31. Dante #2
“Good girl, Camille. You’re so brave.” After wiping away a smear of sticky liquid that popped out, Lucia flattens the back of her hand on Camille’s forehead.
She turns to me, her voice soft but urgent.
“Bring her to the bathroom. We need to get her temperature down before it affects her cognitive functions.” My fever is just as violent, but Lucia brings it down with two sentences that prove she can read my thoughts.
“This type of fever isn’t from eating non-child-approved sweets.
You usually go clammy and hypothermic when you consume too many chocolate liqueurs. ”
Monday morning felt far too long to wait until she spoke.
My heart stutters when I scoop Camille into my arms. The heat radiating off her scorches my arms and chest. She’s an inferno. I don’t think her body can take much more.
I hold her close, my hands cradling her head and legs, as I follow Lucia into the bathroom.
“You’re okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here,” I murmur when she struggles to keep her eyes open. She’s so hot that I monitor every shudder rolling through her body, confident convulsions aren’t far off.
Lucia moves ahead of us and turns on the shower.
Her hands don’t shake, but I don’t need to see her tremors to know they’re as strong as Camille’s.
She tests the water with her wrist before adjusting the faucet.
She waits until the temperature is perfect to lower Camille’s fever without shocking her system.
She nods once, a silent signal that everything is good to go, and I step forward. “She’s so hot.”
“She is.” Fear darkens Lucia’s unexpected green eyes when she brings them to mine, but that isn’t all I see. There’s determination, too. She won’t leave my side until Camille is safe.
Her unvoiced promise takes care of my panic more than anything else could.
I enter the shower fully clothed, uncaring about anything except the child in my arms. The water hits my back first, then my shoulders, before it gradually flows over Camille’s legs.
She whimpers a small, broken sound that cuts through me, but the rainbow you can’t have without a storm bursts through the dark clouds when she finalizes her reply with a faint whisper. “Daddy…”
I freeze, certain the fear rolling through me has me mistaking her husky whimpers for words. But then I see Lucia’s stunned expression, and I know she heard it too.
It’s the first time she’s spoken to me. Ever. The first time I’ve heard her voice directed at me, and the first time she’s reached out for me with words instead of hands.
With shock silencing me, Lucia joins us in the oversized shower. Her clothes are instantly soaked, but she doesn’t care. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here with you.” Cupping water in her hands, she pours it gently on Camille’s neck. “It’s just water. It’ll help you feel better.”
Camille’s eyes gradually flutter open, glassy and unfocused, before she weakly reaches for Lucia. The anger I shoved to the background of my mind vanishes when Lucia inches closer without hesitation. She supports Camille through this with both her hands and her heart.
As I watch my daughter and the only woman I fully trust with her, all the controversies of the past several weeks fade.
Anger overwhelmed me tonight because I tried to hide my fear behind it.
I wasn’t angry at Lucia. I was fucking terrified of losing her, and of someone hurting her so deeply that it would change who she is.
I should have known better.
My horrid show of cowardice tonight hurt Lucia, yet here she is, soaked to the skin, taking care of my daughter like she’s her own.
“Dante,” Lucia says, pulling me back to the moment. “We need to wet her hair.”
Nodding, I gently slant Camille’s head back so the water runs over her scalp. She whimpers again and clutches at my shirt, but when I press my lips to her forehead, ignoring the heat stinging my mouth, they simmer to husky breaths.
“You’re okay,” I remind her. “Daddy’s here.”
When Lucia’s cheeks flush during my last sentence, I look down at her. Her smile is for the archives. It’s the smile someone gives when witnessing a miracle. I smile right back because that’s exactly what’s happening.
I love my family. I’d die for them. But this… this needs to be treasured. Pursuing a relationship with Lucia might cost me everything, but you’re not born into whatever we’re building. You create it.
We stay huddled together in the shower for minutes, though it feels more like hours. Steam rises around us as the steady flow of water drowns out everything except Camille’s soft breaths and Lucia’s whispered affirmations.
Slowly, painfully so, the heat radiating from Camille’s skin diminishes, and her body relaxes enough for the tension in my shoulders to loosen.
Lucia brushes wet strands of hair off Camille’s forehead before checking her temperature again.
“She’s cooling down.” She peers up at me, her expression shifting from concerned to relieved. “That’s good. Really good.”
“Thank god.”
When our eyes meet and hold, the world narrows to just her and me, with the child unknowingly tethering us together. Her clothes cling to her body, and her hair is flat and lifeless from both the water and the wig she wore earlier, but she’s so fucking beautiful that my chest aches.
“I’m sorry,” I say before I can stop myself. The words come out rough but honest. “For what I said earlier. For yelling at you.” I push this past what happened tonight. “For everything.”
Shock filters across Lucia’s face. It could be hurt or perhaps even disbelief, but she doesn’t pull away like she usually does when things become too personal. She just nods before she lowers her eyes to Camille, and the fondness shining in her eyes doubles.