Chapter 41 Jess
Jess
The hardest month of my life isn’t the one where my socials tanked and I lost half my views in a week.
It’s not even the one where I got lost in the woods as a kid and thought I’d die drinking creek water.
No. The hardest month of my life is the one where I sleep in a glorified closet on Ben’s floor while the man I love hides from me in a hospital room and his five-year-old daughter wakes up screaming every other night.
The one where I spend my days trying to homeschool that same traumatized daughter in a sterile room down the hall from her father, pretending coloring worksheets matter when a bear nearly kill him.
The one where I listen to Marco... beautiful, controlled, Michelin-star Marco... begging nurses for morphine like his life depends on it. Which, let’s be honest, it kind of does when your face has been ripped off and reattached.
And yeah, let’s not forget the actual bear attack itself. That fun little wilderness adventure that turned me into someone who can spray a grizzly in the face and feel absolutely nothing except pure fucking rage.
So yeah. This month wins the crown for absolute worst.
When Marco could finally go home, I should’ve felt relief. Should’ve been counting down the hours until we could leave that antiseptic-smelling nightmare behind.
Instead I’m standing in the foyer of his West Village townhouse watching Jag help Marco up the stairs like he’s made of glass, and all I can think is: This is going to get worse before it gets better.
“Jess?” Ben tugs my hand. Frederick is wedged under her other arm, looking more worn than usual. “Is Daddy going to be okay now that we’re home?”
I crouch down to her level. Force my face into something resembling confidence. “Yeah, sweet girl. He just needs some rest.”
Lies. Such pretty lies.
But what am I supposed to say?
Actually, your dad’s been shutting everyone at arm’s length for weeks and even though the doctor said he could take off his facial bandages, he apparently refused. So I have no idea what to expect now that we’re home, but my gut says it’s not going to be a cheerful family reunion?
Yeah. That’ll help her sleep tonight.
The temporary live-in arrangement Elena drafted means I’m still bunking in that tiny room next to Ben’s.
Which honestly? I don’t know if I’m relieved or dreading.
On the one hand, I get to stay close to Ben.
On the other hand, I’m about to find out what living with Marco post-bear-attack actually looks like.
Neli appears from somewhere upstairs. That calm, no-nonsense energy radiating off her like she’s got the whole situation under control.
I sure wish I had even a fraction of her composure.
“Mr. Fiore is settled,” she announces. “I’ll be doing the evening dressing change in about an hour. He’s requested privacy during the procedure.”
Requested. Right. That’s one way to put “demanded everyone stay the hell away.”
“Can I see him?” Ben asks. Her voice is so small it physically hurts.
Neli’s expression softens. Just a fraction. “Let me check, okay? Your daddy might need a little time first.”
Ben nods. Accepts this with the kind of resignation no five-year-old should have mastered yet.
I stand. My knees protest. Turns out spending a month sleeping on a hospital chair and then a glorified cot at night does things to your joints. Who knew?
Neli disappears back upstairs. Ben wanders toward the kitchen where Rosa is probably already prepping dinner. Frederick gets dragged along for the ride.
I should follow. Should make sure Ben eats something. Should maintain the routine we’ve carefully constructed over the past few weeks of absolute chaos.
But instead I sink onto the bottom stair and drop my face into my hands.
Focus, Jess. You can fall apart later. Right now you have a job to do.
Except I’m not sure what my job is anymore. Nanny? Sure. Emotional support human? Apparently. Unwitting participant in whatever psychological horror show is about to unfold? That one wasn’t in the contract Elena drafted, but then again, neither was surviving a bear attack.
My phone buzzes. A text from Ethan: Hey! Heard Marco got discharged today. Everything good? He’s not answering my texts.
I stare at the screen. My big brother. Always checking in. Always steady. Even when I’m anything but.
I type back: Define good.
Three dots appear immediately. That bad huh? Want me to swing by?
My throat tightens. God, I want to say yes. Want him to show up with his paramedic calm and big brother energy and just... fix this somehow. But what’s he going to fix? Marco’s face? Ben’s nightmares? The fact that I have no idea what version of Marco is waiting on the other side of coming home?
Not tonight. Tomorrow maybe? Ben would love to see you.
The response comes fast: Tomorrow then. Hang in there Jess.
I exit the text thread and immediately open another one.
This one from Amara: How’s he doing?
I stare at the screen. Finally: Home now. Taking it day by day.
Three dots appear and disappear and appear again. Finally: And how are YOU doing?
Oh. That’s a loaded question.
I exit the text thread without answering.
Footsteps on the stairs. I look up expecting Neli.
It’s Jag instead. His expression is carefully neutral but I’ve spent enough time around Marco’s security to read the signs.
Something’s wrong.
“He wants to see Ben,” Jag says. “Just Ben. For a few minutes.”
Just Ben.
Not me. Just his daughter.
“Okay.” I stand. Brush off my jeans even though there’s nothing to brush off. “I’ll get her.”
Jag nods. Doesn’t move from his post at the top of the stairs.
When you realize the security team is now also functioning as emotional bodyguards keeping you away from the man you’re in love with.
I find Ben in the kitchen. She’s sitting at the island watching Rosa make something that smells amazing. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since this morning.
“Hey, piccola,” I say. “Your daddy wants to see you.”
Her face lights up. First genuine smile I’ve seen in days.
She slides off the stool. Frederick comes with her obviously. They’re basically attached at this point.
She pauses at the hallway entrance when she realizes I’m not going with her. “You’re not coming, too?”
“He just wants to see you,” I explain gently. “He’s still pretty tired.”
The smile dims but doesn’t disappear completely. “Oh. Okay.”
Jag escorts her upstairs. I watch them go. Watch the door to Marco’s room open just enough for a small body to slip through.
Then it closes.
And I’m standing there like an idiot wondering what the hell I’m doing here.
Twenty minutes pass. Maybe thirty. I lose track.
When Ben finally emerges, her face is blotchy. She’s been crying.
My heart cracks straight down the middle.
She doesn’t say anything. Just comes down the stairs and wraps her arms around my waist. Buries her face in my stomach.
I hold her. Stroke her hair. Count breaths with her like we’ve practiced a thousand times.
One. Two. Three.
When she’s calmer I kneel down. “You okay?”
She shakes her head. Tears still streaming. “I saw... Neli took off... I saw his face...”
I hug her tighter. “Was it scary? Seeing his face?”
A nod this time.
Oh Marco. What are you doing to this kid?
“It’s going to heal,” I tell her. Which might be a lie. I have no idea how bad the scarring is. I’ve only ever seen the bandage. “Your daddy is very strong. And brave. Just like you.”
She nods again. But the tears don’t stop.
Neli appears at the top of the stairs.
I catch her eye and mouth the words: What did she see?
Neli’s expression instantly locks down. She shakes her head once.
Can’t tell me.
Won’t tell me.
HIPAA probably.
Or loyalty to Marco.
Both, maybe.
But the pain in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.
It’s bad.
Really bad.
Bad enough that a five-year-old who’s already processing bear attack trauma and dead mother trauma came out crying.
I take Ben to her room. Read her stories until she falls asleep. Frederick tucked beside her like a tiny guardian snail.
Then I stand in the hallway staring at the door to Marco’s room.
I should knock. Should check in. Should do something other than stand here like a creeper in my own employer’s house.
Except he’s not just your employer anymore, is he?
Right. That’s the problem.
He’s the man who worshipped my body on a cabin floor. Who counted breaths with me when I admitted my darkest fear. Who stepped between me and a charging bear without hesitation.
And now he won’t even let me see his face.
At this rate, the only person who gets face time with Marco Fiore is Neli. Lucky her. Maybe they’re having a torrid affair behind closed doors while she changes his bandages.
Yeah, that’s definitely what’s happening.
Because nothing says romance like antiseptic and wound care.
God, I’m losing it.
Downstairs, Rosa has left dinner. I eat mechanically. Taste nothing. Clean up. Check on Ben one more time.
Still sleeping. Good.
It’s nine pm when I finally work up the courage to go back upstairs.
Neli is just leaving Marco’s room. She’s carrying supplies. Fresh bandages. The smell of antiseptic follows her.
“How is he?” I ask.
“Healing.” Her expression is neutral. “I convinced him to remove the facial bandages permanently... he’ll heal faster that way. The shoulder and arm will stay wrapped for a while longer.”
Off. The facial bandages are off.
Which means behind that door is Marco’s actual face. Not the version wrapped in gauze. The real damage.
“Can I see him?”
Neli pauses. “He’s resting.”
I don’t back down. “That’s not what I asked.”
She studies me. Some kind of calculation happening behind those calm eyes.
“He’s not ready for visitors,” she finally says, more gently. “Give him time.”
Time. Right. Because that’s worked so well over the past few weeks.
I wait until Neli is gone. Then I knock.
Silence.
I knock again. Harder. “Marco. I know you’re awake.”
More silence.
Then: “What do you need?”
His voice is different. Flatter. Coming from somewhere deep in the room. Not near the door.
I press my ear against the wood. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you. Would you like to start our nightly debriefs again?”
I hear footsteps, and step away from the door expectantly.
But the door only opens a crack.
That’s right, just a crack. Maybe half an inch.
The room behind is dark. Lights completely off except for maybe a lamp somewhere throwing shadows.
I can see fingers at the gap. His right hand. The one that’s not bandaged.
I stare at it. At the fingers that traced patterns on my skin. That held mine through surgery after surgery.
“No, Jess.” I hear his words. “Please. Just leave me be. Do your job. Take care of Ben.”
Do my job.
So I’m just an employee to him, now. Everything we had... gone.
I’m just Ben’s nanny.
Speaking of Ben...
“You’re scaring her, you know.” The words come out before I can stop them. “With all the rules, the hiding.” I don’t mention that she cried after seeing his face. “Control isn’t care, Marco. Care is you. Your face. Your voice. Being present. Not hiding in a room all day.”
“Have you been talking to Gideon King?” The question sounds almost amused. Almost.
“Who?”
He sighs. “Never mind. Just a friend who once told me the exact same thing. Great minds think alike, I guess. I was great, too. Once.”
“And you’re still great,” I tell him.
He doesn’t answer. I hear something that sounds like a sob from behind the door, and my heart goes out to him.
I want to push harder. Want to shove this door open and force him to look at me.
But I don’t. Because I’m not sure I’m ready to see what’s on the other side either.
“Good night, Jess.” The door closes.
Not a slam. Just final.
I stand there like an idiot staring at wood grain.
Well that went well. Really nailed the whole ‘emotional support’ thing.
My phone rings. Elena.
I answer. “Hey.”
“Jess. Quick question. Your temporary live-in arrangement was supposed to end today. But given that Ben will be staying home from school indefinitely while Mr. Fiore recovers, we’d like to extend it. Would that work for you?”
Oh. I didn’t know it ended today. I guess I hadn’t really read the contract additions... everything had been such a blur at the time.
I close my eyes. Lean against the wall.
So now I have a choice.
I can stay.
Or go.
I should say no. Should tell Elena I need boundaries. Need space. Need to not live in a house where the man I love won’t even open a door to look at me.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow. “I can do that.”
“Wonderful.” Her voice is far too cheery for me. “I’ll have the paperwork ready tomorrow.”
She hangs up.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor outside Marco’s room.
From inside I hear nothing. No movement. No sound.
Just silence.
I can sense Jag lingering down the hall, watching, but not interfering. How long has he been there?
Doesn’t matter.
None of it matters.
This is my life now.
Living in the same house as someone who’s decided to disappear.
When the algorithm of your life chooses to show you exactly how much rejection you can take before you break.
Spoiler alert: I haven’t found my limit yet.
But I’m getting close.