Page 60 of Dante
"You were scared." I set the water glass on the coffee table. "You're still scared. And you can't sleep because I'm in your bed and there's a cartel looking for me and eight armed men watching your building."
She doesn't deny it.
"So take your bedroom back." I lean into the couch cushions. They are lumpy. She wasn't wrong. "I'll be fine out here."
Marina studies me for a long moment. Her eyes move from my face to my bandaged side to my bare feet hanging off the armrest.
"You look like a giant trying to sleep in a dollhouse."
"Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
She uncrosses her arms. Crosses them again. Shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
"If you tear your stitches," she says slowly, "I'm not sewing you back up."
"Fair."
"And if you bleed on my couch, you're buying me a new one."
"Also fair."
"And if you die in the middle of the night, I'm leaving your body for Lorenzo to deal with."
"Wouldn't expect anything less."
She huffs out a breath. It's almost a laugh. Almost.
"You're impossible."
"I've been told."
"By who? Your many admirers?"
"By Lorenzo. Usually when I'm doing something he doesn't like."
"Which is what? Breathing?"
"Sometimes."
She does laugh then. Just a small one. A surprised sound that escapes before she can catch it.
I file it away. Add it to the collection. Marina laughing in the Sartori kitchen two years ago. Marina's face when she opened the door and found me bleeding on her doorstep.
That last one isn't a good memory. But I keep it anyway.
"Fine." She picks up the empty water glass. "You can have the couch. But I'm checking on you every two hours."
"You don't have to?—"
"Every two hours, Dante." She heads toward the kitchen. "My apartment, my rules."
"You're bossy," I say.
"And you're a terrible patient." She dries the glass with a towel. "We all have our flaws."
