CHAPTER 21
Emma
Krusk was quiet as we drove to my grandma’s nursing home and I held my silence as well. I wasn’t sure what to say to him.
I’d heard about orcs and a theory had bubbled around in the back of my mind for a while, before I finally decided that I wouldn’t overthink anything.
If there was anything he wasn’t telling me, it would come to light eventually, and I would deal with it at that point.
There was no use in losing my mind about something that I didn’t know was real. Yet, anyway.
I glanced over at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking just as he cleared his throat and pointed ahead of us. “Almost there.”
Focusing on where he was pointing, my eyes widened. I’d been so distracted, I hadn’t even realized how far we’d travelled.
“Right,” I said with a nod. “Thanks so much for the ride.”
He hesitated, his eyes flitting to me and then back to focus on where the car was going. “I… I’ll wait for you,” he said, his voice uncertain even as I frowned.
“That’s okay,” I told him, shrugging. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take the bus back home.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” he said with a shrug. When I glared at him, he gave me a rueful smile. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”
Damn it. Why did he have to say that?
Heat rushed up my face and I looked away, toward the entrance gates. Nibbling on my lower lip, considering, I released a long sigh.
“Okay,” I said in a low voice.
“Thank you,” he murmured, as if I was the one who’d done a huge favor for him.
He pulled down the drive to my grandma’s nursing home and as usual, it felt like I was stepping into a different part of the city. It was surrounded by sprawling, manicured lawns like a stately manor—its cream-colored stone facade gleaming in the sunlight.
Wide glass doors opened beneath a sweeping portico, framed by columns and lush hanging ferns. A circular driveway curved around a tiered fountain, where luxury sedans idled as families came and went. Every window gleamed, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and freshly cut grass.
I always felt like an intruder when I came here. I usually took the bus to the nearby stop and walked in. I was certain most of the family members thought I was staff.
I didn’t care. I wasn’t here for them. I was here for my grandma. She was the only person that mattered.
When Krusk pulled up to the front doors in his sleek SUV, though, I had to admit that for the first time it might seem like I was here for a visit. I snickered to myself, shaking my head at Krusk when he gave me a curious look.
A young gajasimha opened the door with his trunk, bowing as he let me out of the SUV. “Are you coming as well, sir?” he asked Krusk. “If you give me the keys…” he trailed off as Krusk didn’t respond, looking at me instead.
“Oh,” I murmured, not sure what to do. Was I ready for him to meet the only person in my life who I loved?
No! She’ll see him and wedding bells will start chiming in her head!
Even as I had the thought, I felt myself nod. “Yeah, he’s coming with me.”
The joy that sparked into his eyes from a simple invitation melted my heart. I waited as he exited the vehicle, moving over to stand next to me, his chest puffed with pride at being chosen to join me.
Damn it, how am I going to keep my distance with him when I just want to hold his hand?
Even as I thought that, he linked our fingers together, giving me a soft, gentle smile as he twined them. He beamed at our hands before running his thumb over the skin at the back of my hand. “Ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble of sound.
I nodded, not paying attention to where I was going and finding myself being led inside by him. When we veer off into a section I’d never been before, I try to tug him away, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t meet her without a gift, Zemar. There’s a sign for information over here,” he told me and I struggled to stop myself from melting even more.
“I’ll let her know it was impromptu,” I told him, tugging harder on my hand until he was forced to stop or he’d hurt me. “There aren’t any presents for sale here. I’ll…” I cleared my throat, trying to force the sudden tears back.
He wants to bring her a gift. He wants to make a good impression. Gods, my heart is toast.
“I’ll let you know the next time I’m coming, okay? Let’s just see how today goes,” I explained. “And remember, we’re just friends.”
He nodded at me, but I could see the ideas swirling in his head. The ideas about more.
If only.
“Now hurry or she’ll yell at us,” I insisted, moving forward and leading him by our hands that were clasped together.
“Right,” he yelped, hurrying forward, scooping me up into his arms and rushing through the corridors. “Tell me where to go.”
I laughed, awed by his obvious strength along with the gentleness he showed me when he touched me. “Turn left,” I chuckled, staring up at the profile of his face, admiring his proud nose, his prominent tusks that had ridged carvings that I hadn’t noticed before.
I ran my fingers over one and he glanced down at me with a curious expression before I pointed at the elevators. “Over there. It’s the third floor.”
He nodded, heading in that direction and ignoring the way I’d been staring at him. “You can put me down now,” I squealed as he turned us into the elevator with an older male in the corner, eyeing us with amusement.
“Oh,” he faltered, hesitating for a long moment before he lowered me to the floor, his brow furrowed in a way that told me he hadn’t wanted to let me go.
It’s okay, big guy. I didn’t want to let you go either.
I pressed the button for my grandma’s floor and pretended that being carried into the elevator was completely normal even as the male rushed out of the doors as soon as we hit his floor. He peeked back at us as if speculating on our presence.
“Oh, we’re definitely going onto some kind of watch list,” I chortled, leaning back against the elevator as it moved up at a slow pace to the top floor.
Krusk sent me a questioning look, but I waved him off as the doors parted onto my grandma’s resident wing. Just like the exterior and ground floor, I was always blown away by the splendor of where she now lived.
It exuded a bespoke opulence, like a boutique hotel that had outgrown its need to impress. The hallway floors were polished hardwood in a deep mahogany tone, softened by gorgeous runners that muffled the footsteps of nurses as they made their rounds.
Along the walls, sconces cast a gentle, amber glow, highlighting framed watercolors—soft landscapes of countrysides and lakes. Each was carefully selected depending on where the residents were from.
Each suite-style room bore a discreet brass nameplate beside the door, engraved with elegant fonts. Inside, the rooms were anything but institutional.
Crown molding and high ceilings, with large bay windows that spilled golden sunlight across plush area rugs and tastefully upholstered armchairs. I made my way to my grandma’s knowing that the door would already be unlocked.
I swung the heavy wooden door open, knowing what I would see inside but also trying to see it from Krusk’s point of view. Based on what he knew of me, I was almost certain he was confused about how we were able to afford this level of elegance.
A muted palette of sage green and cream invited calm, while built-in bookshelves and a vintage record player allowed a touch of my grandma’s personality to shine through.
She had her own bathroom lined with heated marble floors and safety features so seamlessly integrated they seemed designed more for comfort than necessity.
Outside the French doors of her corner suite, a private terrace overlooked the manicured garden. When we’d first done the tour, she’d been delighted. It was so similar to the house she’d grown up in. The house that we’d been forced to leave.
She sipped morning tea from her porcelain cups while birds darted among the fountains and so far hadn’t had to worry about anything other than what she’d be having for dinner. It was the way I wanted it to stay.
The staff was one of the reasons that I adored this place for her. They were attentive without hovering. It helped her to forget that it was a nursing home. They were quietly invisible, handling her needs without her need to recognize them as staff directly.
Every interaction was laced with warmth and dignity. Conversations happened over the sound of a distant piano, always tuned, always playing something soft. They were so kind to her, and the nurse that had been directly assigned to her care was one of the reasons I had to ensure that she could stay.
She cared for her almost as if she was her own grandma, going above and beyond to ensure that she had everything she needed, contacting me if she had any suggestions or information that was pertinent. We both loved the teal-skinned naiad so much.
She was so dedicated to her job that she barely took any time off, and while I appreciated that she could be there with my grandma on the holidays that I couldn’t, I also knew that it must affect her personal life.
This place never felt like a nursing home to me. It was as though my grandma could continue her life without the stress that had been thrown on us a few years earlier. If I could give that to her, I always would.
“Grandma,” I called, tugging Krusk along behind me, “I brought you a guest.”
“A guest?” my grandma gasped from inside the beautiful kitchen.
The kitchen nook in her suite was more a statement than necessity—compact, exquisite, and barely used, yet always immaculate. It wasn’t the kind of kitchen where meals were made from scratch anymore.
Not like the one in our old home, where I’d sit at the kitchen island for hours, just watching my grandma as she whipped up creations that my young mind could barely fathom, but rather where tea was steeped in bone china and fresh fruit waited in cut-crystal bowls.
Cabinetry, custom-built in dove-gray maple with matte brass handles, hugged the walls in clean lines. Soft-close drawers held neatly arranged silverware, napkin rings, and an untouched spiral-bound recipe book that I had already made a copy of for myself.
A small but gleaming induction stove sat beneath a vent hood so silent it might have been ornamental.
Most residents didn’t cook anymore, but the option—a whisper of normalcy—remained.
If my grandma’s hands weren’t as fragile as they were from age and arthritis, she would have been one of the few that used it.
The countertops were veined marble that was cool to the touch and always spotless.
A tall display cabinet of tea pots, with matching sets of fine porcelain cups, stood proudly next to a kettle.
Above the sink, a narrow window framed a different view of the gardens below—a still life of roses and soft light.
A discreet under-cabinet refrigerator, stocked daily with cream, her favorite fruit preserves, and glass bottles of mineral water, hummed with barely a sound.
The microwave was cleverly hidden behind a paneled door.
While she had a beautiful sitting area, this was always where we met, and I appreciated the throwback to more familiar times.
As was usual for my grandma, there was no clutter, no crumbs and most definitely no evidence of rush or disorder. Everything was always returned to its place and there was never any sign that anyone had used a single plate or cup.
Even now, I lived in awe of this female who had raised me. The one who had been by my side whenever I needed a mother, and then after my father had passed, she’d stood by me in that role as well.