“Yes. More responsible than me. Now get in,” he says.
I dutifully climb back under the sheets. The headache is still there, but my throat feels much better. I pat the bed next to me.
He hesitates. But then he gets in beside me, under the sheets this time, and looks up at the ceiling. I turn onto my side to watch the faint outline of his profile in the darkness.
“It’s hard to imagine someone more responsible than you,” I say.
“Well,” he says, “people change.”
I want to ask more questions. But there’s a tenseness in him that’s only started to settle, and I don’t dare to. “Will you be able to sleep again?” I ask.
“I think I’ll wait to sleep,” he says, and reaches for the book, “until we’re back in Como.”
CHAPTER 56
RAFE
We make it back to Italy the next day and return to the comfort of a house not haunted with quite as many memories. Paige is doing better. It’s clear in her energy levels, her quick replies and the lack of coughing.
I want to hover. But I have no reason to now that she’s better, and I told her far too much last night. She wants to unpack and shower. So I leave to get on with the work that always needs to be done.
There’s something I’m coordinating with the interim Mather & Wilde CEO that I need to tell Paige about. But she’s had a rough two days as it is, and this will upset her. It’ll have to wait. There’s also a scheduled print interview with the two of us. One of the few I’ve ever given.
They can all wait. The real world demands so much of us, and of her, and it can all wait. Just for the rest of today.
When evening comes, I walk into my bedroom to find that she’s already there. She’s gathering her things from my en suite.
“Feel better?”
“Yes. A little.” She walks into my wardrobe, holding a brush. I sit down on the edge of the bed and watch her brushher long golden hair in the mirror. Surrounded by clothes she’s no doubt planning to poach.
Her movements are slow. She could leave this room now, and go back to her own to brush her hair. But she’s doing it here.
The villa is empty now. All the guests are gone, and we’re not traveling. She could sleep in her own bedroom.
But she’s here.
“You don’t want to start sleeping in your own room,” I say.
It’s not a question. I’ve learned that she bristles at those. But it’s a guess, and I’m sure it’s a correct one.
She keeps brushing her hair. “I’m dragging it out to torture you.”
“Mhm. Sure you are.”
The brush stops, and she looks at me. “Maybe I’m just about to steal another of your shirts.”
“You already have about fifty.”
“A vest, maybe. I look good in vests. I could pair it with shorts.”
“You’re stalling, Wilde, and we both know it.”
She puts the brush down on one of the built-in dressers and starts braiding her long hair. She seems to sleep with it in a braid often. “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready, thank you very much.”
“If you like spending time with me that much, you could just come out and tell me,” I say. “It wouldn’t be the first time one of my investments appreciates.”
“That was a terrible joke.”
