She makes a small, broken sound—half sob, half laugh. “Why? Why do you care what happens to me?”
“Because I’m responsible for you.”
It’s the truth. It’s also a lie.
Her chin trembles. “That’s not the same thing.”
No, it’s not. I know it, she knows it, but I can’t afford to say the rest. Not when I’m standing in her doorway late at night, the room smelling faintly of tears and her perfume. Not when I want to fucking kiss her.
She wipes at her cheeks, whispering, “I can’t stop thinking about her. About that night. Every time I close my eyes?—”
I sit on the edge of the bed before I can stop myself. “I know.”
“You don’t,” she says softly. “She was everything to me.”
The silence stretches. The only sound is her uneven breathing, the faint crackle of the fireplace. I reach for theblanket and pull it over her shoulders. She stiffens but doesn’t move away.
“Get some rest,” I tell her quietly. “You’re safe now.”
Her eyes meet mine, searching. “Am I?”
For a moment, I can’t answer. Because the truth is no one is safe in my world. Not really. But looking at her now I want her to believe it anyway.
“Yes,” I say finally. “You are.”
She nods once, tears still slipping silently down her cheeks. I start to stand, but she reaches for my hand.
“Please don’t leave yet,” she whispers.
My pulse kicks hard. I should. I know I should. But instead, I sit back down, her fingers still wrapped around mine. Her skin is soft, cold.
Neither of us says another word.
When she finally falls asleep, I stay right there, her hand still in mine, her breathing slow and even.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t think about revenge, or blood, or duty.
I just sit in the half-light, watching the rise and fall of her chest, wondering when the hell she became the one thing I can’t seem to protect myself from.
16
Birdie
I wake up alone.
For a long moment, I just stare at the empty space beside me, the chair the only proof that Lorenzo had been there at all. The room feels too big without him in it. And part of me is disappointed. The other part knows it’s for the best.
We still haven’t talked about the party. Or about the kiss. He has every right to be furious with me. Not that his silence doesn’t sting worse than if he’d yelled. Because at least then I’d know where I stood. I know I should be mad at him, too, for locking me away in this golden cage but I’m not. I’m mad at myself. For trusting Rick. For thinking I could have one night of normal. For thinking I could breathe without it costing something.
The new guards barely look at me. They’re older, harder, and they made it perfectly clear how they feel about me yesterday morning when I tried to say hello. Two of them literally turned their backs. The message was clear enough. I’m a problem they’ve been ordered to tolerate, nothing more.
I slip from the bed, shower, and dress in a soft gray sweater and jeans. Downstairs, Rosa greets me with her usual warmth.
“Good morning, Ms. Miller.”
“Birdie,” I correct automatically, though we both know it’s useless.
Her smile falters. “Of course. Would you like some breakfast?”
