CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: WINTER
Mydoorcreaksopen and I don’t even bother to sit up in bed. Everything hurts too much, including thinking.
My head throbs and the footsteps on my floor only make it worse. A thick aroma meets my nose.
Soup?
The footsteps are far too heavy to belong to one of the maids who attends to me. And I’ve never seen any men in my room outside of Enzo, Giovanni, Maximo, and Vito.
I’d take bets that the soup bringer is Vito. I’ve been in and out of it the last couple of days, but I remember hearing his voice a couple of times.
Plus, the first time I got sick while here, he’d given me tea and medicine, while simultaneously slipping me a plan B pill.
He’s the only one who seems to have some sort of care taking bone in his body. But I don’t necessarily want to see him right now.
I don’t want to see anyone after nearly drowning to death.
I still don’t know what happened afterward or who even pulled me out of the pool.
Had Giovanni come back?
Doubtful.
He’d fucked me and then attempted to kill me, and he’s not a man who seond guesses himself.
The footsteps get closer until they’re right next to my bed, and the smell is stronger. I inhale a deep breath before opening my eyes. Shock moves through my system as I find myself staring at Enzo instead of Vito.
“Sit up,” he says, his voice low in the otherwise quiet room.
This is how he thinks you take care of people? Ordering them to sit up when it feels like their head is about to fall right off?
I’m not surprised.
It has to be one of the endearing qualities that draws Maximo to him.
I almost snort at the thought.
He lets out an obnoxious sigh. He places the bowl of soup on the nightstand. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting dizziness as he forces me to a sitting position against the headboard. The board feels hard against my back, pressing into my bones and I let out a grunt as my body tenses.
Enzo places a hand on my shoulder, moving me forward before something soft is placed between my bed and my back. He pushes me back against it, like I’m a ragdoll.
“Open your eyes, I don’t want you to spill the soup in the bed.” His voice is gruff but it seems to be lacking some of the tightness I’m used to.
Slowly, I open my eyes, the room done spinning, for the moment at least. Enzo continues to stare at me, the look on his face not quite as hard as before.
I’m surprised when he pulls the covers up over my legs, gently smoothing it down before he picks the soup back up. He places it in my lap, keeping a hand on the outside of the bowl until he’s sure I have it steady.
I lift the spoon, slowly bringing it to my mouth. The flavor explodes on my tongue and it’s almost like a trigger, letting my stomach know that we actually are hungry. I shovel a couple of more spoons in my mouth. I can’t remember the last time I ate, the hot soup tasting like the best meal ever.
It takes me a while to realize Enzo is still hovering over the bed.
I pause, slowly withdrawing the spoon from my mouth.
“What?” It comes out ruder than I intend. I’ve been angry ever since I regained the ability to open my eyes again, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of the feeling.
He doesn’t say anything, instead he sinks down to the ground, his back against my bed. I peer over at him, my mouth dropping open. “What are you doing?”
“Just going to stick around to make sure you don’t spill the soup everywhere,” he grumbles.