Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
VIOLA
Ifeel like he saw straight through me, like he knows I didn’t want to say goodnight and go to my bed alone. My mind is spinning, words tangling before they can even form, and the silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
I swallow hard. “I still can’t sleep,” I admit, fingers twisting in the hem of my t-shirt. “Maybe I’ll go down for some more tea.”
Go down for some more tea. I can’t believe I said something that stupid.
Ricci doesn’t move away from the doorframe.
He stays right there, looking at me with those golden eyes that always see too much.
Then he speaks, and his voice is a rough rumble, like the words have been waiting on his tongue for a while.
“Can’t sleep? How about we try sleeping together?”
My breath catches. Heat rushes up my neck and across my cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment. It’s gratitude. He said the words I didn’t have the guts to utter.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He steps forward, but I lift a hand, just a little, stopping him. “Can we… sleep in your bed instead?” I bite my lip. “Just for a change.”
He smiles. “Alright.”
We walk down the hallway together. His bedroom door is already open, the room dark except for the faint city glow filtering through the windows.
The bed is huge, the sheets dark and crisp, and the faint scent of him lingers everywhere — cedar, warm skin, the faint trace of his cologne. My pulse flutters as we both climb in.
We settle on either side, a careful space between us under the heavy blanket.
I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, hyper-aware of every inch of distance.
He’s on his back. Neither of us attempts to move closer.
The silence is so charged I can hear my own heartbeat.
I shift once, trying to get comfortable, but his bed feels too big.
I can’t relax. My mind keeps racing, thinking up all kinds of crazy scenarios…
the way his body felt against mine in the kitchen earlier. Sleep feels impossible.
He turns toward me, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His voice is low, a little hesitant, but honest.
“I guess this might not work then,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I reply.
“Do you want to fuck instead?”
The raw question hangs between us, and for a second, I don’t know how to respond. My breath catches, heat flooding into my body even as my thoughts scatter. I open my mouth, close it again, heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it too.
My laugh is nervous. “Do you?”
He shifts closer, voice dropping an octave. “Yes.”
His honesty lays bare my own cowardice, and something warm and bright bursts in my chest. A laugh slips out of me. Soft at first, then brighter. The tension breaks, just like that, and I feel the tension slip away.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.”
I scoot towards him on my side, and his arm slides around my waist, pulling me in until my back is flush against his front.
We fit together like we were made for it — little spoon, his bigger body curving protectively around mine.
His chest is warm and solid against my back, one arm heavy across my stomach, the other tucked under my pillow so his fingers can brush lightly against my shoulder.
I melt into him, every inch of me relaxing for the first time tonight.
He’s so warm. So powerful. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the faint thud of his heartbeat against my spine — it all wraps around me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.
I feel safer than I have in years.
“I’m worried about tomorrow,” I whisper.
“Don’t be. You’ll ace it. And if you really want to rattle them, offer them a check.”
“What? Why would that rattle them?”
“Because you will be rubbing it in their noses that your husband has more money than theirs.”
I giggle slightly.
“Remember, I don’t care what anybody thinks of me. So you’re welcome to make me the villain of the piece.”
I turn my head to stare into his face. It is shadowed. “I don’t want to do that. I want to protect you.”
I hear him inhale sharply, then his arms tighten around me. “Let’s not have sex. Let’s just lie here until we sleep,” he says, and his voice sounds choked.
“Okay.” My eyes drift shut as I listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong.
I count the rhythm until everything else fades.
The worry about tomorrow, the weight of the phone call with my sister, the constant noise in my head — it all quiets.
There’s only him. Only us. Only the warmth of his body curled around mine and the quiet hope that maybe I don’t have to carry all of it alone.
Sleep comes easier than it has in a long time.