That earned me a look. “What?”
I folded the jacket over my arm, not meeting his eye. “You roll it every chance you get. If you keep it up, you’re gonna start looking like one of those hunchbacked old men. How old are you again? Thirty-three? It’s only a matter of time.”
“Thirty-two,” he corrected. “And no, Valentina. Sleeping in the same bed would cross boundaries.”
I let out a short laugh. “Boundaries?” I echoed, tilting my head. “Marco, I’ve had my tongue down your throat. What boundaries do you think we still have?”
“That was different.”
I arched a brow. “How?”
Silence.
That’s what I thought.
“You’re sleeping in the bed,” I said, quieter now. “Not because I care—let’s be clear—but because I don’t feel like dealing with your miserable mood every night when your shoulder finally gives out.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Try not to hog the covers,” I added seductively.
I expected him to be difficult about it. To argue, to throw some comment about how he didn’tneedthe bed, how he’d been sleeping just fine on the couch, but he didn’t.
The bed dipped as he finally slid in beside me. He stayed on his side—because of course he did—like the invisible line between us actually meant something.
His fingers twitched against his forearm.
I smirked. “You know, you can at least pretend to get comfortable. You’ve been sleeping on that couch for weeks. I thought you’d be grateful for a mattress that doesn’t have springs trying to stab you.”
“I don’t mind the couch,” he finally muttered.
I snorted. “Your body seems to.”
“You been watching me, Valentina?”
I paused. Watching him? Yeah, I guess I had. Noticing all those tiny things—the subtle signs he’d never willingly show. He wouldn’t even admit his pain to himself, let alone someone else.
“Hard not to when you stretch your arm all the time. What happened? Did you trip over you own laces or something?”
“No.”
“What then?”
He stared ahead like he hadn’t heard me. Which meant he had. Loud and clear. So I did what I do when I’m not supposed to poke at something. I poked harder.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Bar fight? Motorbike crash? Angry ex who knew how to aim?”
“Are you trying to get to know me at three in the morning?”
Was I? Would he even entertain the idea?
“Well, yeah. I think I should know the basic things a wife would know.”
“You’re wasting your time. There’s nothing interesting here.”
I hummed. “That’s subjective.”
“Is it?”
