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“I just keep thinking that if I left work earlier or something, I could’ve prevented this.”
“If you’d left work early, he would’ve attacked you too. You can’t think like that.”
“I just love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
I’m being told an awful lot how much people love me today and it’s... nice. Especially considering I never heard it growing up.
We chat for a little while, but when my eyes start to droop, Dante ushers her out of the room with promises that she can come back and visit tomorrow.
He sifts through the bags and pulls out the copy ofPersuasionhe gave me—could that have been only yesterday?—and I left at his house when I fled.
“Rest, baby.” He gingerly smooths my tangled hair away from my face.
“You won’t leave me, will you?” My voice is small and tired to my ears.
“Never.” He settles into the chair next to my bed and reads to me. It’s not long before his voice, combined with the familiar story, lulls me to sleep.
I wake up several times during the night to find Dante passed out with his head lying on the edge of my bed, one of his hands grasping mine, and the book lying open next to him.
The morning is a blur of people constantly entering and exiting the room. There are doctors and nurses rushing around. Bianca, Hollie, and Archer come to visit, which gives me a chance to thank him for pulling strings at the hospital, which he just shrugs off. Underneath that grumpy exterior, he really is a kind man, and I’m happy that he has Hollie. I’m even visited by a police officer that needed to take my statement.
Reliving yesterday’s events is the last thing I want to do, but I know it’s better to get it over with so that I can put this whole thing behind me and start living my life again. A life that’s now going to include Dante, decidedlynoton a casual basis. I keep it together through the interview and manage not to cry. Dante holding my hand and stroking my wrist with his thumb to distract me from my feelings seems to help.
Between all the visitors and my constant drifting in and out of sleep, it’s not long before the day has faded into early evening and Dr. Prinz stops by to look at my chart.
“How are you feeling tonight, Violet?” he asks while shining a penlight in my eyes that makes me want to punch him in the face. The bright light causes a searing pain to shoot through my head.
“Honestly, I was better before you shined that bright light directly into my brain.”
“I’m sure.” He chuckles, jotting down a note. “Anything else?”
“The pain has gone down some, but my ribs and the back of my head still hurt quite a bit. Oh, and this morning I was feeling pretty nauseous, but it seems to have gone away now. I figure it was probably from whatever pain medication I’m on.”
“I see,” he says with an odd inflection in his voice. “Mr. Moreno, could I have a word with you in private?” If I was feeling like myself, I would’ve objected to this wholeheartedly. I don’t like to be left out of things, especially when they are obviously going to be talking about me. But since I won’t be jumping out of bed and following them out into the hallway, I lie here and wait patiently for their return.
About five minutes later, the door opens and Dante comes in, sans Dr. Prinz. He looks nervous, which in turn makes me nervous.
“What was all that about? What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling a mild panic rise inside me. What if there’s something else wrong that they didn’t see at first? I could be internally bleeding or something. My mind starts to spin out with the possibilities.
He comes over to the bed and takes my hand. “Sweetheart, I need to tell you—”
“Oh my God, Violet! You look awful!” My mother’s shrill voice bounces off the walls as she comes bursting in dressed like she’s going to a cocktail party instead of visiting her daughter in the hospital.
“I’m all right, Mother,” I say softly, trying to bring the general volume of the room down to tolerable levels.
“Have they called the plastic surgeon about your face?” she asks while leaning over to get a better look at me. “This simply won’t do.”
Should it surprise me that my mother is more worried about how my face looks than my actual well-being? Probably. But it doesn’t. Vivian Daniels has always been consistent in her priorities.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, looking behind her.
“Oh, he’s on a business trip, but he sends his love.” Sure he does. He cares so much he couldn’t even pick up the phone to call me himself.
Up until this point, Dante has stood off to the side, letting me take the lead with my mother. Now, as if sensing my distress, he moves back over to my bed and places a hand on my shoulder.
My mother clocks his movement and familiarity instantly. “And you would be?” she asks with a sneer.
“Dante Moreno, ma’am. I’m Bianca’s dad. We met at the graduation party.” He stretches his hand out to her, but instead of taking it, she merely turns from him back to me.
