Page 68 of The Kiss of Deception

Thankfully, Nurse Jada’s grin appears under the doorframe.

“Mr. Miles,” she greets him like an old friend. “We need to take your fiancée for a quick scan. Maybe you can use the time to take care of yourself, too. Leave the room for a second and take a breath or get some food. Perhaps, take care of your kidneys and simply use the bathroom.” She lifts a swift eyebrow at him, her reproach full of concern. I stopped listening right at the beginning. “Let me grab you a wheelchair, honey.”

As soon as she is safely out of earshot, I choke out the incredulous word. “Fiancée?”

His smile is back along with the shrug of his shoulders. Utterly unapologetic.

I let myself fall back on the bed. “I swear, one day I’ll wake up and you’ll have gotten us married, two children and a dog.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Chapter Sixteen

Zoe

The five stitches itch underneath the bandage on my forehead.

It’s late Saturday night—or early Sunday morning—and I have to survive another two days before I’m scheduled for suture removal. I won’t claw them off with my nails like a small child. I’m an adult with excellent self-control.

I’m all blankets and bent up angles as I snuggle into the too-fluffy pillows in the corner of Miles’s sofa. True to his words, he was unwavering in his unilateral decision to move me across the hall. Into his house.

The second my discharge papers were issued and signed, he drove me home. Before that, he didn’t leave my bedside for more than eight minutes—I counted—the entire time I was hospitalized, eating insipid hospital food and sleeping, all folded at odd angles, in the chair that seemed child-sized under him.

When I saw a shadow in my window and my skin erupted in suspicion, he was there with a bouquet of peonies to smooth the sharp pinpricks, to chase my ghosts away and make me feel protected.

When I walked the corridor of almost-death with a coat of cold sweat, it was the warmth of his patient hand at the small of my back grounding me, leading my trembling feet towards door 39-02.

Grandpa comes every day, hands full with snacks and board games, staying until Miles returns from practice. Some days, he stays for dinner, praising and indulging in his new grandson’s cooking skills. Because he does treat Miles like his grandson. I would feel more guilty if I didn’t know their relationship had been born before, our little lie doing nothing but strengthen it.

Mom keeps her checkups to religious calls (voice and video) and quick visits, always bearing gifts from Rosario—whom I forbid from visiting after she got the jitters after five minutes of sitting with me and tried to dust Miles’s cabinets—like my absolute favorite carrot cake with chocolate frosting, which soon became Camila’s favorite, too.

Father never came. He never called. It’s for the best. It is.

My mailbox is already suffocated with chaotic texts from my delightful work partner. I requested Liam to keep me permanently updated on work. True to his promise, he texts every two hours, nine out of nine messages being office gossip or complaints about his temporary reassigned partner—an intern who, in blondie’s words, uses the word like as a preface to every sentence and abuses his stinky cologne so much it he must have depleted the entire state’s stock. Safe to say, Liam’s short patience is thinner than ever.

Even Nicholas, the brooding giant, makes an appearance—more to check on his best friend than to see me. I’m grateful all the same. In fact, I’m particularly grateful someone checks on Miles. At times, I’m convinced he’s taking the whole ordeal worse than I am. It’s strangely heartwarming that he wants to take care of me, but he borders on being a helicopter mother.

I know the hand of guilt is a tight fist around his throat, no matter how many times I tell him that he’s not responsible for anything, in any remote way. He blames himself, and he’ll keep doing it, punishing himself and overcompensating for something that wasn’t his fault.

On Thursday, all the planets aligned, and the quiet solitude of the thirty-ninth floor extinguished in a show of impeccable timing.

Balled up in my blanket and a white t-shirt I relocated from Miles’ pile of clean laundry, I watched as the bell announced arrival after arrival. And, person after person after person, Miles’s living room became a crowded playground.

He settles next to me, an arm on the sofa behind me and legs spread along one of the arms of the U-shaped-sofa, close enough that I taste the heat radiating off his body and feel his scent around me, but not close enough to touch one inch of my skin.

Camila sat cross-legged on pillows she’d thrown on the floor, munching on the basket of candy and chocolates in her lap—which she claimed she had brought for me. Behind her, Nicholas manspread in the middle of the couch, occasionally bending forward to (shockingly) steal sugar from Camila. She complained, but her eyes glinted with pleasure. Very unlike Rodrigo, who shot daggers at an unbothered Nichoas everytime he bent close to his sister.

Grandpa, our narrator, occupied the other arm of the U all the way on the opposite side—not with his body, that’s starting to show signs of wrinkling and wilting with time; with his voice, filled with joy, and his spirit that, in that very moment, remained timeless. Looking over Boston with London in his eyes.

For a fleeting second, I closed my eyes and was almost transported to memories of a childhood I’d never had. Little friends around a bonfire, tied together by friendship and treasured stories of old lives.

That’s what Grandpa called them, tales of another lifetime. Enraptured by his eloquence and the adventures of a young man in love, we clung to every word that dripped with accent—thicker, less filtered, like he’d been transported back in time, living and reliving every word.

At some point, Camila tipped her head back in her typical uproarious laughter. Soon, everyone joined the off-key cackling, even Nicholas, in his own way—I was convinced the corners of his lips tilted, but with his head angled in Camila’s direction, I couldn’t be sure.

In that moment, there was no space for aches and wishes; only gratitude to discover true friendship and a support system.

Upon the five chimes of the clock, Miles politely kicked everyone out, Grandpa Toby included, under the guise that it was time for me to rest—which only earned him further respect from the old man, if possible. I sat and watched, grateful, as he hushed them out.

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