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Nera’s voice was soothing as she continued to talk to Alina for a time. Then she gently pulled Giovanni from the room, insisting he needed to rest for the meeting with the families in the morning.
Giovanni felt guilty for not getting there soon enough. Luka didn’t blame him, though. No one should have come for him. Especially not Alina.
The joy he’d felt at realizing Alina wasn’t an apparition felt like a mirage now. She’d been real, and he had told her how he felt.
He reminded himself that he’d be able to tell her again. His lips parted. “I love you.”
He almost expected her fingers to twitch in response.
His throat felt dry, and his voice was as low in volume as ever, but he decided to keep talking. “I can’t be mad at you. Never. I miss you.”
Something inside him softened as he accepted the truth of it. “I’ve never missed anyone before.” Thoughts of his family rose in his mind, so he spoke them out loud.
As that night passed, he told Alina about the childhood that had always felt like a dream to him; one where he was looking in through a window, not fully present. The mother who prayed all the time but also was careful not to touch him and made him all his favorite foods. The father who liked to scold and lecture, but who greeted his mother with a hug. His two older sisters, how neither had known quite what to make of him and his preference not to talk when they never stopped talking.
He didn’t avoid the painful memories. In the gray light before dawn, while he was finishing the story of how Willow had died, he imagined he saw Alina’s fingers twitch.
His throat was raw. He doubted he had talked as much all his life.
Alina was nothing like Willow. Willow had cowered behind Luka. With good reason. She’d hidden behind him as she’d spewed her hatred. Willow hated him more than Ivankov because her brother had become just like him.
When Alina faced Ivankov for him, Luka had been in a panic. Watching her attack Ivankov had been terrible, but she’d been absolutely stunning doing it. She’d shot and stabbed his monster, even though Luka had rarely drawn blood in all the times he’d attacked. And Alina was the one who had slipped Luka the knife he’d used to kill him.
Alina’s eyes shifted behind her closed eyelids.
“I love you,” he repeated over and over, wanting her to wake hearing it, even if he could barely whisper the words.
Her lips spread in that soft smile, making the effort completely worth it.
“I love you, too,” she croaked, and she began to cough from the dryness of her throat.
But she’d said it. She was awake. And Luka couldn’t be any happier.
Luka was watching her again. Time had passed since Alina had rescued him, and he still rarely left her side.
It didn’t help that a lingering tiredness never seemed to leave her. The doctor had called it hypersomnia and linked it to post-concussion syndrome. Apparently, her head had been hit hard enough to scatter her brain’s ability to sleep well. Or something like that.
Which made no sense to Alina because she slept longer and deeper than ever. Twelve hours at night with no nightmares. She never seemed quite capable of entering the dreaming state, though. She’d liked waking up to Luka’s soothing touch near her scalp, not that she needed nightmares for Luka to touch or kiss her anymore.
Her touch still hurt him, and she was careful not to touch him in return.
Her heart stuttered especially hard each time Luka kissed her. It wasn’t always her lips. He seemed to be testing out the spots she liked, her forehead, cheek, neck, shoulder, and hand so far. Alina had told him she liked it all, but he repeated her cheek and hand the most, so she must have given away her preference somehow, even though she tried to keep still.
Alina wanted more, but she was enjoying his slow buildup. She’d resolved to let Luka lead. She didn’t want to force him again. Besides, she really was tired most of the time.
The doctor had told her she needed to start exercising when he’d come to the house the day before.
Giovanni had gifted them with the safe house. Alina had admitted to missing her time there, and Luka must have told him. He still didn’t talk to other people that much, though he whispered that he loved her all the time.
About a week into her recovery, Luka had surprised her one day by curling up beside her with a book she recognized and reading to her out loud. The doctor had warned her she shouldn’t read or watch TV or any screen right away, as too much concentration might trigger headaches. She hadn’t had any books anyway, but Antonio had brought her favorite and handed it to Luka when he’d stopped in. Luka had remembered the books she liked from one of the many rambling, one-sided conversations she’d had with him. He’d begun reading to her often, and more time passed.
His soft-spoken voice soothed her. Just imagining it helped her to drift off when she lay down for her afternoon nap.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she dreamed. It wasn’t a nightmare. No one was hurting her. No, it was the opposite.
Luka was kissing her, but his lips had traveled lower on her body. Her clothes were gone, but she felt no discomfort. Her stomach quivered where his ungloved hand rested against it, and her nipples ached beneath the gentle brush of his lips.
When his barely-there voice whispered in her ear that he wanted to kiss her all over, she woke with a gasp.
