Chapter 18 - Gabriel #2
“The guest room is this way,” Andrew said, beckoning her to it. “It’s nothing special, but we can go get some better blankets.”
“No, I’m sure it’s great. I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“It is no trouble,” I reassured her. “But we will worry about that later.”
The guest room was large enough for a king bed and had its own ensuite bathroom. The white down comforter and crisp sheets had never been used.
“We’ll be here if you need anything,” Andrew said. He stayed outside the room as I placed Bridget’s bags on the dark wood dresser.
“Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” She collapsed on the bed, still wearing my coat. I pulled it off her shoulders.
“There is nothing to repay,” I said, then brushed a strand of golden hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. She closed her eyes briefly. “Now rest.”
As Bridget slept, Andrew and I placed a grocery order. Andrew was the better cook, but he was out of practice since we had Maria to prepare most of our meals. We’d been ordering takeout, but that had to stop. We needed to minimize contact with outsiders until we knew who was targeting her.
I could make one thing, though. My nonna’s marinara could cure basically anything, so I planned on making it for dinner.
Andrew went to get the groceries and left me to research the clinic.
I hadn’t bothered to look into Dr. Davis before, but now I did. His background check was clean, but I hadn’t suspected anything different.
I found a few news articles about the study. None of them mentioned Bridget by name, but a press release announced proudly that there was an Omega on the research team.
Lisbeth Nielsen, the head researcher, was also clean, as was Nathan Manalo.
Anvi Lakhani was a different story. She had a juvenile record for breaking and entering. I made a note to get the sealed records that would detail her arrest. Had the detectives already found out about this? We needed to share information.
I was absorbed in my work, looking at the tax filings for Davis’s clinic, when Bridget emerged from the guest room. She had slept for about two hours and had a bit of her color back.
“La bella addormentata. How are you feeling?” I put my laptop aside and patted the couch next to me. Bridget hesitated for a moment, then joined me. Her delicate scent had mellowed.
“Hungry,” she said, and her stomach growled. “Do you have any of those pastries left?”
“Of course. I will bring you so many pastries you can eat until you are full as an egg.”
As I walked to the kitchen, Bridget asked, “Full as an egg?”
“It makes more sense in Italian.” I returned with a selection of baked goods. “Would you like a coffee, tesoro?”
“Do you have any tea?” Bridget ripped off a piece of croissant.
I pressed my hand to my heart as if she had wounded me. “Ah, no, you do not like coffee? This is unacceptable.”
The roll of her eyes, and the little mocking sigh, should not have made me so happy. “Oh, the Italian loves coffee. How original.”
I beamed at her. “Brava, carissima. Of course we have tea. I will bring you one.”
When I brought back the mug with one tea bag bobbing around, I was pleased to see Bridget had eaten most of the treats.
“Good girl,” I said, nodding at the half-empty plate.
Bridget blushed slightly, and a small frisson of…
something that slipped into my stomach surprised me. Perhaps I was hungry as well.
“What does tesoro mean?” She played with the tea bag.
“The direct meaning is ‘treasure,’ but it really is like ‘sweetheart.’
“And fiore?” She looked up at me through her lashes. I couldn’t help smiling at her shy expression.
“‘Fiore mio’ is ‘my flower.’ Because of your scent. I hope it is okay?”
“You can smell me?” she asked, her expression changing to dismay.
“Senz’altro. Of course. You have a wonderful scent, like a garden,” I said. “But also sweet, like honey. It is especially lovely now.”
Bridget’s face was so red it looked like a sunburn. “I didn’t think it was strong enough for anyone to really… You can smell me now?” She sounded horrified.
I reached for her hand. Why was she so distressed? “It is faint. But I can, yes.”
“Oh god,” she moaned, putting her face in her hands.
“Carissima, it is okay.” I pulled her into my arms. She kept her hands over her face, her forearms pressed to my chest. “I do not understand what is wrong.”
“It’s fine.” Her voice was muffled through her hands. “I’m just freaking out that maybe some people may have smelled certain things at certain times.”
I pressed my chin to the crown of her head and suppressed a laugh. “If these ‘certain people’ refer to Andrew and me, you do not need to worry.”
Bridget groaned again. But when I pulled her arms down and around my waist, she didn’t protest.
“I will do my best to never smell you again,” I said with mock solemnity.
Bridget laughed weakly into my chest. I leaned back slowly until I was half-reclined and supporting Bridget’s weight. Something about her in my arms felt right. My earlier jealousy felt silly now, when she so clearly belonged here with us. Even if it was only temporary, I reminded myself.
She dozed off again, her tea forgotten. Had she slept at all the past few days?
Andrew returned shortly after. I made eye contact with him as he walked through the door.
The heady mix of tenderness and lust that flowed down our bond as he saw Bridget sleeping in my arms shocked me in its intensity.
I inhaled sharply, trying to school my instinctive reaction to his passion.
Sometimes the bond acted as a loop, feeding our desire back to each other, and that could not happen around Bridget.
“She okay?” Andrew mouthed, his hands full of paper bags. He was wearing the black cap and sunglasses he used to go incognito, though fewer people recognized him nowadays. I nodded, and he disappeared into the kitchen to put the groceries away.
I would let her sleep a little while longer.