Page 91 of Filthy Rich Daddies
I open the door, guide her in. “Ready?”
“I swear, Colin, if you filled a room with balloons or something, I’m going to trip and take you down with me.”
“Deal.” I lift the blindfold.
She blinks. Her mouth parts. And then she bolts.
It takes me three full seconds to register what just happened.
Three seconds of standing in the center of the sea-themed nursery—the coral reef ceiling, the wave-colored carpets, the gentle light from the bubble-shaped sconces on the walls—and trying to figure out where I went wrong.
Then I’m running after her.
She makes it halfway down the hallway before she collapses to the floor with her back against the wall, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. She’s shaking. Hard. Her breath is coming in short, sharp bursts. Like she can’t catch it. Like the room around her is disappearing.
My stomach drops. This isn’t surprise. This isn’t overwhelmed happiness. This is terror.
I drop to my knees in front of her. “Sweets. Hey—hey, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. Can you breathe with me?”
She shakes her head, eyes wild. Her whole body trembles, and I feel completely fucking useless.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, moving beside her and gently pulling her into my arms. I’m shocked that she lets me do it. “I’ve got you.”
Her face presses into my chest. Her fists clutch the front of my shirt. And all I can do is hold her while she shakes and sobs, heart pounding like a trapped animal.
Mrs. Culpepper comes down the hall, her permanent scowl lining her face. The glare she shoots me could kill a lesser man. But she sees that Thalassa is clinging to me, not pushing me away. With two fingers, she points at her own eyes, then me.
A warning.
I have no doubt she’ll see to it that Thalassa’s favorite lemon tart is on the menu for supper tonight. And I’ll probably get a rotten toad in my bed.
That’s fine. I made Thalassa cry. I deserve worse.
Mrs. Culpepper leaves, but I sense she’s not too far away and watching everything I do. I don’t blame her for that either.
It takes a long time before Thalassa’s breathing starts to slow. Even longer before her shoulders stop quivering. I don’t say anything. I don’t ask. I just rub small circles on her back and wait.
When she finally speaks, her voice is raw. “It looked like the ocean.”
“I thought you’d love it,” I say softly. “With your parents’ work, and where you grew up?—”
“I do love the ocean,” she whispers. “But I almost died in it.”
That stops me cold.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes still red, but steadier now. “The hurricane. You know that already. But what you don’t know is…we couldn’t evacuate in time.”
I listen.
“We always had time before. But that one hit faster. Our radios were down. The water kept rising, kept coming in.” She drags her fingers through her hair. “Waist high, and then a rush of it over our heads. I was in the water, trying to save my mom. I found her. We clung to some busted wood for a float, and then we had to try to find Dad. He was pinned between some heavy equipment.”
“Shit.”
“His arm got mangled, but we got him out. Then the waves knocked the wood out from under us. I went down; I’m a good swimmer, but I still went down under all that raw power… And for a while, I didn’t think I’d get out. I didn’t know if I’d get another breath. That room—Colin, it felt like being pulled under again.”
I close my eyes. God. I didn’t know. I wrap my arms tighter around her, holding her like I should’ve held the idea before I threw it at her.
I was so proud of that nursery. And now I just feel like a jackass.
