: Chapter 90

Warmth seeps into my center and my subconscious relishes the feeling.

I’m still in that place between sleep and wakefulness, in that place where reality can’t hurt me, and yet I know this is the most comfortable I’ve been since…

My mind shoves against me, telling me not to think about that.

Wanting to keep this happiness, fake or not, I let my mind win. Pushing out the bad thoughts as I settle into the calm. Tightening my hold on Savannah.

My hold…

Slowly, like swimming though honey, I piece it together.

The warmth is real.

The feeling of belonging is real.

Savannah in my arms is real.

My eyes snap open. And there, spread out over my chest, is golden hair.

I should push her away. Or pull away, slip out of bed and leave.

I should hold her tighter.

And that’s what I do.

I hold her as close as I can.

I hug her against my side and keep her right where she is.

I breathe her in. Let her soft scent fill my lungs.

Because she’s here.

With me.

She’s here and I don’t even know how.

I made sure, double checked, that I was the only one with access to this room.

Nero. Of course it was Nero.

But even if this is just a passing moment. A fleeting moment where Savannah felt bad enough for me to offer me comfort, I’ll take it.

I’ll take it greedily.

Her left arm is draped over my chest, her brace resting on top of me.

With my free hand, I ghost my fingers over the outline of the uncomfortable hard material.

I’d left the windows uncovered, and the room is filling with early morning light.

I don’t know how long she’s been here, but I feel like I’ve finally slept for the first time in forever.

I trace one of the thick Velcro straps.

I can’t stand the fact that she’s still hurt. That she’ll carry this injury for several more weeks. If I could switch with her, exchange bodies, take all her pains, I would. But since I can’t, I’m just thankful it wasn’t her other hand. I’m not happy with how much she’s been taxing herself in the studio, but I am glad she still has that outlet. Because if she couldn’t paint…she wouldn’t be Savannah.

“The sound was the worst part.” Her quiet voice makes me freeze. It’s soft, but not groggy. Like maybe she’s been awake this whole time. “Right before you got there.” Her fingertips press into my skin. “Right before you got there and stopped him, my wrist connected with the stairs, and I heard it before I felt it. It was this awful crunch sound, and I knew it was broken.”

I swallow, and lower my hand to the mattress, not wanting to accidentally hurt her more.

She continues. “When you reached for me…” My body tenses at her words. “Stop that,” she reprimands me gently, rubbing her hand in a small circle. “When you reached for me, it was my broken arm that was raised. I wasn’t scared of you, King. Even when we met, when I probably should’ve been scared of you, I don’t think I was.” My eyes stay on the top of her head. Wanting to see more of her, but grateful that she can’t see me. “And the part of me that wasn’t in the process of passing back out, thought that you’d probably lose your mind if you touched me, and I screamed in pain. So, I pulled away. In hindsight, I should’ve just let you feel bad for hurting me, rather than…all of this.”

Her words make sense.

And I want to believe her.

But… I don’t know if I do.

“Will you let me show you something?” Her question is quiet, and I can feel her bracing for my rejection.

I nod, and even though she can’t see me, she must feel my agreement.

My hands automatically go to her shoulders to help her sit up, so she doesn’t use her hand. And I realize that she’s wearing…my clothes.

The same outfit I dressed her in when I took her home from the hospital.

The rotten organ inside my chest squeezes.

I’ve spent two weeks convincing myself she hates me.

Is it possible…

Without further explanation, Savannah walks across the room, pressing her thumb to the lock pad. The door opens, and she leaves it that way as she walks out into the hall.

Whatever she wants to show me must be somewhere else.

I don’t know why my first thought was that she wanted to show me another injury. It’s not like I didn’t catalog every single scrape on her body when we were at the hospital.

Snatching a pair of sweatpants, matching the ones Savannah’s wearing, I hurry to drag them up my legs because whatever conversation we’re about to have feels like I should be wearing more than red silk boxers.

But since I feel like I’ve already taken too long, I don’t bother with a shirt.

By the time I make it into the hall, Savannah is already rounding the top of the stairs.

And my throat closes.

I sprint to catch up.

She shouldn’t be on the stairs by herself.

At the sound of my footsteps thundering behind her, Savannah stops halfway down the flight and turns to look up at me.

She’s standing in the middle of a step, twisted around.

“Dammit, Savannah!” I’m taking the steps three at a time to get to her, the thick carpet muffling the noise. “Hold the railing!”

She widens her eyes at me, like I’m being crazy.

“I mean it,” I snap. And when she smiles, I narrow my eyes. “I will tear the whole staircase out and replace it with an elevator. Don’t test me.”

Savannah rolls her eyes, “This carpet is so thick, I could fling myself off the top and land at the bottom without a bump.”

Then, she does a little hop. Just enough to get an inch of air under her feet before they connect again with the step, but it’s enough to take ten years off my life.

My arm darts out, and I circle her waist, pulling her back to my front.

I can’t even string together words. It’s just curses, as I haul her down the rest of the stairs, her feet dangling above the treads.

It’s not lost on me that this is how we started. That I carried her just like this when I stole her. But I’m too stressed to focus on it. Too close to a fucking heart attack to think about anything but getting her feet safely on the ground.

When we reach the bottom, I hesitate for a moment before putting her down. Enjoying the feeling of her against me too much.

But when my body starts to react, I lower her to the floor.

The last thing she needs is me pawing at her right now.

She looks up at me, unspoken words swirling behind her eyes. But instead of voicing them, she grabs my hand with her good one. “Come on.”

My fingers tighten around hers.

I feel like such an idiot as I follow her through the house. Like I should be more caught up to whatever this situation is that I’m in. And maybe it’s the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed over the past several days, or maybe I just am a fucking idiot. But I’m lost.

Lost as to why she’s being nice to me.

As to why she’s holding my hand.

We turn to head through the kitchen and that’s when my idiot brain puts it together that we’re going to her studio.

Cici is standing at the island, making some type of pastry dough. And as we pass, she looks up. Her eyes going from me to Savannah, then back to me, and dropping lower.

“Eyes off my husband, please.” Savannah says casually, as she continues to pull me in her wake.

Is she…was that jealousy?

I stay quiet as we close in on the studio.

I’ve been tempted to come in here at night, to check on her. To watch her sleep. But I knew she brought Duke in here each night on her own, and I didn’t want him to alert her to my presence. So, I haven’t been in here. Not since her lion collection filled the room.

Savannah opens the door and drops my hand so she can walk through first.

But she just steps to the side, not actually showing me anything.

“What…” My eyes catch on a bright red canvas.

I step further into the room.

The large canvas is covered corner to corner in shades of red. And the object in the center of the painting…

Unspoken words wrap around my throat.

It’s a crown.

A crown, perfectly sculpted out of paint. The slashes of burgundy looking like streaks of blood dripping from the shiny surface.

It’s harsh. And bold. And violent.

But also somehow warm.

Is this what she…

My eyes slip past the red, and lock onto the next canvas.

I step forward.

This one is a multicolored sunset background, with a crown so perfect and gold, it looks like it’s floating. Like I could pluck it out of the air.

I turn, slowly moving in a circle, taking in the complete collection.

There are so many.

A crown that looks to be made of smoke, lying in the grass.

A crown tipped on the edge of a motel vacancy sign.

A crown sitting on top of a giant diamond ring.

My breath is choppy.

It’s our moments.

All of our moments together.

There’s a smaller one, and I have to step closer to see what it is.

A gummy bear. A ridiculously realistic pink gummy bear with a crown on his head.

I don’t…

I don’t understand.

There’s one more, over in the corner. And it’s different.

All of Savannah’s paintings are unframed. The canvas stretched around the wooden structure, so she can paint all the way around the edges, so there’s no visible frame.

Except for this one.

This one is all white. A simple image of a crown in shades of white on a white background, just like the one…

I step forward and touch the dark wood that’s been attached to the outside of the canvas. My fingers coming back tinged black. Because the wood is charred.

Because it’s the frame from the painting she burned.

The frame of the painting that started it all.

And now it’s here.

I turn to face Savannah, who’s only a few strides away.

There’s a torrent of emotions crashing inside my chest, so I say the only word I can manage. “Why?”

She lifts one shoulder, “Because I fell in love with you.”