Page 111 of What Doesn't Kill Her

“How old is Sammy?”

“Fourteen.”

“When you’re fourteen, you can have an atrocious room if you choose. Until then, it’s going to be organized.”

“But not right now, right?” Max stood in the door, smiling at his girls, “Later, right?”

“Sure. First thing is to give Rae a shower and find her some clean clothes to wear.” Kellen smiled back at him. “I’ll meet you at dinner.”

He turned away, then turned back. “Good job back there explaining the difference between life and death.”

“I may have a grip on that.”

46

When Kellen exited Rae’s room after assigning her one simple job—pick up her naked princess dolls and their clothes and stack them in the massive dollhouse—Max put his arm around her and led her toward the bedroom.Hisbedroom.

Kellen pulled back. “I can’t go in there with you. Your mother will have a fit. She doesn’t want you to sleep with me!”

“Are you kidding? When she finds out we’re going to get married, she’ll be thrilled. She’ll be in her element, Rae is going to have a blast, and little Martin’s mother is going to wish she kept her mouth shut, because they’re not going to be invited to the most important wedding this town has ever seen.” He sat down on the bed, smiled and patted his knee. “Come here and let’s talk about what we’re going to do after the ceremony. Maybe have a demonstration.”

“I have a bullet in my brain. I’m not supposed to strain myself. Remember? No bumping the headboard?”

“I’ll make sure you stay very, very still...using merely my hands.”

She was tired: from hiking, from falling, from having an MRI, from hearing a dire verdict of pain and little hope. They had time; right now, the blows to her head had caused swelling around the site where the bullet rested. If she took care and didn’t reinjure herself, a few months would allow the bruising to subside and the surgery would proceed with the optimum chance for success.

Yet somehow, Max Di Luca managed to make her feel alive as she had never felt before. And that was worth risking death, anytime. “As long as you’re doing all the work... I suppose I could rest in your bed and take it easy.”

He chuckled. “Yes, let’s rest together.”

Max’s phone whimpered.

Max rolled over on the bed and reached toward the nightstand. “It’s my mother.”

“Your phone whimpers when your mother texts?”

“I always know who it is. Saves time.” He read the words. “Dinner’s almost ready. She advises us to clean up.”

“I can almost see the indignation curling off the phone.”

“It’s Mom’s specialty.”

Kellen rolled off the bed. “I’m going to go shower and change out of these resort clothes and into something real. I’m tired of looking like a tennis player.”

He watched her dress. “Have I mentioned how pretty you are?”

“Not often enough. Have I mentioned how prettyyouare?”

He fluttered his lashes. “I have a mirror.”

She laughed. “Hurry up. I am not going down there alone.”

Max and Kellen met in the hallway, clean, dressed and guilty and giggly as only having sex in forbidden circumstances could make them. They descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen, a large old-fashioned room with colorful tiles, modern appliances, a round table in the middle and one very irritated cook preparing bubbling brown stew with root vegetables and cheese biscuits.

The smells of garlic, tomatoes and browned beef permeated the air, and Kellen thought that the promise of good food would cushion the blow of Verona’s disapproval.

Verona banged the lid on a pot. “Maximilian, I do not think that the two of you sharing a bedroom while in the same house as your mother and your daughter is appropriate behavior.” The steamy heat made her brown hair hang in ringlets across her forehead, but her words were icy and clear.

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