Page 80 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Sal:Blood-pressure chart holding. Dr. Shah is pleased.

Nico:Hospital café espresso: six out of ten. Bringing you fruit cups.

Dante:Tell Snow Fox Girl I found unicorn-shaped marshmallows. Hot-Choc R&D begins when she can get out of there.

No request, no command. All service, zero expectation.

The pebble expands into a boulder of revelation. I’m not bound by the contract. I never was, not in the ways that mattered. They put Erin first without question. A burn of gratitude blooms under my sternum. And with it, dread. Because nothing in the contract promises what happens when the clock runs out.

Shift-change chaos brings new nurses. Grandma Judy decides that it’s her cue for a cafeteria raid, promising “muffins that won’t break teeth.” On her way out, she pauses beside me, motioning me into the hallway where IV pumps sleep off-duty.

“Child, those boys dote on you,” she whispers, arms folded.

My cheeks warm. “They dote on Erin too. And you.”

“True. But you’re the reason.”

“And boys? They haven’t been boys for a long time.”

“That fact did not escape my notice.” She studies my face the same way she inspected my scraped knees when I was a kid, trying to determine infection. “I don’t pretend I understand your…arrangement. Three men, one heart.” She tsks. “Modern math.”

I open my mouth, shut it. We haven’t discussed poly anything, and I’m not sure how all of that works anyway. Explanations feel slippery as eels.

Grandma waves off whatever sputter I might offer. “I’ve heard enough to know you love them.”

My eyes sting. “More than I can say.”

“Then good.” She pats my cheek. “Just remember—blessings don’t always fit tidy boxes. The world will poke.” Her eyes creaseinto a mischievous squint. “Let ’em poke. You be happy. Forget the rest of the world.”

I laugh softly. “Coming from you, that’s practically an endorsement.”

“They’d be lucky to get my endorsement.” She pinches my chin, then shuffles off, cardigan swishing.

I sag against the wall, a cocktail of relief and worry swirling. Blessing granted—but for how long?

Erin waves the deck at me through the window, so I dive back into marshmallow-minion warfare.

By midday, the brothers arrive in staggered shifts. Dante first, balancing a tray of thermoses labeledUnicorn Fuel.Nico delivers fresh fruit and veggies, along with a printed physiotherapy schedule. Sal last, carrying a tiny potted spruce for Erin’s windowsill, saying snow foxes have a fondness for them.

Erin’s eyes go full anime at the marshmallows floating in pink-powder cocoa. She sips, declares it “epic,” then promptly falls asleep halfway through a fourth card game. Healing hangover, Dr. Shah called it.

We convene in the family lounge to let her sleep. One couch, four overstuffed chairs. The conversation drifts between stock-price bumps and viral views of a video taken on someone’s phone during that day I helped Nico out. Crazy that it’s gone viral. Nico adds, “Several brands are trying to find you. I have a feeling you’ll have all the work you want and more, come the new year.”

The new year. The contract will be over by then. The thought pulls at my heartstrings. I’m not sure what our status is, but now is not the time for that talk.

Sal suddenly talks about a plan to convert part of the villa’s garage into a dance studio for my rehearsal needs. Holy crap.

“Really?”

“If you want it. Barring that, we can build you something new.” He tips his head. “Come to think of it, where would you like a studio?”

I don’t even know what to say. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

He nods once, and their voices overlap, teasing each other—in Italian, in finance jargon, and in adrenaline slang. I’d give anything for this to be the baseline of my life.

Sal tilts his head against my knee. “Processor overload?”

“Just…grateful.” My throat grips the word. “Overwhelmed, I think.”

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