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“Hi, precious girl.” I ruffled her brown curls, feeling lighter than I had all day.
“How are you feeling?” Arianne asked.
“Fine.”
“It’s the only answer we get out of her,” my father grumbled.
“Antonio,” Genevieve scolded him.
“I’m fine, Papa, I promise.”
I served myself a heap of salad to avoid any further questions. At least if I pretended to eat, they wouldn’t all add that to their list of concerns.
Genevieve had just started serving the spaghetti when the doorbell rang.
“Are you expecting someone?” She glanced at Nicco and then my father.
“No. Stay here.” Nicco leaped up.
But Luis beat him to it.
“Tristan,” he said, “this is a surprise.”
Tristan?
Despite being seated, the ground went from under me and I grabbed the edge of the table.
“He shouldn’t be here,” Arianne hissed. “He’s supposed to be on bed rest.” She went storming off.
“Invite him in,” Genevieve called after her. “There’s plenty of food.”
But when they returned, Nicco fixed his eyes on me, frowning. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Me?”
“Isn’t he coming in?” My father frowned.
“He can barely stand.” Nicco watched me. Studying me. Trying to see past the façade I’d worn ever since they found me at that warehouse.
“I should probably go and see what he wants.” I threw my napkin on the table and hurried out of the room and down the hall. “You can’t be here,” I hissed, the second I reached him.
“We need to talk,” he said, holding his stomach.
“You shouldn’t be up and out of bed. You’ll pull your stitches.”
“I needed to see you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said.”
“Well, you didn’t listen very clearly, Tristan. I told you to stay away from me.”
“Yeah, about that…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”
“What?”
He moved a step closer. “Say it,” he breathed, reaching for my face, cupping my cheek. “Say it, Principessa.”
“Tristan, you should go before—”
“Say it, Alessia. Please.”
