Part 12:

Veto never thought to put air down here. He was already moving toward the small washroom. When the water came on behind the door, Isabella sat up straight where she was, listening to it in disbelief. He was actually taking a shower. Isabella got to her feet and poured a little more wine into her cup. Her body had loosened.

The ache above her brow dulled to almost nothing, and somewhere in the warmth of it, she’d stopped bracing against the walls around her. Her eyes drifted toward the open bathroom door. The mirror caught him before she could look away. Through the steam, she saw the bronze of OS’s back, the cut of muscle down his spine, water running off his shoulders, a sound caught in her throat. Oh.

She turned her head the other way fast, and the heat went straight up her neck. She moved through the small room with no idea what to do with herself and drained the rest of the cup to have something to do at all. OS wasn’t going to touch her. She told herself he wasn’t the kind that hurt women like her.

And the worst part was that she believed it. He’d had a dozen chances to hurt her. He hadn’t taken one. That should have made her feel safer. It didn’t. It made him harder to hate. Her head had started to swim, the wine catching up with her, and the simplest thing left was to sleep. She lay back on the bed and let her eyes fall closed.

As they grew heavy, she thought of her mother. Once this room had been safety, it had been the place her mother brought her when Veto’s anger filled the house upstairs, down the hidden stairs into the quiet, where she would sing low and make a game of the dark and hold Isabella against her until the shouting overhead went away.

OS came out of the shower with a towel low at his waist, water still dripping from his hair down the line of his chest. When he looked at the bed, Isabella seemed to be asleep. He crossed and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. His hand went to her forehead, pushing the damp strands off it to see the wound underneath.

“No, Anita, don’t sleep.” She sank her cheek into the thin pillow. “Let me sleep,” she got out, the words slurring at the edges. so tired. He took her chin and tipped it up. Head wound. Whine. You stay awake. Her lashes lifted halfway and dropped again. Whatever she was seeing, it wasn’t the room. The words came out small, half buried.

Mama, don’t go upstairs. His expression drew tight, and he went still over her for a moment, listening. His fingers went into her hair before he gave them permission to. They moved through it slowly, barely touching. He pressed his thumb to her jaw to rouse her. Come on, you need to wake up. Mama used to sing here.

Her mouth curved at something far away. I miss her. He kept stroking her hair and his voice came lower than before. Here. Did your mother come down here too, Anita? But her head rolled to the side, going slack against the pillow. No, don’t sleep. his jaw set. This can turn dangerous. Then he was moving. One arm slid under her knees, the other behind her back, and the room tilted as he lifted her off the bed.

She felt herself carried, set down on hard, wet stone, and then the spray came down over her, sharp and freezing. The towel came loose when he knelt beside her, leaving him in nothing but black boxes. He cuppuffed water in his hand and brought it over the cut, rinsing the blood from her brow while she shivered against the tile.

The cold hit her and her eyes flew open. What are you doing? Her teeth had started to chatter. I’m freezing. You’ve got a 2-in gash on your forehead. You hit your head hard. His hand stayed gentle at her temple. I shouldn’t have given you the wine. You can’t sleep on this. Isabella was coming back to herself, and it sharpened her tongue. Get off me.

She pushed at his arm like my life means anything to you. She tried to get her feet under her and swayed hard. His hand caught her at the waist before she went down. One cup of wine doesn’t do this to a person. He turned her face up to his and searched her eyes. Her whole body had begun to shake. I’m cold.

It came out smaller this time. Almost nothing. He gathered her up again and brought her back to the bed. The wet yellow linen clung to her. Her hair and the cloth soaked through. From the small cabinet in the washroom, he pulled out another towel. Sitting down beside her, where she lay still, half-dazed, he started on the buttons down the front of her dress.

Her hand came up against his. Don’t touch me. Os stopped and looked at her. Shock, head trauma, wine. You’re acting like you’re not all there right now, and you’re shaking. His voice stayed level, like a man doing a job he’d done before. I have to get you warm. I need to get the wet dress off you.

When the buttons gave, she was down to her underwear and her arms crossed over herself fast. Don’t look. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a woman’s body, Anita. He wrapped the towel around her and hung the soaked dress over the back of the chair. She stayed bundled up, still shivering, and he pulled the cover up over her.

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