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There is an IV sticking out of his arm and bags of fluids and medicine hanging around him. Splashes of blood are dried on his arms and face. I’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. But his chest is rising and falling steadily, and when he hears me walk through the door, he turns and looks at me, his green eyes clear and steady on my face.
“Hi.” Suddenly, I’m nervous. Now that he isn’t dying, I’m not sure what to say. Or where we stand.
He extends a hand out towards me, his fingers curling for me to come closer, and it is all the invitation I need. I rush forward, drop to my knees next to his bed, and press his palm against my cheek, curling into him like a cat.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“And I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says, stroking a finger along my jawbone.
The events of the past few days begin to bubble up inside of me—fear and doubt and relief—and my throat closes with unshed tears. I try to swallow them back, but they won’t go.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, his hand warm against my face. “Everything is okay now.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m so sorry, Luka. I shouldn’t have trusted my father. I shouldn’t have—”
“Ishouldhave trusted you,” he says, interrupting me. “None of this would have happened if I’d trusted you.”
I stare at him. The words are familiar, and I wonder if he remembers—
“I may have been half-conscious, but I heard you yelling at me loud and clear.” He looks at me, and his mouth tips up in a smile. “You really know how to shame a dying man.”
My cheeks warm. “I was trying to keep you awake. I thought getting mad at me might help.”
“It’s hard to get mad at someone when they’re telling the truth,” he says. “I should have trusted you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. Every second we were apart was torture. Even when I was mad at you, I wanted to be with you.”
“Me too.” The words sound weak, and I want to find the same courage I found outside. I want to tell him how I feel, but instead, I just stare at him, so grateful he is awake and breathing.
He slides his hand down my arm and holds my hand, running the pad of his thumb along my knuckles. “You know, I heard something else you said before I fell asleep.”
My eyes go wide. “What?”
He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it. “You told me you love me.”
His smile is sexy and teasing, and I can’t resist it anymore. I lean forward and press a kiss to his soft lips. Just a few hours ago, I didn’t know if I’d ever get a chance to do it again. When I pull away, he is still smirking up at me, teasing me.
“Hey, I heard something, too,” I say, one eyebrow arched. “You said you love me, too.”
“I was bleeding out and seconds from death,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. I pull my hand away and lightly slap his chest. He laughs and then winces and clutches his side. Once he is settled back in bed again, he reclaims my hand. “Though, that doesn’t make what I said untrue.” His green eyes flare to life, warming my skin wherever they land. “I do love you.”
This time, I can’t hold back the tears. They come and come, and I kiss him over and over again. We kiss and talk about everything. I ask why he didn’t just tell me he didn’t plant the bomb that killed Samuel Notarianni, and he tells me he didn’t think I’d believe him. Which, truly, I probably wouldn’t have.
“Plus,” he says, stroking his thumb across the delicate bones of my wrist. “You terrified me, Eve. The way I felt about you was too big and too much, and I thought it would be easier if you hated me. So, letting you think the worst of me seemed like the best idea. I thought it would stop you from becoming too attached.”
I lay my hand on his cheek and kiss him. “Your plan failed.”
“I guess so,” he says, laughing softly.
I can tell he is getting tired, and I want to let him sleep, but I also want to keep talking with him forever.
“And I guess you know I’m pregnant,” I whisper.
Luka presses a palm to my stomach and gives me a sleepy smile. “Yeah, I heard.”
“How do you feel about that?” It is almost mean to be asking him these questions when he is so close to sleep, but I can’t help myself.
“I feel like,” he says, his voice going quiet as his eyes grow heavy, “we should get married.”
I tip my head back and laugh.Reallylaugh for the first time in days. “You really are tired. We are already married.”
