The headlights appear exactly twenty-two minutes later, cutting through the darkness as the armored sedan rounds the bend. I'm already moving, taking the stairs two at a time, crossing the marble foyer in long strides.
The car pulls to a stop in front of the main entrance. Bruno steps out first, his eyes sweeping the perimeter before opening the rear door. She emerges slowly, unsteadily, and I'm shocked at what I see.
Red paint streaks down the front of her neck, dried into rust-colored stains across her creamy skin. More paint clings to her dark hair, matting the strands together. Her face is pale, stark white against the crimson splashes, and her hands shake as she pulls the coat tighter around herself.
I don't speak, don't ask questions. I simply walk to her, place my hand on the small of her back, and guide her toward the house.
Bruno nods once and disappears back into the car. The engine fades as he drives toward the security quarters, leaving us alone in the echoing foyer.
The marble staircase stretches upward, each step clicking under our feet. She moves carefully, one hand trailing along the banister, the other pressed against her stomach. The gesture makes my chest constrict.
My bedroom suite occupies the entire third floor. I lead her through the sitting area, past the fireplace where flames dance behind glass doors, into the master bathroom. The space is all black marble and gold fixtures, with a sunken tub large enough for four people.
I turn on the faucets, testing the water temperature with my wrist. Steam begins to rise from the surface, filling the room with warmth. Behind me, I hear the rustle of fabric as she sheds her coat.
"The paint won't come off," she says quietly.
I turn to face her. She's standing in her slip, arms wrapped around herself, paint still streaking her collarbone and throat. Her eyes are distant, unfocused.
"I'll help you." I begin unbuttoning my shirt. "We'll get it cleaned up."
The tub fills slowly. I add bath salts, the kind that turn the water milky white and smell of lavender. When it's ready, I help her step down into the warmth. She sinks into the water with a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering closed.
I shed the rest of my clothes and slide in behind her, settling against the marble ledge so she can lean back against my chest. The warm water laps around us, soothing away some of the stress.
I take a washcloth and begin working at the paint in her hair, careful not to tug or pull. The red dissolves slowly, turning the white cloth pink. She sits perfectly still, letting me work.
"You don't have to take care of me," she whispers.
"Yes, I do."
I move to her throat next, where paint has dried in thin lines across her pulse point. The washcloth gently glides over her skin. Her breathing slows, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
"I'm fine," she says after a long silence.
"You're lying."
She turns in my arms to face me, water sloshing softly. "How do you know?"
"Because I know you." I cup her face in my hands, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. "And because when you're really fine, you don't need to say it."
Her mouth trembles. For a moment I think she might cry, but instead she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.
The kiss starts soft, tentative, but builds quickly. Her hands find my shoulders, fingers digging into muscle as she pulls herself closer. I taste salt on her lips—tears or bathwater, I can't tell which.
We move together in the warm water, her body responding to mine with desperate need. Every touch burns away the memory of her uncle's threats, every kiss erases the fear from her eyes.
"Is the baby okay?" I ask against her mouth.
She nods, not pulling away. "Yes."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by possession so fierce it takes my breath away. Rosaria slides onto my lap, straddling me in the hot water.
Her thighs settle around mine beneath the water, heat meeting heat. The curve of her hips brushes my hands and I hold them there, not moving, letting her decide.
Her fingers come up to thread through my hair, her breath catching as she looks down at me.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she says, voice hoarse. “He said I’d vanish like I never existed.”
