“You don’t have to do that,” I insisted, visions of dollar signs flashing before my eyes. “The hospital is adding extra security. And I’m sure the guy won’t come back now.”
Nico shot me a disbelieving look. “You thought you were safe last night. And we both know how that turned out.”
“I can’t afford it,” I reminded him. “Unlike you, I don’t have the money for bodyguards or private security. I’ll just have to make do with what the police and hospital offer.”
In an offended tone, he replied, “I’m not asking for money.”
“I wouldn’t want to be accused of taking advantage,” I shot back.
Those angry spots of pink flushed his cheeks. “You almost died, Sofia. I think we’re past all that. Don’t you?”
I didn’t have an argument for that. Or at least, I didn’t then. Hours later, I’ve compiled a list of the reasons why I don’t need Nico’s help anymore. The hospital security is more than adequate. Once I’m released, the police agreed to do drive-byspast my apartment. I can install extra security cameras. And back at home, I have a Smith and Wesson hidden on the top shelf of my bedroom closet, just in case.
As I watch Nico pacing back and forth past my doorway while he talks on the phone, I wonder why I haven’t told him to leave already. Just put my foot down and told him to go home. Said,Thanks so much, I owe you. If you ever need a background check or a cheating spouse investigated, I’ll do it for free.
Ha. That’s a laugh. I looked up Nico’s company during one of those weak moments; the ones I think every woman has at some point with their ex. When she’s up late, maybe drinking wine, feeling mournful about the past, and she just hasto know what he’s up to.Curiosity,she’ll tell herself.It doesn’t mean I still care about him.
So I know Nico doesn’t need my help with a background check. And his company doesn’t waste time with cheating spouses and minor insurance fraud. No, Fox & Falcon provides top-notch security services for large companies and government contracts, including advanced cybersecurity, bodyguarding, and risk management.
Maybe bringing a few of his employees here is his version of charity, so his company can announce proudly on the website how it gives back to the community. And I’m the fortunate—or not so fortunate, depending on who’s looking at it—beneficiary.
Ugh.
I sag back against my pillow with an exasperated sigh.
I hate feeling like this. Ungrateful, when I should be thanking my lucky stars that Nico is here. Bitter. Sad. Hurting.
My physical injuries would be enough on their own. But my twisted up emotions make things even worse.
“Sofia?” Nico shoves his phone into his pocket and enters the room. In four long strides he’s at the side of my bed, peeringdown at me with a worried expression. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine,” I reply automatically. I’ve said some variation of the same thing every time he’s asked.
“Fine?” he asks with a skeptical arch to his eyebrows. “You’re fine?”
“Better,” I amend. Which is true. My head hurts slightly less than it did last night. The nausea subsided enough that I could eat breakfast without feeling like I was going to throw up. Everything doesn’t feel like it’s spinning anymore. And the pain in my shoulder has subsided to a dull throb.
Nico inspects me for a few seconds, his gaze narrowing when it moves across my cheeks, just as I remember it doing last night.
“Is there something wrong with my face?” I ask. “Food smeared on it? Toothpaste? Do I have a giant zit I don’t know about?”
His lips quirk. “You think I’m looking at apimple?”
My cheeks heat. Why did I say that?
“I don’t know. You keep looking at my face. So I thought—” I give a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. It was just a guess.”
His crooked smile fades. “You don’t have a zit, Sofia. There are bruises…” He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Here. And on the other side. Like… fingerprints.”
“Oh.” My stomach knots. “I guess I didn’t notice them.”
Nico pulls his hand away, and for some stupid reason, my body misses his touch.
No, I don’t. I don’t miss him at all.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Nico says. He crosses his arms across his chest, those big, stupid biceps flexing.
Why couldn’t he have gained a hundred pounds? Or lost all his hair? A comb-over would be nice right about now; a long, swooping, cotton candy one all swirled on the top of his head.But no, Nico’s still ridiculously good-looking. He probably has women flinging themselves at his feet all the time.
