Page 33 of Devil's Tulip

But she never got the words out.

Shock sealed my throat. I couldn’t even scream, could only watch through tears of disbelief, praying it was just a nightmare.

I discreetly rub a finger under my eye, making sure no tears escape. The pain still feels as fresh as that night.

“Anyways, I wanted to become a doctor to help save people the way I couldn’t save my own family,” I finish wryly.

“You were just a child,” Michael points out gently. “There was nothing you could do.” Then, as if unsure what else to do, he reaches across the table and pats my hand—soawkwardlyit gets a little giggle out of me, dispelling the last of the ache in my chest. He’s so shit at comforting someone.

“So,” he says after a moment, “what made you choose nursing instead?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” His answering shrug makes me shake my head. “Has anyone ever told you you’re nosy?”

“Once or twice.” He runs a hand through the blonde strands falling into his face, looking completely unbothered.

I toss the rest of my drink back like a shot of alcohol, taking a few moments to chew my marshmallows and cookies before I give him my practiced answer. “Medical school takes six years. Too long for Uncle Aldo. And a medical doctor—too ambitious. What man would want to marry one?”

His brows pinch together as he watches me, and I hold my breath, bracing myself for what he might say. Maybe something like:Is your goal in life really about the man you’ll marry?That was my question to Uncle Aldo, and I got a slap in response.

“A strong, self-confident man who doesn’t need to put his wife down to feel masculine,” Michael says instead. “Besides, whose stupid idea is it that being a nurse isn’t an ambitious career?”

My heart does a little pitter-patter. Is he…angry? “Uncle Aldo,” I answer.

“Fool,” he retorts, pushing back from the table.

I blink. Heisangry. Onmybehalf.

No one has ever done that for me before.

I stare up at him, heart thudding in my throat. “Who are you, Michael Hart?” Awe creeps into my voice despite my best efforts, and he freezes mid-turn. “Why are you helping me?”Why are you on my side?

His face goes blank, eyes becoming as cold as a glacier. “And who says I’m helping you?”

But he can’t fool me with those tactics. I know defense mechanisms when I see them—I know because I have my own. I wave at the empty mug and the plate of food next to it. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, Michael.”

Rising slowly, I press on. “If you weren’t helping me, I’d be back in Manhattan right now. Back in my uncle’s clutches.”

He scoffs. “I’m no hero, Gianna, so don’t stare at me like that. I don’t do things unless I’m gaining something from them.”

Then he spins around and walks out.

I sink back into my chair and pull my plate closer, suddenly starving. As I eat, I try to decode him, to understand what he could possibly gain from all this.

But for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.

He claims he’s not a hero, insists he’s not helping me. And yet—he’s stocked his kitchen with me in mind. Filled his fridge with my favorite food. Made me hot chocolate just the way I like it...

Maybe I’m reading too much into his actions because nobody has ever been nice to me before. Maybe he really does have an ulterior motive.

But as I savor another bite of perfectly prepared food, I realize… I don’t care what that is anymore.

He can have his motives—as long as he keeps being nice to me and being on my side.

But if there’s anything I’ve learned in this life, it’s that human emotions are as fickle as candlelight on a windy night. They can flicker out or burn steady—their fate uncertain unless helped along.

What if IhelpedMichael along into falling for me?

After all, if this is himnothelping me, himnotbeing on my side, then how would he be when he’s actually in love with me and wants the best for me?

---