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“I know you'd sacrifice anyone if Caspian asked you to.” Her eyes flashed with something like disappointment. “Including me. That’s why you think I’d do the same, isn’t it?”

“And you wouldn't do the same for Gastone?” I countered, releasing her wrist but not backing away. “We're not so different, you and I.”

“The difference is I would stand for the right, the truth.” She stabbed a finger against my chest. “You act like you're better than them, more civilized, but you're just as brutal.”

My temper. “You think I'm pretending? Everything I've done is true to myself. Including how I've treated you.”

“By keeping me prisoner? By following me? By accusing me of betrayal the moment you see me doing something you don’t like?” Larissa's cheeks flushed crimson with anger. “That's not how you treat someone you care about, Giovanni.”

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration making my movements jerky. “What was I supposed to think? You disappear for hours, meet with a man who works for your brother, and come back acting like nothing happened.”

“You were supposed to trust me!” Her voice cracked on the last word. “After everything we've...” She swallowed hard. “I thought we were beyond this.”

“Trust is earned.” The words tasted bitter.

“And I haven't earned it?” She looked wounded now, the fight draining from her. “What more do you want from me, Gio?”

“I want—” I began, but stopped when I noticed her sway slightly. “Larissa?”

She blinked rapidly, one hand reaching for the back of the sofa. “I'm fine. Don't change the subject.”

But she wasn't fine. The flush of anger had drained from her face, leaving her unnaturally pale. A sheen of sweat had broken out across her forehead.

“You don't look fine,” I said, anger giving way to immediate concern.

“I said I'm fine.” She tried to straighten, to continue our argument, but her knees buckled.

I caught her before she hit the floor, my hands gripping her waist. She felt small and fragile against me, despite the fire in her eyes. “You're not fine. Sit down.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” she mumbled, yet she didn't resist as I guided her to the couch.

I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead. She didn’t have a fever, but she was weak. Very weak.

“I'm just angry,” she protested weakly and tried to stand, but she became dizzy, so I had to force her to sit again.

“Angry doesn't make you collapse.” I walked to her bedside table and brought back a glass of water. “Drink this.”

She took the glass with trembling hands, and I had to help her steady it. When had she last eaten? Had she been feeling ill before our fight?

“How long have you felt sick?”

Larissa sipped the water but avoided my eyes. “It came on suddenly. But… I was a little tired this morning.”

Could it be the stress that brought this on? I'd been bellowing at her, accusing her, when she might already have been unwell. My hands shook with the guilt of it.

“Let me help you to bed,” I said, setting the glass aside.

She looked about to argue, but closed her mouth when another wave of dizziness visibly washed over her. I didn't wait for permission, just scooped her into my arms and carried her over.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“I know you can,” I murmured into her hair. “But you don't have to.”

I gently placed her on the mattress and helped her out of her shoes. She shivered, and I pulled the comforter over her.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she asked, softly like a confused child. “You were just accusing me of betraying you.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, studying the defiance still lingering in her eyes even as exhaustion claimed her.