's pain.
Before she knew it, her hand was crossing the space between them, taking hold of Amara's and squeezing softly. "I'm sorry."
Morana saw the surprise in the other woman's eyes at the gesture, even as she squeezed her hand back, her expression soft, grateful.
She shrugged. "I just miss home sometimes. That's why I get so happy when Tristan or Dante visit."
"You must have friends here," Morana mused.
"Not really," Amara looked down. "I'm here for work, mainly. Plus, it's not my city. I have limitations."
Morana wanted to tell her to give her a call sometime. She wanted to tell her she didn't have any friends either. She wanted to tell her she would love to be friends with her own brave self.
But she couldn't.
She had the words, on the tip of her tongue, ready to tumble out. She had that need, so, so deep inside her, to know someone, to have a friend, to share her life and stories with a person. But actions like that could have consequences, not only for her but for Amara too. She had been banished by her own city and sent here. Morana couldn't get her thrown out, or killed.
She bit her lip and pulled back her hand, clearing her throat, looking out from the glass wall inside her, reaching but unable to touch.