“No.” The thought of telling her makes my stomach twist. “She’s been through enough. I’ll tell her before we reach Cleveland.”
“Better from you than someone else,” Matteo agrees. “But don’t wait too long. News travels.”
After ending the call, I lean against the railing, letting the salt spray cool my face. Colin stands silently nearby, giving me space without leaving his post.
I pull out Andrea’s phone again, staring at the screen until it blurs.
The betrayal burns in my chest, a living thing with teeth and claws. When we get back to Cleveland, I’ll tear the truth from the source. I’ll make them understand exactly what happens to people who threaten what’s mine.
But for now, I need to figure out how to tell my wife. And that starts by joining her in our cabin and waking her from her afternoon nap.
The cabin is bathed in golden afternoon light as I ease the door open, careful not to let it creak. Alina lies asleep on the massive bed.
I pause in the doorway, allowing myself this moment to simply watch her. I smile as my eyes catch the spray of freckles across her nose, they’re more visible now that color has returned to her face.
Even in sleep, with one arm in a cast, and hair missing from where they shaved her, she’s the most beautiful thing in my world. Also, the most dangerous. The only person who could destroy me completely just by leaving.
I step inside and close the door behind me, moving silently across the plush carpet. The master suite ofTheArtemisrivals most luxury hotel rooms, with its king-sized bed and panoramic windows that offer endless views of blue water. But my eyes are fixed only on her.
After just one day at sea, she looks better. The shadows beneath her eyes have lightened, and her breathing is deep and steady. The doctors were right—each day brings visible improvement.
Still, the memory of her body colliding with that car haunts me, makes my fingers curl into fists as I struggle to control the rage that still simmers beneath my skin.
I sit carefully on the edge of the bed, and she stirs immediately, her body somehow attuned to my presence even in sleep. She stretches like a cat, her good arm extending above her head before her eyes flutter open.
For a fraction of a second, there’s confusion in those pale blue depths, but when they focus on me, her lips curve into a smile. No fear. No hesitation. Just recognition and something that looks dangerously close to happiness.
“Hey,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.
“Hey yourself,” I respond, my hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “How long have you been out?”
She glances at the porthole window, gauging the light. “An hour, maybe? I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
I chuckle because we both know that’s a lie. “You’re supposed to rest.” I let my fingers trail down her cheek, unable to stop touching her now that she’s awake.
“Yeah, yeah, doctor’s orders,” she says with a huff.
Grinning, I tilt her chin up so her eyes meet mine. “Actually, those are your husband’s orders.”
She blushes and bites her lower lip. “I feel like all I do is sleep.”
“How are you feeling after your nap?”
“Better,” she admits as she shifts slightly, testing her body’s responses. “I think. The headache’s almost gone.”
Relief washes through me, though I keep my expression neutral. “Good. Want to sit up?”
When she nods, I slide an arm behind her shoulders, supporting her as she eases into a sitting position against the headboard. My hand lingers at the small of her back, my thumb stroking the strip of skin where her top has ridden up.
The contact sends a jolt of heat through my palm, and I have to force myself not to tighten my grip. She adjusts her position, wincing slightly as her cast catches on the sheet. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Without a word, I stand and help her to her feet. She’s steadier now than she was just a few days ago, but I keep my arm around her waist as she walks the short distance to the en-suite. At the door, she hesitates.
“I can manage from here,” she says, a flush creeping up her neck.
“You sure?” I search her face for signs of dizziness or pain.
“Yes.” Her smile is soft but firm. “I’ll call if I need you.”
