Oh, God. It finally happened.
I’ve been toying with the idea of climbing into someone’s bed for a nap for days, and I must have done it. And I’ve been caught.
My head turns slowly. Silas is sat in a chair next to me. He looks almost as tired as I feel.
“Sorry,” I blurt out, but my voice is barely a croak. Coughing, I say it again, and he groans, rubbing a hand down his face.
“Stop apologizing. Please.”
He leans forward, and I jerk as he presses a hand against my forehead. “What are you doing?”
“You had a fever.” Slowly, he pulls his hand back. “We put you to bed. You’ve slept for a while. It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
Blinking, it takes me a few seconds to understand his words. Vague memories of the dinner table start to filter through. Clara.Rafe.
My stomach twists. “You… put me to bed.Yourbed?”
When he nods, I know I’m dreaming.
The laugh bursts out of my chest, and he frowns at me, one eyebrow lifting in question.
“This is a dream,” I mutter. “It’s a dream, right?”
The frown just keeps getting bigger. “Why would you think that?”
“Because—,”
Because there’s no way in hell Silas wouldeverput me to bed, even if I was ill. He’d probably just throw some cold water on me and tell me to get on with it.
I pull the covers off me with shaking fingers. “I’ll just… go.”
“Anastasia.” His hand covers mine, squeezing my fingers gently. “Stop.Please.”
His hand feels warm against my skin.
“And you said please,” I mutter in confusion. “Definitely a dream.”
He groans. “This is not a dream.”
Eyeing him in doubt, I reach for my wrist and pinch the skin.
Ow.
Slowly, I look up at Silas. “Not a dream.”
His lips press together in harsh lines. “No. That’s what I seem to keep repeating.”
The sarcastic words sound much more like the Silas I know, but I’m starting to feel as though I’m in some sort of alternate reality. I glance down, taking in the rumpled bedding.
“Well, I don’t seem to have a fever anymore. So I’m just going to go and… freshen up. And then I’ll get back to work. I’ll catch up on anything I’ve—,”
My eyes widen as his hand covers my mouth.
“Anastasia,” he snaps. “For the love of God. Stop talking. Stop moving. Andlistento me. Do you understand?”
When he slowly pulls his hand away, I blink at him.
And then I nod.
