I don’t think she’s going to answer me. But then she does, her hand flat against the side of my ribs. Right over the scar I know she’s clocked but hasn’t asked about yet.
“I can’t… waste my good foundation… on you. We’re not a color match.”
I smile up at the ceiling. “I’ll buy you more. Whenever.”
“I didn’t like seeing you hurt,” she says. Another shiver racks her. “It just didn’t… feel good.”
It takes me a few times to find the right words. Maybe she won’t remember this in the morning. But I will. And I doubt I’ll ever forget.
“I don’t like seeing you sick either. Or when you have your panic attacks.”
She sighs so heavily it sends the blonde tendril along her cheek into the air. “Well. I never meant for you toseethose.”
“I never meant for you to see me fighting either. But you found your way there anyway,” I say. She seems to be good at that. Finding ways through small cracks, working her way into them, widening them until she fits the whole way through.
Making space when there is none.
“I think I’m… starting to like you. I know it’s not good for me.” She yawns, and I run a hand over her hair. It’s loose now. I’ve never gotten to touch it so freely before, but I do now, stroking her head and down her back. “But I can’t help it.”
“I know, darling. I can’t help it either.” My lips press against her forehead, and there’s an odd tightening inside my chest. Like she’s cracked that wide open too. “But I wonder if you’ll remember any of this tomorrow.”
There’s no response.
She’s fallen asleep, drifted off in my arms.
CHAPTER 54
PAIGE
I wake up to a giant glass of water, a roll of milk chocolate buttons and a note with two pills on top of it. Written in half-scrawled handwriting:Out for an hour. Back soon. Take these two when you wake.
I reach for the chocolates and look at the beautiful new watch on my arm. It’s past three in the afternoon. I can’t remember the last time I slept this long.
My joints hurt, my head hurts, and by the general soreness in my body, it feels like I’ve worked out for hours nonstop. But I know for a fact that I haven’t.
My phone is charging on the bedside table. There’s a text from Nora telling me to get better soon. Rafe must have spoken to her. The red gala dress is hanging on the back of the suite door. I’m in a t-shirt instead. The soft cotton material is becoming very familiar.
I shove a few chocolate buttons into my mouth and pull myself upright. Ugh. More pills. But I take the ones he’s laid out for me. The last twenty-four—or is it more like thirty?—hours feel like a blur. I remember Rafe. Murmured words and protectiveness. What we spoke about, I can’t remember. But he slept in the same bed as me.
He held me, too.No cuddling.That was our rule when we started having to share a bed. But we broke that one spectacularly last night.
I leave the warm layers of covers behind and stumble into the shower on weak legs. I stay beneath the warm water for what feels like forever, washing off sweat and sickness, and when I emerge again, wrapped in a towel, Rafe has returned.
He’s standing with his back to me by the desk.
We were meant to have driven back to Como by now. He had dinners with investors… I had online meetings with the Mather & Wilde team…
But here we are, stuck in Lausanne at three p.m.
“Thanks. For the pills,” I tell him.
He turns to look at me. His hair is messier than usual, and there’s a tired look to his handsome face, his stubble strong. The chiseled perfection giving way to humanity.
“You thanked me last night, too.” His eyes drop over my body. There’s nothing sexual about it. It feels oddly caring.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say, but the words hold no bite.
His lips curve. “How do you feel?”
