I’m paralyzed. Held captive not justsomewhere, but in my own body. I can’t move, speak, or see.
I feel a bed beneath me, hear the sounds of rustling blankets, and feel the cool sensation of clean, soft sheets. I feel hands on me, tucking the blankets around me, touching my face and hair. Max’s voice again, begging for me to wake up.
Begging forme.
I’m safe,I think, as I sink into the warmth of the soft bed.I might be dying, but I’m with Max. He’ll keep me safe. If I can be saved, he’ll do it. He’ll protect me.
Somewhere in the delirium of my illness, that’s what comes through. That’s what enables me to let go, to sink down into the swirling darkness, even if I never come back up.
I know if there’s any way to save me, Max will find it.
And if not?
I cling to the last good memory I have as I lose consciousness, of Max’s hands on my body, his lips on mine, of him inside of me as I made him mine, on the one night I had with him.
That’s what I want to remember as I go.
Me–and the man I love.
Together.
2
MAX
“Sasha!”
I cry out her name as she falls, managing to catch her in my arms before she hits the ground. Her eyes have rolled back, showing only the whites, and when her skin touches mine, I almost recoil against how hot it is.
She’s limp in my arms, heavy, feverish. I can feel her shaking, and I’m terrified that she might have a seizure. I don’t know what’s happened to her–what changed between getting off the plane and now, and it’s hard to think past the fear clouding my mind.
I’d agreed to bring her here to keep her safe.If something happens to her because of this, I’ll never forgive myself.
Clutching her against my chest, I slowly make my way up the wide stone steps to the mansion. I’m halfway up when the ornately carved, wooden double doors that sit at the front of it open wide. A round woman half as tall as I am in a black dress belted at the waist bustles out, her forehead creased in concern.
“Maximilian?” She pushes a lock of iron-grey hair at her face, looking between me and Sasha, held in my arms. “Mi tesoro,I know you said you were bringing a girl with you, but I expected her to be on her own two feet.”
“Something’s wrong, Giana.” I look down at the estate housekeeper, a woman who used to be like an aunt or second mother to me, and who I haven’t seen in years. “She just–collapsed. Call a doctor, quickly. I’m going to get her upstairs.”
She casts a worried look at Sasha, who is so pale that her skin looks almost sickly, a greenish white. “There is a new doctor who makes house calls. I will see if he can come.”
“Tell him hewillcome,” I grit out. “The Agosti house doesn’t ask.”
Giana presses her lips together, but she nods. “Of course,tesoro. The second room on the right, on the guest floor, is made up for her. Take her up there while I call.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever traded on my family name. The first time I’ve ever used it as a command. It feels strange and wrong–the first step in a direction that I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t take. But for Sasha, I would do anything.
Anything to keep her safe.
Giana hurries ahead of me, calling out for her husband, Tommas, as she does so. She disappears into a room, and I head for the stairs, clutching Sasha against my chest. She feels hot to the touch, her skin dry and burning, and my heart pounds in my chest as I try to think of the reasons that she might have collapsed.
If more time had passed since our night together, I might have been afraid that she was pregnant, but I know that can’t be the case. As foolish as I’d been in forgetting to use protection or pull out–too caught up in the moment to stop and think about it, too driven by my body’s needs, it hasn’t been long enough. And she hadn’t shown any other signs of illness.
It doesn’t make sense.
I make my way up to the third floor of the mansion, where the guest rooms are located, above the floor that houses the master’s suite and library. The room that Giana mentioned is indeed ready for Sasha, freshly cleaned and smelling of citrus and spice. The curtains are thrown open to let in the Italian sunshine. I drag back the blankets with one hand, hearing Sasha’s low, miserable moan and something that sounds almost like mumbled words as I lay her down gently, tucking the blankets around her. I have no idea if that’s wise, with the fever she’s running, but I want her to be comfortable.
Her eyes are closed now, her breathing slow and labored, and my heart catches in my chest as I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, reaching for her hand. It feels small and delicate in mine, hot and fragile to the touch, and I can envision the fever burning her up, devouring her from the inside.