Chapter Twenty-Two
Lyriope
Iopen myeyes all the way and let out a sigh of relief. I am in a large bed with massive posts on each corner. I smile seeing the wood on the bed is intricately carved with flowers and vines, small butterflies and birds. I’m back in my old room in Nick Hudson’s mansion, and it feels safe. Turning my head slowly, I see the same beautiful workmanship on the headboard, where several fluffy pillows are stacked. I might be in a very comfortable bed with soft cotton sheets and an all white comforter lying over me, but the carvings remind me of my past with Nick.
I swing my feet over the side of the bed, pausing a moment to allow the blood to rush back to my legs. I don’t exactly feel strong, but once again feel grateful I don’t have a pounding headache and am not in need of medical care from the blow to my head. Taking small steps and reaching out for the wall in case I get dizzy, I make my way to the bathroom. I pause to stare at my reflection in the mirror and cringe. I have a small gash on my forehead—though nothing to be really alarmed about. If it scars, it’ll be a small one and I’ll consider it a battle wound—a reminder of the fact that Nick and I… the two of us have survived together. I am far more concerned about the large purple and black goose egg at my temple. My eyes have dark circles under them, and my hair is a matted mess, reminding me of Medusa’s writhing snakes. I look like I have just weathered a huge storm—which,in all reality, I have. How Nick can have feelings for the woman staring back at me, I have no idea. But I do plan to clean myself up so the next time he lays eyes on me, I will be somewhat decent in appearance.
Moving to the shower, turning on the tap to start the hot water, I finally allow the events of last night to sink in. Once steam rolls out of the stall, I step in, gasping at the heat but grateful for it. Without warning, suddenly my tears join the water that’s streaming over my head as I finally break.
Within moments, I’m sobbing, gasping for air that refuses to fill my lungs. Stepping back, I press against the cooler tiles of the wall, sliding down them until my butt meets the floor. Drawing my knees up, I wrap my arms around them, burying my face in my arms, not thinking, just releasing the emotion that refuses to be trapped inside me any longer.
This isn’t how things were supposed to happen. This isn’t what I had hoped for. Did I expect to be Daddy’s girl? No. But I did think we would somehow connect. I would eventually be seen as a Morelli and welcomed into the fold. When the attack happened and bullets were flying, my own father did nothing to protect me. He didn’t reach out to cover me, he didn’t grab my head to force me to duck. No. He only worried about himself and his protection. He didn’t even look at me when the glass of the car shattered, and I screamed. He simply worried about himself. Self-preservation over his own daughter. Flesh and blood does not exist when it comes to Bryant Morelli.
I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here when I let out a small scream, my body jerking.
“Shh, you’re all right. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
My heart’s pounding, and I can’t seem to stop shaking. My teeth are chattering hard enough that I’m afraid I’ll bite my tongue off. Before I can process the fact that I’m no longer alone, Nick has stripped off his clothes and has stepped into the stall.He pulls me up and turns me around, my back to his chest as he moves me beneath the water. Warmth surrounds me, the hot water steaming over my front, his body heat against my back.
“I’ve got you.”
The words are simple. The words are fact.
Nick does have me. He’s never faltered once. If it weren’t for Nick, I’d be dead right now. If it weren’t for Nick, I’d be forgotten on the side of a street, a nameless victim of an attack.
Yes, nameless. I’m no longer Lyriope Bailey. That woman died long ago, vanished the minute she entered this new world of luxury, sin, crime, vengeance, and… the life of a Morelli. But nameless because no one would claim me as a Morelli if I were to have died last night. I’d just be the nameless girl in the bullet-ridden car.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, worry washed all over his face.
When my shudders turn into only the occasional shiver and my tears stop flowing, he takes a washcloth, soaps it, and begins washing me gently. I don’t know what to feel. Shock, comfort, pain, ease, or simply lost.
“He would have let me die,” I confess to Nick. “I have no doubt about it.”
“He’s an asshole.”
I nod, close my eyes, and take a deep, soothing breath.
“I had high hopes,” I add. “I really had hoped for…” I swallow back a sob threatening to escape from the back of my throat. “Love. I was hoping for love.”
He kisses the top of my head and holds me closer.
“I know.” His voice is low, soft, but comforting.
He does know. He does understand. If there is anyone in this world who understands how I feel, it’s him. Being on a constant search for love is exhausting and most likely impossible. Nickknows this. He’s on the same hunt for the nonexistent that I am on.
Two lost souls.
I turn to face him so I can look up into his eyes. “Thank you, Nick. Thank you for saving me, and thank you for saving him. You may feel he didn’t deserve it, but—”
“There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you. Even saving that fucker’s life.” The softness of his face has now returned to the Nick I know. A wicked gleam in his eyes and a slight smirk of his lips. “He doesn’t deserve your kindness and grace, but I love that you are so free with giving it out to all.”
I try not to glance down but can’t help it. His thick cock is already hard, and my pussy contracts at the thought of what he could do with it, and how he could master my body with just one simple thrust.
“You’re distracting me from my shower,” I tease, wanting to change the subject away from Bryant.
“I’m not sure you should be up and out of bed yet. If you want to shower, you shower with me,” he declares, reaching for the shampoo bottle. “That way, if you get dizzy or weak, I’m here to catch you.”
I like the sight of Nick in all his mouthwatering glory. Wet tattoos are sexier than dry ones.