Page 46 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
“I don’t believe you.”
“Do you really think I’m that much of a liar?”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes.”
“Why?” I ask, exasperated. I’ve never lied to her.
“Ras, I already asked you to leave. You can’t be in this room when my parents return, or I’ll be in deep shit. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. Thanks for bringing me here. Now, for the love of God, leave.”
Of course. She’s worried what it will look like if someone discovers me here with her. I’m a man who isn’t a blood relative. It’s bad enough we left the party alone. If I’m discovered in her room, her fuckface fiancé won’t be happy.
I feel a sudden irrational urge to put that bullet through his head after all. Thankfully, he and Nero are leaving at the crack of dawn.
“Do you want me to call Cleo?”
She shakes her head. “No. Let her enjoy herself. I’ll be fine.”
I take a step toward the door. “All right. I’ll be in the main house. Call using the landline if you need anything.”
“Goodbye.”
As soon as I shut the door, I let out a heavy breath and press my forehead against the wooden surface.
Well, that’s that.
* * *
The next morning, I get up before everyone else. And by get up, I mean I unfurl myself off the couch in Dem’s living room, wincing at the ache in the center of my spine.
I chose my spot with utmost precision. From here I could watch the guest house through the window. The Garzolos arrived about an hour after I left Gemma in the guesthouse, and it was only after I saw them enter through the front door that I finally allowed myself to get some sleep.
It’s a lot of effort for a woman who wants nothing to do with me, but something prevented me from just forgetting about her. Now, that same something sends me out the door to check on the situation in the guesthouse.
I make it as far as their entryway before I’m stopped by Stefano Garzolo. Good, I can ask him for a status update on Gemma’s condition.
“How’s—”
“Who gave you permission to take my daughter home last night?” he interrupts, his eyes flashing with anger.
“She was about to be sick all over the dance floor. Getting permission to do the obvious thing didn’t seem like a priority.”
He glowers at me like I’ve just admitted to fucking Gemma in front of her fiancé.
The fuck is his problem? Has he even checked on her to see how sick she is?
“How is she?” I ask as I follow him into the kitchen.
“Fucking awful.” He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and grabs a lighter off the counter. “We called a doctor thirty minutes ago.”
My pulse picks up. “What happened?”
“She’s been vomiting all night. Cleo said she thinks she saw some blood in her puke.”
My steps freeze.
Garzolo puffs on his cigarette. “We’re leaving tomorrow, and there’s no way we’re delaying our flight.”
Is he crazy? Why the fuck is he talking about his flight when his daughter is as sick as a dog?
