Page 144 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire

“You’re burning up,” I rasped against her forehead. I reached for the ibuprofen and handed her two pills. “Take this.”

She peeled her eyelids open, the gold specks in them dull looking. “I just want to sleep,” she murmured, not moving. Another shiver rolled through her.

“Open your mouth,” I instructed. This time she obeyed, and I put two white pills on her tongue, then lifted her head and brought the glass of water to her lips. “Now drink.”

She did as I said before I got up to fetch another blanket from the sofa and cocoon her into it.

“I can’t go to sleep,” she murmured as her eyes fluttered shut, sweeping her tongue over her lips. “Ares needs a bedtime story.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll read him a story and make sure he brushes his teeth.”

I watched her every night do her routine with him, even when I wasn’t at home. There were a few nights where we did it together. I was good with it. I could handle it.

“He likes to have one foot off the bed,” she muttered, her voice heavy with sleep. “So he can escape his bad dreams faster. Don’t force him… to… put it… under the covers.”

Odette was barely hanging on to her consciousness.

I kissed her head. “Sleep,” I told her. “I got this.”

She didn’t stir after that. Not when Ares kissed her goodnight or when we left the room. I left the television playing while getting my son ready for bed. My first time doing it alone. Definitely wouldn’t be the last.

After he brushed his teeth, he ran to bed and jumped on it, his tiny body bouncing against the mattress. The clouds Odette had painted all over the ceiling glowed in the dark. I had to admit, it was a nice touch.

“Okay, which book do you want to read?” I asked him as I sat on top of the duvet covered in trains and planes. I scooted back and crossed my legs.

“Thomas and the trains.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not tired of it yet, huh?” He shook his head, his eyes eagerly on the specific book. “Okay, then. Here we go.”

As I read the words about the imaginary friends, memories of my own bedtime stories so long ago flashed through my mind. Unlike my brothers and sister, there were rare times during my childhood our mother was able to sneak a story or two into our routine. They were few and far between—my father’s power-climbing agenda leaving her little time for anything—but those moments remained ingrained somewhere deep.

Just as promised, I left Ares’s foot dangling off the bed and out of the covers. He listened intently, his eyes drooping, until he was out with an innocent and happy smile on his face. He might be my spitting image, but Ares’s smile was all Odette.

Soft and sincere. Kind.

I returned to Odette and found her sound asleep. I brushed my knuckles over her cheek, and they seemed cooler now. Not as flushed. Even her rash had cleared.

Lifting her up into my arms, I carried her into our bedroom. Dr. Chen said to give her a cool bath if the fever spiked too high, but she didn’t seem as warm now.

“No bath. I think you need to sleep more,” I whispered, although it was clear she couldn’t hear me.

I tucked her into our big bed, pulling the covers over her shoulders. Every time she was in my bed—our bed—my chest swelled. She looked small and vulnerable, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the sight of her in it. It felt right having her in every part of my life.

Letting her rest, I went to take a quick shower. When I slid back into bed, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from Alessio.

*Both are detained. No bail.*

All would be well in the world. Soon.

Chapter60

Odette

Three days had passed.

The penicillin passed through my system, and I was back to normal. More or less. I still couldn’t believe that Marco—the boy who was our first friend when we moved to the French Riviera—had tried to kidnap me. Possibly kill me. He would have known about my allergy; it was a well-known fact when we were growing up.

It was him—with the help of his wife—who’d told Byron I had lost the baby six years ago. I thought he was protecting me. He wasn’t. He was sabotaging my happily-ever-after. He and Byron’s father had cost us—more importantly Ares—years without Byron. It was unforgivable.