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There. That should keep us both from doing something stupid in the middle of the night.

If only I wasn’t already halfway there.

Chapter 15

Cristina

I’m exhausted after dinner and head right to bed, falling asleep almost immediately, but unfortunately I don’t stay asleep.

Halfway through the night, a scratching sound pushes at the edges of my mind, and a little voice tells me to wake up.

I blink. The suite slowly comes into focus. Soft light peeks through the edges of the thick curtain. The room is still.

But that scratching sound comes again.

I glance at the door and suck in a breath.

There, standing in the connecting doorway—is Rhett.

The chair I wedged under the knob of my door has been pushed away, probably explaining the scratching sound I heard.

I clutch the covers to my chest. “What are you doing, Rhett?”

He mumbles something I don’t catch.

“What do you want? I was perfectly asleep before you got here.”

“Can’t fall sleep,” he says robotically, loud enough that I hear this time.

There’s something off about his voice, so I sit up and peer closer. Moonlight reaches into the room, bathing his back and giving Rhett a silver halo. He looks ethereal, like an archangel arriving to change my life.

His eyes are open, but he stares ahead blankly. My hand flies to my mouth. Oh my God, he’s sleepwalking.

Okay—what do I know about sleepwalking? Never wake a sleepwalker? No, I think that’s a myth.

A better question is, Why is he sleepwalking?

I slowly push the covers away and get out of bed, stopping right in front of him. My goodness, but he towers above me.

My eyes roam over him. Moonlight splashes across the hills and valleys of his chest, and his pajamas bottoms are slung low on his hips.

Rhett is built, y’all.

“Rhett?”

“I can’t fall asleep,” he repeats, sounding like a broken record.

And my heart cracks a little bit. “Why not?”

“If I do, she’ll die.”

Okay, my heart doesn’t just crack, it falls apart. “Who will?”

“She will.”

Is he talking about his sister? My gaze sweeps his face, and I spot furrowed lines, deep grooves, pain, and guilt. My throat tightens. His sister. The one he told me about at dinner.

His carefully controlled grief has slipped through. All at once, his walls make sense—the control, the back-and-forth, the way he opens up and pulls back like he’s fighting himself.