“Brando?” Scarlett’s sleepy voice floated through the room.
“I’m here, baby.”
She sat up, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, there you are.”
I stepped out so she could see me better.
She held a hand up. “Nothing’s wrong.” She nodded toward the bathroom. “I need to—”
“Stay where you are.”
Going to her, I picked her up out of the bed. If the doctor wanted her in bed, as little movement as possible, I’d bring her wherever she needed to go.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, staring at me. I looked down at her and met her eyes.
She bit her lip, then shook her head. “You look tired. So tired.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I know,” she whispered.
She went to say something else but then closed her mouth. We were in the bathroom, and after I set her down, she began to fuss about me staying in the room with her.
I said nothing, not even having the strength to argue, but standing my ground. She took a deep, deep breath and then released it, knowing it was futile to even argue.
Air came easier in my lungs when there was no trace of blood.
How many more times would I hold my breath?
Would my heart stop and then start again?
Wondering, waiting, fucking worrying.
As she washed her hands, she stared at me through the mirror, watching my reflection like she was about to give me a reading of my future.
“Stop,” I said.
Her eyes could be as disconcerting as water during a storm, or brighter than the rainforest after a hard rain. Either mood, she could see straight through me like I was made of glass instead of flesh, blood, and bone.
She shrugged, drying her hands on the towel hanging from the bar. “I’m worried about you, Brando.”
“Worried about me,” I repeated.
“Yes, you.” She turned to me, her eyes rising to meet mine. Though she seemed to be holding steady, she looked tired. “You need to rest, to eat more than you have been instead of drinking your dinner.”
Without waiting, I scooped her up in my arms again, keeping her close. She needed to be off her feet.
Resting her head against my heart, she sighed, and then sighed even harder when I gently set her down in the bed.
Before I could move too far, she took hold of my shirt, keeping me in place. “Lay with me. We need to talk. I promised you we would. My word means something to me, too, you know.”
Yeah, she promised to talk to me before what happened in Switzerland.
Neither of us moved or said another word until she took my hand and squeezed. It felt so damn small and cold.
“I need you close,” she whispered in Italian.
Nodding once, I kissed her knuckles and then changed into a pair of sweatpants. Picking Mia up as gently as I could, I went to put her in the bed next to ours, but she stirred, whining a bit.
