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She smiles widely, but it's not like the smiles at dinner. It's full of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Parker. I thought I forgot it. On the sofa, please."
He nods and tries to take a step inside, but I hold a hand out to take the gray blanket from him. Why? I don't fucking know. All I know is the less he's around my… fiancé, the better.
"Mr. Giordano-"
God I fucking hate that.
"Now you don't even want me totouchyour fucking blanket?" I growl, not taking my eyes off Parker.
"No, I don't."
She doesn't meet my gaze, but her thumb taps to each of her fingers, counting them over and over again, then cursing herself when I see she's noticed that I notice.
What is she hiding?
Why is she nervous?
Is it me?
"Fine." I step to the side and allow Parker to walk through the threshold, where he strides to the sofa and neatly places it over the sheets and comforter already there, folding the corner like I assume she likes so she can simply slip into it and fall straight to sleep.
He lowers his voice, and my ears strain to hear, but I can't. Whatever he says causes her cheeks to flush with heat again. Her eyes swiftly dart to me and back. Parker steps around me, leaving and closes the door behind him.
"You know I have to ask now, don't you?"
"You really don't."
"What's with the blanket, Sabrina?"
She shivers at the sound of her name on my lips. Mentally, I pound my chest in pride like a fucking Neanderthal. "I just like my things. Okay?"
I eye the blanket then her, then eye the blanket again. "It's not pink."
"They didn't have it in pink." That's probably the only truth she's told today. She goes to the bathroom to take out her contacts (another lie - I bet she really does need the glasses). I go to the pullout before she comes back and notice the blanket is heavy. I get into the king-size Pepto Bismol bed and make myself comfortable. She walks back out and heads straight to the sofa bed.
"It's weighted." I state matter-of-factly.
"Yes. Goodnight." She replies, scooting as deep into the middle of the mattress as she can, tugging it around her like a protective barrier, turning on her side, and closing her eyes.
"What's your parents' story?" I ask, turning out the light, and big fucking surprise - she has a pink nightlight in the fucking corner. I do my best to ignore the agitation building within me. It's fine. I can pretend it's the city lights of the skyline pouring in through the windows of my penthouse.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat, like I'm unaware I shouldn't interrupt a woman when she's trying to sleep. I had a mother. I remember. I'm pretty sure it's included in the fine print of the Geneva Convention or the Ten Commandments.
Thou shalt shut the fuck up when a woman is sleepy and let her rest.
I hear her sigh from where she's curled up under that heavyass blanket. "Mum and Derek were sweethearts from what Americans call seventh grade until their senior year of high school. Unfortunately, my mother was arranged to marry my father when she was just twenty. But the contract had been signed when she was seventeen."
"I thought the Syndicate didn't allow divorces."
It's quiet for a few heartbeats but then, "When my brother died in a drowning accident,Daddy Dearestno longer had an heir to take his place as a legacy within the Syndicate’s American chapter... so the divorce was granted. She came back here and, well... it took them only three months to get married after the divorce was finalized. Derek was there for us in a way my father wasn’t. Helped her a lot though the grieving process."
“Who helped you?” I ask, I close my eyes, willing myself not to think of the hardest loss I ever felt. My father could die today, and I wouldn't feel his loss half as bad as I did my mother’s.When she doesn’treply after a few seconds I simply say, "I'm sorry for your loss." and it’s actually sincere.
"Yeah, me too." She replies sleepily, soft snores sounding off, letting me know she's out.
It feels like I've barely slept a wink when I wake up to soft whimpers.
They're not harsh or loud or frightening noises. But then I hear a soothing“Shh, Sabrina. You're safe. It's okay.”