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“Sign,” I say, while my hands move. They fall back into the water and below the bubbles.

“But you have cochlear implants.”

My throat constricts. “I was born with a genetic mutation that suppresses hearing in both ears. The nerves aren’t fully developed. The cochlear implants allow me to hear, in a way. But it was never my choice.”

“No?” He scrubs my foot, shadowed face tilted towards me. “Why?”

“My family,” I say, biting my tongue. “They see me as a weakness to their line. By making me have implants, the speech therapy lessons… they thought they could hide my disability.” The shame sours my gut. “They never wanted me. Truly, me.”

He pauses, voice thick. “Sign to me,” he demands. He pours more soap into his hand, the jasmine scenting the air. “And as much as I love your voice, I need the practice.”

“You’re learning American Sign Language?” I will not melt at his thoughtfulness. I won’t.

I don’t trust him—trust this. As sweet as he’s being, how good his hands feel, I cannot give into him. He violated me—but it wasn’t unwanted. I secretly wanted him to be my first, but didn’t want the marriage contract, my worries tainting the freedom he gave me.

Instead, I compartmentalized and kept the two situations separate. Then blamed him for stepping outside those confines.

Look at where that got me.

“I see that mind working,” he murmurs, sweatshirt wet from his ministrations. “And yes, I’m learning. I’m not great yet. Give me a few more days. I’ll get there.”

I scoff. “It’s not easy.”

“It is for a genius.” He smirks. “Luckily, for you, you have a genius as a stalker. Go you.”

I clamp down on the smile that wants to break free. He is not funny, and I won’t let him charm his way out of this. I have every right to be mad at him, regardless of logic.

Swallowing, I sign, “What did you do to Tommaso?”

“I only got one word, so help me out.”

“Tommaso. What did you do to him?” I ask, still signing.

His body goes rigid, but his hands don’t stop. “He’s taken care of.”

I raise a brow. “You don’t seem like the killer type.”

Dangerous, sneaky, sure. But he’s an epic failure as an assassin.

He smirks. “You caught me on an off day.” He rubs my neck, the warm washcloth pulling a groan from my sore muscles. “I may not like guns, Sunshine, but I would annihilate anyone who would touch what is mine. I wasn’t letting him take my place.”

“You care about a place?”

His head tilts. “With you? Yes.”

He continues to wash me, powerful movements feeling therapeutic. The grime and bitterness of the day sinks into the water as his fingers ghost over my flesh. They drift lower, gently trailing over my stomach, and my hand snaps out.

Holding his wrist high, I ask, “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

His free thumb brushes my jaw. I can’t see his eyes, but they burn into my face, memorizing all the details: contours, lines, and dimples. I’m bare to him, and only him.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I’m doing exactly the opposite of what I was supposed to do. Of what my family wanted me to do. And yet…” He trails off, hand curling around my neck. Pullin me close, my side cuts into the lip of the tub. “I can’t seem to stay away. I wanted to punish you for what you planned,” he says, words a sacred vow between us. “God, I wanted to strangle you for thinking anyone else was good enough to have you. No one is, Sunshine. No one.”

“You took from me,” I whisper. “You took it.”

“Yes,” he growls. “And I won’t apologize for it. It’s mine to take—it’s only ever been mine.”

Licking my lips, I ask, “Why are you here?”