Chapter 48 | Anna
We’d fallen into an easy rhythm. All of us had. It surprised me how normal could reassemble itself.
I found out quickly Ludwig was grumpy when he didn’t get his gourmet coffee first thing in the morning.
Like the beans were the only thing standing between him and a felony.
But aside from that, what was fantastic about him was that he knew all the local restaurants and brought the most delicious food.
My favorite was a meatloaf sandwich with a name I could neither pronounce nor remember.
Ulrich was the ever-present calm voice of reason.
Nothing rattled him. He preferred his coffee black, and he loved German beer and soft pretzels.
Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d catch him having a late-night snack of them.
Sometimes, I’d join him. We didn’t always talk.
We didn’t have to. That was nice. Not having to fill the silence.
And Kincade… well, he was stubborn and mouthy and getting his meds down his throat was like trying to give a cat a pill. He had claws. And they were sharp. We argued about that more than once.
And then after we’d argue, he’d give me a look that said I’m sorry in a language he refused to speak. Fine by me. I spoke that language fluently now. Both of us knew it would be a cold day in Hell before he said it out loud with words.
Two weeks had passed. My shoulder still pulled when I reached too high. The bruises at my throat had turned from deep purple to sickly green. And the back of my head where I’d smacked into the rack had reached a dull soreness. Progress. Everything was healing. Even me.
And every day I still flung open the French doors to the courtyard and stood in the doorway listening to the murmuring fountain.
Smelling the sunbaked earthiness of the flagstone as it warmed.
Hearing the faint twitter of birds. To my surprise, he never complained about that.
He needed it, too. The light. The air. The reminder there was still beauty somewhere.
It was my diabolical plan to give him sun and fresh air. If he realized that, he never said. He indulged me. Which should have been my first clue he’d been planning something.
I was doing my normal doorway hover—half ritual, half compulsion—when I heard movement behind me.
I turned to see him rising out of the bed, barefoot in gray sweatpants and a worn black t-shirt, walking toward me.
I stiffened, resisted the urge to reach for him.
He was a grown man. He didn’t need me to baby him.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t sound convinced. Neither was I. He sounded like he was trying to convince me.
I wondered for half a second if he read that in my mind or if I was that transparent. Who was I kidding? I was that transparent.
“Should you be walking?”
“No, but I’m doing it, anyway.”
He joined me in the doorway with one arm pressed against his side like he could hold himself together through sheer will. I looked up at him, apprehension rolling through me. Like any second he’d collapse. My heart was already braced for it.
But he didn’t.
His gaze was fixed on the courtyard. There was enough morning light that it glinted in his eyes, making them flicker from that muted green to blazing gold. A reminder that nothing about him was normal.
“You like it here,” he said, not looking at me.
I wanted to say something pithy and sharp but didn’t. “Yes.”
Because honestly? I didn’t like it. I loved it. It felt secluded. Away from prying eyes. And though I knew it was a ridiculous hope, and that peace was only a moment away from shattering, it felt like we were untouchable. I knew better. But for now, I’d pretend.
“You never go out there,” he said, looking down at me.
Oh. He’d been watching. He knew. Of course, he knew. He always knew.
“No.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. Because I didn’t want to be more than ten steps away. Ten steps felt like a mile when you’ve already watched someone bleed out.
It seemed clingy. I didn’t say it. I was clingy enough.
The back of his hand brushed mine—light, deliberate—like he was checking to see if I was real. Then his fingers curled around mine.
“Come on.”
He stepped out in the morning, tugging me along with him like the decision was already made.
A faint breeze ruffled the fig tree in the corner, leaves thinning with the season. I could tell by the angle of the sun it was getting late in the year. There was a winter bite to the breeze that rolled through the courtyard. September? October? Time was still a blur.
His steps were slow as he made his way to the fountain. The ledge was wide enough to sit. He eased himself down with an exhale that tried to pass for casual. It didn’t. Like that much movement was exhausting. But he’d never admit it.
“Don’t hover, Anna. Sit.”
I sat. My fingers twitched in my lap, useless with restraint.
The concrete ledge was cool underneath me.
The fountain burbled behind us—absurdly peaceful.
The villa courtyard smelled like citrus and old stone, too beautiful for a place we were using as a hideout.
But the sun was warm on my face. And for a moment, I forgot where I was.
I closed my eyes, tipped my head back to feel it on my cheeks.
He shifted next to me, then his hand slid to the back of my neck. His breath whispered over my face.
“There. See?”
I forgot to breathe for a second.
“See what?”
His thumb brushed my neck. “That you can let go.”
This was new.
Which was a problem, because I didn’t have a plan for new Kincade. And I always had a plan.
“Are you flirting with me?” I kept my hands in my lap like they couldn’t be trusted.
“Yes.”
“Should you be? Feels dangerous.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You’re dangerous.”
My laugh came out too breathless. Like my body didn’t know which emergency we were in.
I wanted to say something back—something smart, something that didn’t sound like I’d been hit in the head again—but my brain stopped producing coherent thoughts. My pulse had opinions, though. Loud ones.
“I like you like this.” His voice was low at my ear, and my skin lit up like it had been waiting.
“Like what?” I seriously couldn’t think straight.
“Not braced for impact.”
He’d noticed that, too.
“Oh. Well…”
That was as far as I got before his mouth skimmed the edge of my ear.
Barely there, enough to make my breath catch.
He knew what he was doing. Then he kissed the spot behind my earlobe that short-circuited my entire nervous system.
And, luckily, that cold place in my brain decided to play nice for once.
I went still. Hands clenched in my lap like they couldn’t be trusted.
“You should stop before—” I said, and it came out thin.
“Too late for that.”
“I think you’re the dangerous one here.” Trying to regain some semblance of control. Failed.
“For certain,” he murmured, like it was a fact, not a flirt.
What was he doing? Torturing both of us for fun? We both knew this wasn’t going any further. Not with him healing.
“Okay, I think that’s enough of that for today,” I said.
I did my best to extricate myself from him by sliding down the ledge of the fountain.
He didn’t stop me. He watched with that slight curve to his mouth that meant he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.
Which was me completely off balance. Mission accomplished.
“You’re mean,” I whispered.
“You like it.”
I did. Damn him.
“Are you proud of yourself?” I asked.
“Yes.”
He shifted like it hurt. Hid it anyway. He stood. Exhaled hard through his nose. I started to reach for him. Automatic. Instinct.
“Don’t,” he said. “I want to walk.”
I opened my mouth to object but got the look that told me to keep my opinion to myself.
“One lap,” I said. “Around the fountain. That’s it.”
“Two.”
“This is not a negotiation,” I said.
In the morning light, I saw color had returned to his face. Some of it was strength. The rest was pure smug.
“Fine. One.”
“Slowly,” I added.
He sighed.
He started forward, slow and stubborn. The courtyard stones were cool under my bare feet. The air carried that winter edge now—sharp enough to keep me awake.
“The weather is changing,” I said. Because commenting on the weather seemed safe. Safer than acknowledging the way he flustered me. “We need a better wardrobe.”
He said nothing as he gave me a sideways glance.
“You know. Jackets. Scarves. Sweaters,” I elaborated.
“I do not wear sweaters.”
He sounded offended.
I nodded. He was so not an LL Bean cover model guy. More like the guy who beat up the cover model and stole his lunch money.
“Or scarves, I bet. I bet you like to be all tough guy and go no jacket, too.” When he didn’t answer, I continued. “I’ll get Ludwig to take me on a shopping spree—”
“No.”
There it was. Predictable.
A laugh threatened. We were halfway around the fountain now, one measured step at a time.
“Give him a list.”
Another couple of steps. Slow. The breeze shifted, tossing a few strands of hair in my face. He noticed. Reached out, tucked them behind my ear. His knuckles brushed my cheek on the way back. My skin tingled in his wake. He needed to stop doing things like that.
And me, being me, decided I could not acknowledge it.
“I’m so glad I changed my hair color so we can keep hiding out,” I said. “Nothing screams low profile like me making deliberate aesthetic choices.”
He glanced at me like he was deciding whether the sarcasm was worth the energy.
Then his breath hitched. He reached for my hand, his fingers tightening around mine. He kept moving, though. I eyed the distance from the other side of the fountain to the open doors of the bedroom. Not far. But far enough. If he collapsed, I could get him there. One way or another.
I didn’t ask if he was okay because that would have been an affront to his manhood. I’d learned that lesson already. So, I said nothing and listened to him breathe through the pain.
We completed the one lap. He paused in front of the fountain where we’d sat and he accosted me.
“That’s all for today,” I said gently.
He nodded. As we walked back through the French doors, he never let go of my hand.