I shifted slightly to adjust the blanket over her shoulders, and her eyes fluttered open. They were still heavy with sleep, a soft, mossy green that blinked up at me with lazy confusion before recognition set in.
“Morning,” I murmured, my voice low.
At first her brows scrunched together in confusion, but as she blinked in her surroundings, her lips curved into a faint smile. “Morning,” she whispered back, her voice raspy and warm, like honey dripping from a spoon.
We stayed like that for a beat, neither of us moving, neither of us rushing to shatter the fragile peace that had settled over us.
“How’d you sleep?” I asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
“Honestly, better than I have in a long time,” she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. I kept my own voice low so as not to wake Gianna. Her words settled in my chest, heavy and warm. The thought that I could give her even a sliver of peace made something inside me tighten.
“I’m glad,” I said softly.
Her stomach growled, loud and insistent, breaking the moment. She groaned, hiding her face in my chest.
“Guess I should feed you,” I teased, chuckling as I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She tilted her head up, her cheeks pink. “Guess so,” she said with a smirk.
“Stay here. I’ll grab something.” I gently untangled myself from her, the loss of her warmth immediate and noticeable.
As I got out of bed, I couldn’t help glancing back at her. She was sitting up now, the blanket pooled around her waist, her hair a wild, beautiful mess. Her eyes met mine, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of us.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice carrying more weight than the words themselves.
I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Because in that moment, I realized something dangerous, something I wasn’t sure I could ignore anymore.
I didn’t want to let her go.
Dragging myself out of bed with a groan, I immediately noticed the dull throb in my hands. When I glanced down, angry purples and blues painted my knuckles like a warning.
Great.
I tiptoed past a sleeping Gianna, her tiny form peaceful in the crib, and slipped into the adjoining room. My phone was abandoned on the couch where I’d left it, blinking incessantly.
Hundreds of notifications lit up the screen. Missed calls, texts—most from Matteo.
Matteo
Someone published photos of you knocking Josh out.
My stomach sank. Attached was a link. I tapped it, and there it was—a picture of me mid-swing, fists bloodied, with Josh crumpled beneath me. His nose was clearly broken. Not exactly my finest moment.
I swiped out of the article and checked my missed calls.
Anna (3 missed calls)
Belen Management Office (1 missed calls)
Belen Management Office (1 voicemail)
Matteo (25 missed calls)
I ran a hand over my face and grabbed my jacket. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I eased the door shut behind me, careful not to wake Gianna, and headed down the hall. Matteo’s door opened before I even knocked.
“Where thehellhave you been?” Anna’s voice pierced the air, sharp enough to make my headache ten times worse. Her usual composure was gone, replaced by a fury that radiated off her in waves.
“Nice to see you too,” I quipped, though it barely came out as a mutter. Her glare could’ve set me on fire.
