Page 78 of Stolen Queen

“When I’m not barfing.”

He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, his touch cool against my clammy skin. "Have you eaten anything today?"

I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as my stomach lurches. "I couldn't keep anything down."

Concern deepens the lines around Matteo's eyes. "You should have called me. I would have come home sooner."

"I didn't want to worry you. I thought it would pass. You know, maybe it’s something I ate.”

He gives me a cheeky grin. “You’re not saying my pancakes made you sick, are you?”

I smile, or try to. “No. I wasn’t feeling right before that.”

He pulls me close. “Your wellbeing is important to me. You need to call if you need me."

His words warm me, even if they’re not the ones I want to hear.

"Let me get you some water," Matteo says, starting to rise.

I clutch at his shirt, suddenly not wanting him to leave. "Stay? Just for a moment?"

He settles back onto the bed, gathering me in his arms. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere."

We lie together in the quiet. It’s nice. I can almost pretend this is normal. That he and I aren’t caught up in family drama that includes violence.

"How are you feeling now?" he asks a few minutes later.

I take a moment to assess my condition. "A little better, I think. I'm not as nauseous as I was earlier."

"That's good. Do you think you could try some water now?"

I nod cautiously. "I can try. I'm actually pretty thirsty."

“How about I make you some food? Crackers and broth?”

I've never had someone care for me like this. We had a nanny when I was little, but she was a stern woman, not motherly at all. My own mother might have wanted to soothe us during sickness, but my father always saw illness as weakness.

"That sounds nice.”

Matteo scoops me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest. I let out a small gasp of surprise but quickly relax into his embrace.

"I can walk, you know," I mumble, though I make no move to get down.

Matteo chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I know you can. But humor me, okay?"

I rest my head on his shoulder as he carries me to the kitchen. The gentle sway of his movements is soothing, and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling of being so tenderly cared for.

As we enter the kitchen, I breathe in the familiar scents of Matteo's cooking space. It's become a place of comfort for me over these past weeks, filled with memories of shared meals and laughter.

Matteo carefully sets me down in a chair at the table. "Comfortable?"

“Yes. I’m not an invalid. I just have a bug or something.”

I watch Matteo move around the kitchen. I remember learning he could cook and being so surprised. Now it seems normal that this lethal man is so skilled in the kitchen.

"How did things go with Elio?" I ask hesitantly, remembering his goal that morning.

Matteo glances over his shoulder, offering me a reassuring smile. "Better than expected, actually."

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