The nurse glances toward the door before turning her attention to me. Her expression is careful, but her voice drops low.
“Are you safe?”
The question throws me. I blink at her. “What?”
“With that man,” she says quietly, eyes flicking toward the hallway again. “Are you safe with him?”
I should tell her I don’t even know him. That every instinct I have is screaming no, I’m not safe.
But I think of Sienna’s pale, tear-streaked face. Of the way Lorenzo Conti filled the room. Whatever he is, he’s not the kind of man you tellnoto.
So I nod, even though the lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m safe.”
The nurse studies me for a moment longer, like she doesn’t quite believe me, then gives a tight nod and starts gathering the paperwork.
“We’ll get you something to wear since your dress is…”
Covered in blood.
I say, “Thank you.”
When she leaves, I stare down at my bandaged arm and wonder if I just convinced her or myself. I mean, what would happen if I told her that I do think I’m in danger? It’s not like I have family to call. And all of my friends went through the same trauma I did. So, unfortunately for me, I think I’m actually safer going with Sienna and her very intimidating father.
A few minutes later, the nurse returns holding a folded pile of light-blue scrubs and a plastic bag.
“They’re a little big,” she says with a sympathetic smile, “but better than what you came in with. Your dress is in the bag. You might be able to get it cleaned.”
I bite back a snort. I’m short and curvy. Nothing rarely fits the way it should, and it’s definitely never too big.
“Thank you,” I say, taking them with my good hand.
Changing takes longer than it should. Every movement makes my arm throb. I could ask Sienna for help, but I just want to be alone right now. Surprisingly, the scrubs hang loose on me, the drawstring tied as tight as it’ll go. I glance in the mirror and shake my head. My face is pale and my hair is a mess. I look like someone else entirely. I pull the ribbons and undo my pigtails, letting my hair hang freely in soft waves.
I take the bag with the dress and drop it in the trash on my way out. When I step into the hallway, Sienna’s waiting, bouncing on her heels.
“Finally! Dad’s getting the car.” She tries to sound upbeat, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I want to ask her if she knows what happened tonight, but don’t get a chance because she leads me through the sliding doors.
Outside, the cold hits first, making me shiver. A sleek black SUV idles by the curb, engine humming low. Mr. Conti stands beside it, coat collar turned up, phone in hand. Even here, surrounded by strangers, people seem to make space for him without realizing it.
“Careful,” Sienna murmurs, steadying me as we approach.
Mr. Conti ends his call and opens the back door. “Get in, both of you.”
I hesitate only a second before climbing inside. The leather seats are warm, the air faintly scented with suede and something darker—expensive, masculine, intimidating.
Sienna slides in beside me, still chattering about how we’ll get real food once we’re home, how I’ll love Chicago, how everything’s going to be fine. But as the SUV pulls away fromthe hospital, I can’t shake the thought that whatever I’ve just stepped into, there’s no going back.
Sienna’s oblivious to my inner panic, fiddling with the hem of her coat like nothing about tonight is strange. “Dad, were you able to get our phones?”
Our phones? That’s what she’s worried about?
I glance toward the front. Mr. Conti’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror. His eyes are dark and unreadable, making me shiver. His attention turns to his daughter.
“They’ll be waiting on the jet,” he says simply.
