"You carried me to bed," she says. Not a question.
"Yes."
"Why?"
I consider several responses. Settle on the tactical truth. "You would have woken with compromised mobility. It was practical."
"Right. Practical." She nods. "Unconscious relocation protocols."
"Exactly."
But she's looking at me with those honey eyes, and there's something complicated there. Something that makes my chest tight.
"You're weird, Horse Man," she says finally. "But maybe not… the worst."
"High praise."
"Don't let it go to your head." She yanks the door open with more force than necessary. "Try to keep up."
She strides toward the elevator like she's leading a parade, all confidence and swaying hips and a warrior's determination to pretend everything's fine. I follow three steps behind, watching her navigate the hallway in heels that could double as weapons. She doesn't check the corners. Doesn't notice the camera's blind spot near the stairwell. Civilian habits that could get her killed if threats materialize.
Twenty-five days since Sofia left. Day one of actually living with the party girl who makes up words and establishes rules she'll probably break and calls me Horse Man like it's an endearment. She's given me nicknames. Multiple nicknames. That has to mean something, though I'm not sure what. Probably that she trusts too easily, too quickly.
The elevator arrives, and she sweeps inside, taking up more space than her body requires. It's a talent, this ability to fill a room, to make everything orbit around her even when she's falling apart.
"You're staring," she says without looking at me.
"I'm assessing."
"Same thing." The elevator descends, and she studies her reflection in the mirrored walls. "Do I look like someone who can run a business meeting?"
"You look like someone who could run a small country."
She turns, surprised. "Was that a compliment?"
"An observation."
"From you, I'll take it as a compliment." The doors open to the lobby, and she steps out. "Try not to scare anyone at the club. Some of us actually have to work with these people after you go back to Chicago and your angry pull-ups."
I follow her through the lobby, processing her words. After I go back. She's already planning for my absence, already protecting herself from someone else leaving.
The doorman nods at her. "Have a wonderful day, Ms.Delgado."
"You too, Eduardo. This is my shadow. He'll be around. Try not to let him intimidate you."
"Of course, Ms. Delgado."
Outside, Miami's heat hits hard. She doesn't flinch, just slides on oversized sunglasses and raises her hand for a taxi. Apparently Carlos doesn't work mornings. One appears immediately, another talent of beautiful women in expensive dresses.
"You know," she says as we slide into the back seat, "I've been thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Rude. But probably accurate." She gives the driver the address for La Sirena. "I've been thinking about why Marco Rosetti would send his best soldier to babysit me."
"I never said I was his best."
"You didn't have to. It's obvious. The way you move, the way you watch everything, the way you counted my drinks from across a crowded room." She turns to face me, and even behind the sunglasses, I can feel her studying me. "So why would he waste you on me?"
