“Hmm,” she murmured.“Funny how that happens when hearts get loud.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blanket over her legs.“Drink your tea.”
She took a sip, watching me over the rim of the cup.“How are things with Creed?”
There it was.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees, bare branches scratching lightly against the window.Quiet.Domestic.Safe.
“I stepped back from that,” I said finally.
Her lips curved.“You don’t step back from anything unless you’ve already decided something.”
I shrugged.“I decided I won’t keep fighting alone.”
Aunt Ruth nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something she already knew.“That man carries control like a weapon,” she said.“But he doesn’t know what to do with tenderness.”
I huffed a breath.“That’s generous.”
“Truth doesn’t need generosity,” she replied.“It just needs time.I’ve seen the way he is with the twins.He adores them.”
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Aunt Ruth glanced at the screen—and then, unmistakably, blushed.
I froze.“Was that...?”
She cleared her throat, suddenly interested in adjusting the blanket.“Marco.”
I stared at her.“Marco Vincenzo?”
“The same,” she said, entirely too pleased.
“That bastard is still calling you?”
She shot me a look.“Language.”
“Why is he calling you?”
She smiled, soft and almost shy.“He called last week to check on me.”
Something warm and complicated settled in my chest.
“And?”I prompted.
“And I enjoyed it,” she admitted.
“But he’s dangerous,” I said softly.
“Yes, I know.”Aunt Ruth paused, taking another sip.“But I enjoyed being asked how I was.I enjoyed being seen as a woman—not just someone’s aunt or someone’s caregiver.”
Her gaze drifted toward the window.“Marco’s complicated.And infuriating.And yes, dangerous in his own way.”
She looked back at me.“But I liked how I felt when he was here.Even if it was for all the wrong reasons.”
The words landed harder than she probably intended.
I remembered her humming in the kitchen.The way she’d smiled while getting dressed.The excitement of dinner and theater and being chosen.
