“Incredibly. I talked about Rome and the day we met. Oh, and your terrible coffee.”
“My coffee is excellent.” His mouth quirked, a sure sign he was on the mend.
“Your coffee is an insult to beans everywhere, and you know it.”
He laughed. It was a weak sound, more breath than voice, but it was real. Then he winced, his hand pressing against the bandage on his shoulder.
“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Good. That’s your punishment for scaring me.” I tried to maintain the teasing tone, but my voice cracked on the last word. “Thomas, I thought—when I saw all that blood and you not responding, I thought—”
He reached up with his good hand and cupped my cheek. His palm was warm now, the color returning to his skin. His eyes—those warm brown eyes I loved more than anything in the world—were steady on mine.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”
“You almost weren’t.”
“But I am. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, catching a tear I hadn’t realized I’d shed. “You’re stuck with me, remember? That was the deal.”
“The deal was you wouldn’t get shot.”
“I’m pretty sure the deal was till death do us part. Getting shot doesn’t count as death. It’s barely even an inconvenience.”
I laughed despite myself—a wet, shaky sound—and leaned into his touch.
“You’re such an idiot,” I said.
“But I’m your idiot.”
“Yes.” I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his palm. “My idiot.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, his hand on my face, my hand wrapped around his, while the gray dawn light brightened and washed over us both. There would be time later for fear, for planning, and for the terrible questions that still needed answering. Right now, in this moment, Thomas was alive, and he was looking at me with all the love I had ever hoped to see in another person’s eyes.
“The Baroness?” he asked eventually.
“She’s recovering. Her hands . . .” I hesitated. “They tortured her, Thomas. What they didto her—”
“I know.” His jaw tightened. “I saw them when we found her.”
“And she’s different now. Softer, almost. She called us family.”
“Family?” Thomas gaped.
“Her word, not mine. I think . . .” I tried to find the right way to say it. “I think whatever happened in that cell broke something in her. Or maybe it just . . . cracked her open.”
Thomas nodded slowly. “And Otto?”
I hesitated. He saw it, and his face went still.
“Tell me.”
“He’s alive, but barely. His heart stopped twice during surgery. The doctor says if he makes it until dawn . . .”
“It’s dawn now.”
“I know.”
Thomas closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were wet.
