I backed away but my refusal to eat and drink caught up with me and my legs gave in. Mom gasped, reaching out to stop my fall. But my knees hit the floor before she could grab hold of my arms. Dad crossed the room in a blink and knelt beside me.
I tensed when he lifted me in his arms. “When have you last eaten?” he asked in a low voice.
I briefly glanced into his eyes then looked away and gave a small shrug.
“She’s dehydrated. I can tell from her skin,” Nino said as he stopped beside us. He reached for my wrist but I jerked it away. Dad’s grip on me tightened but he didn’t say anything.
“I want to feel your pulse, Greta,” Nino explained calmly.
“I don’t want you to touch me,” I said.
Nino glanced at Dad.
“I’ll take you up to your room now, Mia Cara, where you’re going to let your mother help you clean up and get dressed, and then Nino will take a look at you, and you’re going to eat and drink, understood?”
I blinked up at his dark, serious eyes, then glanced down at myself. I gave a nod.
“You stay here,” Dad said.
“Why?” Nevio groaned.
“Stay.”
Dad carried me upstairs, followed by Mom and Nino. He put me down on the marble floor of my bathroom but didn’t release my arms. “I can take over now,” Mom said in a pinched voice. A tense look passed between them but Dad finally released me and left the room.
Mom closed her eyes briefly then turned to me with a pretend smile.
She didn’t try to speak to me as she helped me undress. If she was bothered by all the blood on my clothes and skin, she didn’t show it. I supposed being married to Dad, she’d seen worse over the years. When we pulled down my tights, I winced at a sharp pain in my sole.
I had a cut under my foot that looked as if it was inflamed. “Nino will have to take a look at this,” she said neutrally. “Or would you prefer if I called a doctor?”
I immediately shook my head. Nino had always treated me when I was sick. I didn’t want someone I didn’t know taking care of me.
“Okay. That’s what I thought. I just thought I should ask considering everything that’s happened.”
I could tell that Mom was angry.
“Are you mad at me?”
She let out a sharp laugh and shook her head, her palm sliding over my hair as she began to rinse it with water. “No, why would I be?”
“But you’re mad.”
“I am.”
“At Dad.”
She held the shower head out to me and I took it and washed away the dirt and blood while Mom gathered a fluffy bathrobe.
“Why are they the way they are?”
“I don’t know.” Mom held the robe out to me. I wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. Her blue eyes were soft as they settled on mine, but her mouth was set tight with worry. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her blond hair was a mess. “I wish you hadn’t seen what you did. I wish I could take this burden from you.”
“Why would you think you can carry it better than I do?” I asked, honestly curious.
Mom smiled. “I don’t think I do, but I think I should. I’m your Mom. I want to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection from Nevio, Dad and Nino.”