“I’ll sit here,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ll sit in that chair and I will watch you. And if you try to get out of that bed, I will call Teresa. She seems pretty determined to kick your ass." I add, "I’ll even help her."
His smile widens, a little bit more genuine this time. A little bit more amused.
“You’re threatening me.”
“I am.”
“With Teresa.”
“And your mother,” I add, feeling a surge of triumph.
His smile vanishes.
He looks at me, a long, considering look that makes my skin tingle. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” I say.
We stare at each other.
The air in the room crackles.
This is better.
This is safer than the memory of his kiss, better than the shame and the confusion.
This is a fight I know how to win. This is a battle of wills. A power play. This is the language I speak.
This is the language I need to speak right now to survive the morning.
Finally, he lets out a slow breath and leans back against the pillows. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You win.” His voice is flat. Defeated.
But I don’t feel triumphant.
I feel… something else.
Something I don’t want to name.
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”
"Twenty-four hours, Caterina," he warns. "Then I'm out of this bed."
"I'll take it," I say.
I turn to leave, feeling a strange mix of victory and disappointment. I wanted to win. But I also wanted…
I don’t know what I wanted.
I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob.
“Is there anything you need?” I ask, my voice softer now. “Before I go?”
I can't bear to turn back and face him.
There's a hesitation before he says, "No." Then, "No, I'm good."
