Page 15 of Blood Heir

She stands abruptly and storms out, leaving me to finish my chicken in peace.

Chapter 4 - Severin

Fioretta's room is quiet except for the faint rustle of the doctor’s coat as he moves around, preparing his instruments. I stand at the door, leaning slightly against the frame, arms crossed. Fioretta is sitting on the edge of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool floor.

Her eyes flick to me for a split second, then dart away. She’s still hesitant. She’s always been hesitant around doctors. Her hand rests on her knee, fingers twitching with nervous energy, but she doesn't say anything.

The doctor walks over, and she looks up at him, the tension in her shoulders unmistakable. He holds a stethoscope in his hand, moving it to his neck with the practiced ease of someone used to such a routine. Fioretta glances at me again, a quick glance that seems to ask if this is all really happening.

“Mrs. Accardi,” the doctor says, his voice calm, almost soft, like he’s used to patients like her. “I’m going to check your vitals now.”

She nods, but her eyes never leave mine. Her lips press together, thin and tight. Her expression is blank, but I know her. She’s uncomfortable, but she’s trying to hide it. I don’t say anything.

The doctor reaches for her wrist, pulling her hand gently toward him. Her skin is still pale, almost fragile under the light, and I notice the faint tremor in her fingers, as though she’s unsure whether she should trust him or not.

“Your pulse,” he mutters as he places his fingers on the inside of her wrist. His touch is clinical, impersonal, but it makes her flinch slightly, just enough for me to notice.

She doesn’t pull away, but the way her breath catches betrays her anxiety.

Her pulse is steady under his fingers. He moves his hand to her neck, checking her carotid artery, the warmth of her skin almost visible against the coldness of the air.

“Deep breaths,” the doctor instructs, pulling the stethoscope from around his neck. He places the cold, metal disc over her chest, pressing down gently but firmly.

Fioretta’s body stiffens, the coldness of the metal sending a shiver through her. She exhales slowly, trying to control the flutter of her chest. Her eyes flick to mine again.

I stand still, not responding.

Her breath is steady as he listens, moving the stethoscope, testing the rhythm of her heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of her lungs. I see her eyes close for a moment, her face softening slightly as she tries to calm herself.

But she’s still not comfortable. I can feel it in the way her shoulders stay tight, the way she avoids looking at the doctor for too long, as though every touch on her skin is a reminder of how little she knows about herself.

“Your heart sounds good,” the doctor says, taking a small step back. His voice is reassuring, almost too gentle. “Your lungs are clear. You’re healing well.”

Fioretta’s eyes don’t flicker with relief, but I can tell she’s processing the words in her own way. She nods slightly, biting the corner of her lip.

The doctor continues his examination, gently moving her wrist to check the pulse, the delicate movement of his hands careful yet professional.

I can feel the space between us grow, like some invisible wall between Fioretta and me. She’s not mine anymore, and I’m not sure she ever was. This new version of her doesn’t belong to anyone.

The doctor finishes his examination. “All vitals are normal,” he says, offering a polite smile. “Her recovery is impressive. It’s just a matter of time now.”

Fioretta releases a breath. She sits back against the pillows, her eyes finding mine. A flicker of something—relief? Fear? Or just a blankness she can’t control.

“Thank you, doctor,” she says, her tone too sweet. Too light. It feels rehearsed, like she’s trying to make the moment pass without acknowledging it.

The doctor looks caught off guard, blinking once before stammering his response. “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Accardi.” He quickly steps away, almost knocking into the table behind him in his haste to get out of the room.

Fioretta watches him leave with a strange expression. The door clicks shut, and she turns back to me, her eyes a little too bright, a little too playful.

^^^^

Later, in my office, the doctor’s file sits in front of me, but I don’t open it right away. I just stare at it for a few long moments. The words blur together.

Fioretta is healthy. Normal, the doctor says. But she’s not.

She’s different.

I stand up and walk to the window, the cold glass pressing against my palm. I look out at the villa grounds. The garden is still dark, shadows stretching long beneath the moon.

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