Page 47 of Wild Card

Her legs are tucked up underneath her, but I can see a fresh bandage wrapped around her shin. Her bruises are healing, but she’s exhausted and too thin.

“Just keep Birdie safe,” she says.

How do I say this without sounding like a hokey self-help guru? Especially when I’ve been complicit in holding her against her will?

But someone needs to tell her.

“You matter too, Catriona. You’re not some throwaway to be traded for someone more valuable.”

She pulls her hands from mine.

“Jesus. You have to know how special you are.”

She glares at me. What did I expect? She must think I’m a hypocritical piece of shit. But I mean what I say.

And I’ll do what it takes to make this right.

“You’re beautiful, Catriona,” I say. “And you’re brave, and clever, and more selfless than your father deserves.”

“Birdie deserves it,” she snaps. “She’s the only pure, good thing about my family.”

I take a risk and slide my hand into Catriona’s wild curls.

“Purity is overrated,” I say. “But goodness and kindness? That matters. And your sister may have those things, but so do you.”

Her body is still, but she eventually leans against my hand and closes her eyes for a moment. I don’t have any right to touch her, but I’m drawn to her like I’ve never been drawn to anyone or anything. When this is over, and she’s somewhere safe, I hope she won’t hate me, at least.

“May I ask you what gattina means? I didn’t want to be rude to your grandmother.”

“It’s an endearment. It means kitten.” It suits her.

She smiles. “Does she have any nicknames for you?”

“Polpett.”

She stares blankly at me.

“Oh God, please don’t make me tell you what it means.”

She tilts her head. “I’ll only come up with something worse if you don’t tell me.”

I remember her ‘all sack no nuts’ joke. I bet she could come up with something terrible.

I sigh.

“Polpetta means meatball in Italian. I was a chubby little kid. Eventually my height caught up with my weight, but for a while I was as round as I was tall.”

Her eyes sparkle, and suddenly there’s a knot in my throat. That sparkle alone is enough to intoxicate me. What’s it like to see her be completely joyful? I’d love to see that.

“Lil’ meatball.”

“Yes. I don’t know why you get ‘kitten’ and I get stuck with that.”

She giggles.

I’ll let her call me anything if it means getting to hear her laugh.

“I’ll only use it when absolutely necessary.”

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