Page 76 of Deacon

I loved how Ana’s face glowed whenever our boy babbled about his Spanish drone adventures.

I then spoke with Jude and the Six Sinners to update them on Ana.

Most of all, I supported Ana.

I handled her paperwork, chatted with the doctors, and even helped her to the shower when she needed it.

It felt good to be caring for her again, like I did when we were together.

She, however, prickled at the proximity and forced intimacy.

One morning, as I helped her back to bed after a bathroom break and fluffed the pillows behind her, she shared her unease.

‘You’re hovering, Vega,’ she muttered.

‘I don’t hover, beautiful. I call the shots around here, and you love it,’ I said, a slow smirk tugging at my jaw. ‘Now drink your water, take your meds.’

‘So bossy. You’re worse than the staff,’ she breathed.

Her eyes locked on me, soft and with a glimmer I hadn’t seen in a freakin’ long time.

Still, she was hurting, and not just her body.

Massimo’s ghosting was getting to her.

She stopped asking about him or whether he was returning the messages I left.

Her expression was stony each time she checked her phone when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I sensed her growing anger at him and her helplessness to address it.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her exactly what I thought of him.

However, I didn’t say a word to stir shit up; I kept my mouth shut.

Truth was, I had never disrespected her choice to marry Massimo or questioned the state of their relationship.

All these years, I maintained my distance, even though her being with another man always tore me to shreds.

She was mine first.

And, if I had my way, she would be mine again.

We’d shared a deep and intimate marriage until I lost her, not just to divorce but to some European debonair cad who was now turning out to be an uncaring bastard.

I wanted to shake her, to force her to see what a loser he really was.

His absence was proof he didn’t care for her, not like I did.

Instead, I chose silence, hiding my real thoughts behind my mask of cool competence and the occasional rakish smile, even as a dangerous hope burned in my chest.

Biding my time.

One afternoon, as Nairobi’s bright white sun cast golden shards across the floor, Baz strode into Ana’s room and interrupted our chuckles at an obscure telenovela on TV.

‘Good to see you, lady,’ he boomed.

Salim also sauntered in after.