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If I lost, I was his. Forever. So I wouldn't win, even if it scratched my pride a little. I would lose, because I would gain something else with my defeat.
"Something is going on in that clever little mind of yours and I'd love to know what it is."
"None of your damn business," I returned, defying him. For the moment, he had torn me from my reflection, but it took me less than two seconds to go back to it.
I just didn't see myself being able to tell him I wasn't planning on leaving him or continuing our relationship on a casual level.
Maybe it was just the fact that he had saved my life not once, but twice, but Dario had become important to me.
Having a family didn't sound so bad if it meant waking up next to him and watching him slowly get used to not living alone.
Daydreaming distracted me enough to make my movements falter. Good. Then he wouldn't notice that I was deliberately losing.
"You're trying, but I can see you're finding it harder and harder to maintain concentration," Dario purred from across the table. He had his elbow propped up on it. His head rested on his hand while he watched my movements with amusement.
I gritted my teeth. I wouldn't begrudge him the triumph!
With renewed determination to drag it out a bit more, I increased the pace a bit more until I was acting so fast I could only see my hand as a blurry shadow.
"I'm impressed," Dario murmured. Was there recognition in his voice?
This upset me more than his mere presence could.
I slipped, but caught myself in time. Dario, meanwhile, had moved closer to the table and was holding his breath.
So I kept going instead of handing the knife over to him. He noticed that I not only made an effort but also did everything I could not to lose. At least that way he wouldn't find out the game was rigged.
I found myself in my car, driving toward the warehouse. I felt the weight of the bomb contraption around my chest. The scene progressed. Dario stood in front of me, stroking through my hair. Letting me know in a soothing voice what he was going to do.
My heart beat up to my throat, and not only at this memory. My fingers trembled because I suddenly remembered the fear that had had a firm grip on me during the trip to the harbor and when I had been closer to death than to life.
With that, my downfall was sealed. I slipped, pain shooting through my hand and up my arm.
I jumped up, threw the knife from me, and grabbed my hand to turn away and press it between my legs, hoping the throbbing pain would subside.
That was just a cut! Wasn't it? It felt more like I had chopped off my entire hand.Merda.
I had expected Dario to jump up and make fun of me, but he was at my side in a split second, his hand closed around my upper arm, forcing me to get into an upright position.
"Let me see,micina," he murmured, a worried undertone in his voice, and made sure I opened my hand so he could study it.
I, too, should have looked at the damage I had done to myself, but I chose rather to avert my gaze.
I had somehow ignored this part of my plan. Or skillfully ignored it, which was perhaps a better description.
Although I hadn't seen the injury, I felt the warmth emanating from it and knew that it was bleeding more than it should. No wonder there was an immediate sinking feeling in my stomach area. I felt nauseous.
"You don't do things by halves, do you?" Dario didn't sound very enthusiastic when he said that.
"All the way or not at all," I replied with a nervous laugh, at the same time feeling my legs turn into jello. I looked for a grip on Dario so that I wouldn't topple over.
The plan had been to hurt myself only with the tip of the knife. A small cut, as one would make on paper. That was enough as a defeat, but was far from a trip to the ER.
At least he seemed to notice. "Take it easy,micina. It isn't bad. We'll put the wound under water, dry it and then you'll get a nice wrap. We already have experience with that, after all."
"A band-aid won't do?" I asked meekly, my eyes narrowed.
Dario laughed. "I'm afraid not. You've gone to a fair amount of trouble to hurt yourself."
