Page 26 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

Her words catch me off guard, and I'm not sure how to respond. Is she flirting with me? No, that can't be right. It must be the fever induced delirium that has me thinking of a nineteen-year-old Bella with a forty-year-old me.

"Well, I'm hardly Colonel Brandon material. More of a Willoughby, I'd say."

Bella rolls her eyes. "You wish. Willoughby at least had charm."

"Ouch," I say, clutching my chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Bella Donna."

She tilts her head. “Not Bambina?”

All of a sudden, it feels odd to call her that. Not after having a sex dream about her. She’s not a child. She might be young, but she’s sharp, brave, and knows herself.

“Do you prefer that?”

She shakes her head. “Did you call me an angel before?”

I shift, feeling awkward. Like I’ve revealed too much of myself and thoughts of her in my fever induced state.

“I’m not sure if you’re the angel of death, though,” I say, unable to handle her thinking I feel something different.

“Stop being a dick and you won’t have to find out.”

I’m relieved that she’s able to go with humor at this moment. I’m exhausted and am struggling to keep my eyes open.

"Have you ever been married?" she asks suddenly.

I blink, not sure where this conversation is going. “No. Never.”

She studies me. “You're good-looking and rich. There must be something seriously wrong with your character."

I laugh, even though it hurts like a mother fucker. "You wound me again.”

She gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“When you have money and power, for some, character doesn’t matter. A lack of character never hindered my father.”

Bella's eyes widen slightly at that, and I can see her processing this information. I wonder what she's thinking, what she knows about my father's past marriages. Does she know what happened to his previous wives? The thought sends a chill down my spine.

“What do you mean by that?”

I should tell her the truth. Tell her what a monster my father is. Warn her of the pain and heartache ahead. But I can’t. And now I hope I die because I know I can’t follow through with my mission. How can I deliver this charming, witty, brave woman to my father?

“I’m sorry, Bella…” This time, I’m calling her beautiful, not just her name, although she probably doesn’t know that. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Yes, of course.” She rises from the chair. “Let me get you more water and medicine. Do you want to rest here or back in the room?”

“Here.” I don’t think I can make it, and while she seems strong, I’m not sure she can support my six-foot-two-inch frame to help me walk to bed.

“We really should get you to a doctor.”

I try to wave her off, but even that small movement sends a jolt of pain through my body. "It'll pass,” I mumble, not entirely convinced myself.

She sighs, exasperated. "You're being stubborn.”

I manage a weak chuckle. "It's part of my charm."

"Yeah, no.”

I wish I could keep talking to her, but darkness closes in quickly. As I drift off, I feel Bella's hand on my forehead again, checking my temperature. Despite everything, there's comfort in her presence that I can't quite explain.

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