Page 153 of The Obedient Lie
“Our perfect girl,” Luca added, his voicewrecking me with worship.
They kissed me after. Everywhere.
My shoulder.
My collarbone.
The inside of my wrist.
As ifmarkingme wasn’t enough — they needed toremindme I was theirs inevery breath that followed.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
EMILIA
The room smelled like eucalyptus balm.
Both twins were sprawled out on the bed —thebed, the one they’d insisted I start sharing with them — and for once, they weren’t smirking or arguing or posturing like they owned the world.
They looked…miserable.
Which, considering the freezing downpour they played football in the other night, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.
“I told you both not to stay on the field after the whistle,” I muttered, peeling off my sweatshirt as I walked back into the room, a warm washcloth folded in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
Bastion cracked one eye open and groaned. “And miss the win?”
“You alreadywon. The game was over.”
“Pride,” Luca rasped from the other side of the bed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, crossing to his side. “Oh, I understand it just fine. Pride’s why you’re both sweating through your shirts and coughing like Victorian orphans.”
Luca chuckled — but it turned into a cough halfway through.
“God,” I murmured, softer now. “Yousoundawful.”
I pressed the cloth to his forehead. He flinched at first, then leaned into the touch like it caught him off guard. Like he didn’t know peopledidthat sort of thing.
When I moved to brush the hair, he frowned looking like he was about to fight me, with the he is fine, and then he shut his eyes.
And didn’t say another word.
I turned to the dresser, rummaging for the cold meds I’d picked up from the nurse’s office —technicallywithout permission.
Bastion sat up, sluggish and stiff, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor with a huff. His tattoos looked sharper in the low light, the dark ink a stark contrast to his flushed skin.
“You should rest,” I said gently.
He looked at me like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t.
That alone told me how bad it was.
I brought him the second glass of water, waited as he took the meds, then sat beside him, in the middle of on the bed.
He leaned his head back against the wall, watching me.
“I hate this,” he muttered.
