“Let’s get you upstairs.”
I pressed my hand to her lower back, guiding her toward her apartment. As we made it closer to her door, her trembling began to subside, her relief at being safe evident. I inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open.
I flicked a lamp on, illuminating the small space. She looked incredibly little as she stood staring atme.
“Do you have ice in the freezer?”
“Yeah, I should.”
I started toward the freezer. “Go put your pajamas on and get comfortable. Do you need any help?” Her face instantly flushed and, realizing what I’d just offered, I rushed to clarify. “Because of your hand. Do you need any help?”
“I think I’ve got it. Thanks, Luca.” I caught the faintest smile before her feet padded across the wooden floor and she disappeared into her bedroom. Minutes later, as I was filling a ziplock bag with ice, she re-emerged in her tiny pajamas.
“They’re pretty intense, huh?” she said, grabbing a tea towel from a drawer. I placed the ice bag in the fabric for her, and she held it to her wrist. She winced, and I had to use every scrap of willpower not to storm downstairs and teach them a lesson.
“Yeah, they’re vultures. They’ll do anything to get the next big scoop.”
“It scared me. They weren’t there, and then suddenly, they were everywhere. They weresoclose. I’ve seen paparazzi before, butneverlike that.”
Her brow furrowed in thought, and she dashed to the window, splitting the curtains to peek out. “They’re still here.”
“They’ll camp out there all night,” I offered plainly, not bothering to hide the disdain in my words.
“Will you stay?” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and it lacked its usual bubbliness. There was no flirtation in her tone, no hint of seduction—just a quiet request. The color had returned to her cheeks, but she still seemed fragile—like she might break if I said no. “You can’t go back out there anyway.”
She was probably right. In theory, I could just push through thecrowd—I’d dealt with them enough times in the past. But it was past midnight, and I couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t punch one of those stupid assholes in the face if I went down there again.
I paused for the briefest moment, before thinking better of it. Iwantedto look after Matilda, to stay and make sure she was OK—and after the evening we’d had, I couldn’t find it within myself to deny it. I didn’t care if it made things complicated. “Of course. I’ll take the sofa.”
“We’re adults, Luca. My bed is big enough for us both to sleep in without even getting close.”
She wants us to share a bed?After what had just happened downstairs, I was already fighting the urge to take her in my arms and never let go. How could she expect me to keep my hands offher?
She must have seen the apprehension written across my face, because she continued, “I’m not going to force you to sleep in the bed with me. But it is ridiculous, you taking the sofa when it’s tiny and there’s plenty of room in the bed.”
“OK.” My lips moved without my brain’s consent.
The words hung in the air, and I couldn’t help the way my chest tightened. It wasn’t lost on me how intimate this felt, even if neither of us was thinking about anything beyond comfort. It felt…right. I wanted to be the one to care for her, to be the one she trusted right now. She needed someone—me—and I wasn’t going to back away.
We went through the motions of getting ready to sleep. She passed me a new toothbrush, grabbed us both a glass of water, and dragged herself to her bed. She climbed in, resting her bad arm on top of the quilt with the makeshift icepack. Her eyelids were heavy as she made herself comfy.
I didn’t have anything to wear to sleep in, but I didn’t dare ask Matilda. Even if she had had some guy’s clothes lying around, I’dsooner have slept in my jeans than dragged her out of bed to find them. Besides, it was too late, and I was too tired, to deal with the surge of jealousy the thought of her having another man’s clothes lying around sent racing throughme.
But we were both adults and Matilda had seen me half dressed before. I stripped off my jeans, T-shirt, and socks, until I was just in my boxers. Matilda’s sleepy eyes fluttered open when the bed dipped as I climbed in. A small smile ghosted across her lips.
I flicked off the lamp at the side of the bed, bathing the room in darkness. There were a few beats of silence before Matilda’s tired voice spoke next tome.
“Are you dating other women, Luca?” There was no hint of accusation in her voice. She was referring to what one of the paparazzi had shouted at us earlier.
“No, Stevens. I’m not dating anyone else.”
We managed to make itthrough week three despite the failed lift.
But the following week also didn’t go too well. It wasn’t a disaster—but we were restricted in what we could do because of Matilda’s wrist. It had recovered fine, but we weren’t allowed to do any lifts for seven days. We ended week four in fourth place, putting us in the middle of the pack.
We followed the same weekly routine, though. The night before the show, when everyone was going to the bar, Matilda and I would sneak off, exhausted from the week, and order takeout. We switched to using a rental car that I could swap each week andalwaysparked in the secure underground parking lot so that the paparazzi couldn’t track us. A few had lingered during the week after the incident but dispersed when they realized they weren’t going to catch any worthwhile shots.
I was on food-collection duty, and she was on shower-and-put-on-the-smallest-pajamas-to-ruin-my-life duty.
