“I’m more than aware.”
As I rush toward the hallway, I sense that she’s hot on my heels. I don’t question her. She’ll probably be as concerned as I am about the state of Calli right now.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had to make use of the Cirillos’ discreet housekeeper, and something tells me that it might not be the last.
She steps into the den behind me, a soft gasp leaving her lips as we both stare at the passed-out girl on the sofa.
“Did they leave her here?”
I don’t respond. It’s not necessary.
Walking over, I take the bottle from her fingers before swallowing down a hit and placing it down.
Dropping to my haunches, I brush my fingers over her cheeks, my eyes taking in every inch of her face. Her make-up is flawless still. She looks beautiful, peaceful, and nothing like the defeated and beaten-down girl she did when I was watching her in here alone.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, needing to say the words, to acknowledge that all of this is my fault.
I should never have touched her. Should never have let myself have something so good in my life.
I hang my head for a beat, my self-hatred getting the better of me before I do what I came here to do.
Sliding my arms between her and the sofa, I lift her into my chest.
“Nikolas,” she whispers.
My heart fractures as that one word hits my ears, yet at the same time, something else feels like it slots back into place with her in my arms.
“I’m here, Angel.”
Coming to a stop, I rip my eyes from my girl and look up at Jocelyn, who’s standing in the doorway, watching us curiously.
Her eyes soften and a sad smile pulls at her lips.
She knows. She sees it. I’m pretty sure she always had, which is why she’s turned the other way when she’s caught me in Calli’s room, or left a door unlocked for me in the past.
“You need to fight for her,” she whispers.
“She’s not mine. She never will be.”
Jocelyn sucks in a breath.
“But she is. You just need to find a way to show the rest of the world.”
My eyes lift to the ceiling, gesturing to where Calli’s parents are sleeping somewhere above us.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, not willing to have this conversation right now. Or ever, to be fair.
“Have you at least told her how you really feel?” Jocelyn asks as I walk down the hallway toward the basement door.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper to myself. She can’t be mine.
“Life is too short to live with regrets and what-ifs.”
Her words repeat over and over as I descend the stairs with Calli still peacefully sleeping in my eyes.
“This is going to hurt in the morning, Angel,” I tell her as I lay her out on the bed, pressing my hands on either side of her head and staring down at her.
My heart races, my need to strip us both down to nothing and crawl into bed with her burning through me.
Something tells me that now Jocelyn knows I’m down here, she’d do anything to ensure we weren’t interrupted. But I still can’t risk it.
So in the end, I settle for just sorting her out.
I then drag the chair over from the corner and indulge myself in my favourite pastime of watching her sleep while she is blissfully unaware.