“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “I am.”
“Damn.” But she says it like a curse. “Jessa, are you sure about this?”
“Nothing is going to happen, Freya. He’s just concerned about me. I really have been sick today.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. And in fact, he’s been amazing this whole time. He spent most of the day just taking care of me.”
“Really?” She sounds extremely surprised, which makes me feel far too smug.
“Yes. It’s weird but nice. He’s genuinely being so… kind. And patient.”
“Okay, that’s… interesting.”
“You sound weird.”
She sighs. “Only because I’m worried about you.”
“We’ve established that he’s being nice,” I remind her. “He’s not going to hurt me. You and Chris are starting to sound like broken records now.”
“We’re only concerned about your safety,” she says.
Instantly, I feel like a bitch. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just… like I said, I’ve been sick all day. I think I just need to get some rest.”
“Of course,” Freya says. “I’ll let you get some sleep. But Jessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Promise me you’ll call me in the morning? Just so I know you’re okay?”
“Of course.”
We hang up, and I keep looking around the room. My thoughts spin, trying to find an ending to this story that doesn’t involve pain or heartache.
Both seem inevitable.
“Here you go,” Anton says, walking back into the room. He’s carrying a fluffy white robe, fresh towels, a new toothbrush, and some toothpaste. He places it all next to me on the bed. “Everything you need.”
“I still need clothes,” I point out.
“You can borrow some of mine tonight.” He walks to the door on the opposite side of the room and slides it open. Behind him is a walk-in closet complete with under-shelf lighting. He pulls out a pair of sweats with a drawstring around the middle and a well-worn t-shirt.
“You can sleep in these.” He hands them to me and then raises a brow. “Unless you’d rather sleep naked?”
He’s teasing me. Annoyingly, I like it.
That’s the thing about today—I like how attentive and caring he’s been. I like that he seems concerned, even protective of me. I like that we’ve spent hours together and it’s felt easy, it’s felt natural.
But it also makes me wonder why he’s doing all this. Why is he here at all when he can just leave me to the care of his household—or, more likely, kick me out to fend for myself?
I know the answer I’m hoping for, but I don’t want to indulge the thought too long. I don’t want it to turn into hope.
“Rest up,” he says before I can think of a reply, getting into bed next to me.
There’s at least a foot and a half between our bodies on the massive bed, but this feels extremely intimate. “You’re going to sleep in here with me?” I ask in surprise.
“This is my room, remember?”
“I could use another room, you know. You’ve got plenty.”
“Why would you do that?” he asks.
I want to ask him the same question. But I’m terrified of what the answer will be. So I close my eyes and let myself drift off.
But even my dreams are of him.