Page 168 of Salvatore

“Not right now.” I cuddle my pillow to my chest. “I need to get some more sleep first.”

“Of course.” She scoots off the bed. “I promise I won’t wake you. I’ll be on my best behavior.” She squeezes my ankle from atop the covers and then strides to the door. “I’ll come back later.”

I roll onto my side with the reclasping of the door latch and try to claim the sleep I lied about needing. What I really want is to speak to Salvatore. To make sure everything between us is solid. To make surehe’ssolid.

But he distances himself, not once fulfilling his promise to look in on me throughout the day. Instead it’s just a whole heap of annoying interruptions from the doctor and the occasional check-in from Liv who brings food I can’t stomach.

By midafternoon, my abdomen gets achy.

By nightfall, my legs are heavy and throbbing from lack of movement.

I decline Liv’s invitation to join everyone at the dining table for dinner, the guilt at unravelling their Italian family keeping me in bed along with the blatant snub from Salvatore, who still hasn’t come to see me.

The next time I wake the house is quiet and dark, the shadowed figure looming over me making me startle.

“It’s only me.” Doctor Flores wraps the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm. “You can go back to sleep.”

I nod and try to do as instructed, but it’s no use. My legs throb from lack of movement and my skin feels like I haven’t bathed in a month.

After he leaves, I shower, sitting on the tiled floor for far too long as I let the hot water chase away the stiffness clinging to my muscles. By the time I step out, the fog in my head has lifted slightly, and I feel lighter, if only physically.

Freshly cleaned and dressed in an oversized soft cotton sleep tee, I cautiously pad into the darkened hall with a one-track mind for food until the soft light spilling from Salvatore’s open doorway pulls me to a stop mere inches from his threshold.

His bedside lamp is on, the warm illumination casting a gentle glow over him lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard, his brow furrowed as he focuses on his cell screen.

I linger longer than I should, silent in the shadows, a breath from the doorway. Caught between the urge to keep watching and the need to walk away, I try—and fail—to talk myself out of an attraction that only seems to tighten its grip.

He’s not even my type. Not really.

I mean, I don’t like really dark, hypnotic eyes that see into the heart of me or a jawline so sharp it could double as a weapon. And that subtle smirk of his—the one that wraps around my chest and squeezes the air out of my lungs—isn’t all that special.

Then there’s his personality. Masculine to the point of maddening, brimming with so much arrogance he’d be considered a walking red flag in most cultures.

Okay,allcultures.

“Are you going to keep staring at me in silence or do you plan to speak?” His voice is cold as his gaze remains fixed on his cell screen.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I murmur.

“Everything about you disturbs me, Ivy.”

The playful statement makes me smile, but there’s none of the same warmth I’ve come to expect in his expression while he continues to deny me eye contact.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I enter his room, slowly stepping my way toward him.

He swipes a finger across his screen. “About what?”

“About today. About what happened. About the revelations you shared with your siblings and the hostility I’ve created between you and your uncle. Along with all the other ways I’ve ruined your life.”

“You haven’t ruined anything.”

No? Then why can’t you look at me?

I stop beside his bed, the silence stretching.

“Why are you still awake?” I glance at his bedside clock, the midnight hour making my stomach churn. Unless he slept today he has to have been awake for more than forty hours.

“Why are you?” he counters.

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