“Victoria. Wake up.”
Her eyes snap open, and for a split second, it’s like she doesn’t see me.
She looks like she did when she was seventeen, and her father caught her sneaking out.
Like the world is about to hurt her, and she knows it.
Then her gaze locks onto mine, and she freezes.
“Lorenzo,” she whispers.
I let my hand stay on her wrist.
“You’re having a nightmare.”
Her eyes search my face. The expression on her face looks like she expects me to vanish.
“I—” Her voice breaks. “I thought—”
“I know.” My mouth twists. “You always think too much.”
She makes a sound that might be a laugh. Her hand tightens around mine suddenly, fingers cold. And that’s when I realize . . . she’sreachingfor me.
My chest aches in a way I don’t have a name for.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I grit out.
Her eyes flash. “Like what?”
“Like you’re relieved I’m here.” The words come out sharper than I mean.
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She just stares at me. Her gaze is raw and confused.
Her mouth trembles again, and her gaze drops to our hands like it’s the first time she’s realizing she’s holding me.She’s going to let go.She doesn’t.
Instead, her fingers slide up, touching my knuckles. My freshly scarred knuckles.
She notices.
Of course, she notices.
“There’s more.” Her brows pinch. “What happened to your hand?”
I pull away automatically. “Nothing.”
She follows the motion, sitting up farther, hair falling over her shoulder. She looks smaller now, wrapped in white sheets, face still flushed.
“You have new scars?”
“It’s fine.” I flex my hand, as if proving it’s nothing.
Her lips twitch faintly, and tears fill her eyes. And they are real.
Her jaw tightens. Then a tear slips down her cheek, and she turns her face away from me like she’s ashamed of her feelings.
Something inside me snaps. Not in a violent way. In the other way.
The way I hate.
