Page 50 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Tears sting. “I can’t let you?—”

“Tabitha. The transfer was not charity. It was responsibility for someone we…value.”

His pause beforevaluemakes my heartbeat stumble. “I can’t pay it back.”

“A gift is not a loan.”

I nod, unable to speak. He doesn’t push, just stands sentinel while I gather myself and sip my coffee.

Eventually, Erin’s bed is wheeled back in, with Grandma Judy beside her. Sal anchors one elbow on the rail and launches into a dramatic tale of a runway disaster in Milan where a model’s heel snapped mid-catwalk. He mimics the slow-motion flail with such earnest exaggeration that Erin howls, pillow pressed to her surgical line to dull the giggles.

Grandma laughs too, leaning against the windowsill. I hover by the IV pole, breathless from secondhand joy. Sal’s face softens as he watches Erin laugh—a softness that flicks my insides like a tuning fork.

Erin, wiping tears, asks him about Paris.

“Do you eat croissants the size of your head?”

“Is the Eiffel Tower taller than our hospital?”

He answers each question with patient gravitas, promising tours when she’s recovered. There’s a gravity and gentleness here—nothing like the guarded CEO I first met.

When Erin grows drowsy, he dims the lights and lowers the bed for her. Grandma slips out to call insurance (again). Sal stands at the foot of the bed, gaze lingering on Erin’s sleeping face—eyes soft, lips pinched.

I step beside him, wrap both arms around his coat sleeve, rest my cheek against the fabric. “You’re good with her.”

His hand covers mine. “Children see past façades. Can’t bluff with them.” A beat. “Your sister is extraordinary.”

“So are you.”

He softly chuckles, but doesn’t answer. Instead, his thumb strokes my knuckles.

The drive back is quieter. Snow thickens into fat flakes. I watch them halo the headlights, mind looping through Grandma’s cost arithmetic, Erin’s brave grin, Sal’s vow.

Halfway home, I speak. “I lied again.”

Sal’s brow furrows. “About?”

“About this being just a job. It stopped feeling like that the moment you met Erin at her level.” My voice trembles. “I don’t know where to put these feelings.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. The wipers swish. “I’m still placing mine.” He glances over, eyes dark as the road. “But they’re…no longer negotiable.”

My chest floods with heat—fear and relief tangoing. I nod, throat too tight for words, and slide my hand into his on the console. He curls fingers around mine, squeezes once.

We pull into Villa Moretti’s snow-dusted courtyard. Lanterns glow gold against the navy sky. He cuts the engine, but neither of us moves. I trace a circle on his glove. “Thank you for today.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

We exit, boots crunching fresh powder. At the door, he hesitates, turns, brushes a snowflake from my lash. “Go rest. There’s much to prepare for.”

“Like your judgmental relatives.”

He smirks. “The holidays drain us all, don’t they?”

I laugh, the sound fogging between us. Then, impulsively, I rise on tiptoe and kiss him. It’s gentle but it carries a plea.Please keep anchoring me.

He answers, his tongue slipping into my mouth as we make out, until cold nips my ears.

Inside, the corridor’s evergreen scent greets us. We part ways at the stair landing—his hand trailing down my arm, reluctant. I climb to my suite, heart ready to shatter.

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