She turns her head slowly, and the look she gives me could strip paint. “No.”
“It’s late.”
“There are other rooms.”
“There are,” I say. “None of them are for you.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
I step inside and set my bag on the chair by the window. “You’re staying where I can see you.”
She laughs once, incredulous. “You cannot be serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
“Then sleep on the floor.”
I look at her over my shoulder. “Absolutely not.”
Her face hardens, beautiful and furious. “You dragged meacross countries against my will, threatened half of Italy, and now you think I’m getting into bed with you?”
“I think you’re tired,” I say. “I think you’ve had a worse day than most people survive. And I think if you keep standing there glaring at me, you’re going to pass out.”
“I’d rather pass out.”
“That can be arranged in the bed.”
She makes a sound under her breath that would probably earn someone else a reprimand.
From her, it nearly earns a smile.
Nearly.
Instead, I walk to the wardrobe and pull out a spare blanket and pillow. “You take that side.”
Her brow furrows. “And you?”
“This side.”
“There is no world in which that’s happening.”
I turn then and hold her gaze until she stills. “You are not sleeping alone in a foreign city the night I took you from a church at gunpoint. If Dante tries something, if anyone finds us here, if you decide to run in the middle of the night because you’re angry enough to make stupid choices, I want to know.”
She stares at me.
Then she says, “You really think highly of yourself if you believe I’d stay here.”
I say nothing.
Her chin lifts. “I’d run from you.”
There it is.
The truth dressed as a blade.
I nod once. “Then it’s settled.”
Her mouth parts in disbelief. “That isn’t how settling works.”
