Page 16 of Brutal Heir
“You done staring?” he mutters, voice like broken gravel.
“Not even close.” I draw in a breath, finally tearing my gaze away from his enigmatic one. “Yes, Alessandro, I have done burn care before.”
“On someone this bad?”
Somehow, I know the question isn’t about the scars. It’s about him. The shame buried under all that anger. So I meet his gaze dead-on. “Worse.”
His jaw tightens, but he says nothing.
I continue my slow perusal of the sprawling space, the decadent black leather headboard, the silky sheets, the dark velvet curtains that drown out the light. As I pass the walk-in wet bar near the back wall stocked with top-shelf whiskey and scotch, I find a door ajar which leads to another bedroom. It’s about half the size of the massive one that belongs to the king.
To break the looming tension, I blurt, “So is this my room?”
“Yourroom?” His dark brows slam together.
“Yeah, that was part of the package. I’m a live-in nurse, remember?”
He grits out a curse in Italian before dragging his hand through his hair. “Un-fucking-believable. I’m going to murder those two…” Once he’s done cursing his cousins, he lifts that tumultuous gaze to mine. “No, you will not be sleeping in an adjoining room to mine.”
“Why not? It would make the most sense.”
“Ever heard of privacy?”
“Listen here, Alessandro, as painful as it may be to hear, I’m going to be your nurse. There will be no privacy between you and me. I will see the worst of you, and hell, you may even see the worst of me because only a few minutes with you, and I can already tell you’re not going to make this easy on me. I will see you naked, I will see you in pain and struggling. You might as well get over it now.”
With his jaw hanging open, I spin on my heel and march through the open door into the adjoining bedroom. Too bad I didn’t bring my duffel bag, and now I’ll never find my way back to the kitchen in this sprawling labyrinth.
Instead, I plant my arse on the bed, claiming it as mine.
He watches from the doorway, a tangle of unreadable emotions darkening his countenance.
Then he slowly turns around and heads for the bathroom like a soldier marching into battle. And maybe he is.
I give him a minute before I follow, then pause at the door lingering against the doorframe and pretend I don’t notice the way his hands tremble when he rests them on the vanity. Or how long he hesitates before his fingers move to the buttons of his dress shirt. It’s a painstaking process to watch. I have to force my hands into tight fists at my sides to keep them from shooting out to unfasten the buttons myself and putting an end to the drawn-out misery. But I don’t dare move.
I’m not here to coddle him. It would be a disservice to his recovery.
An endless minute later, he shrugs off the crisp black shirt, allowing it to fall in a heap on the ground. I keep my gaze steady, clinical, as I regard the bandages haphazardly positioned across my new patient.
But I see everything.
The scarred flesh seeping beneath the white gauze. The missing ink across the right side of his back. The burns that cross his chest like a road map of war in his reflection. I see the parts that still haven’t fully healed. The ones that probably never will.
And still, I don’t flinch.
Nor do I stare too long at the broad expanse of his shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath the ravaged skin or the smooth planes on the unmarred half of his back.
Alessandro watches me in the mirror, waiting for it. For the recoil. For the barely disguised horror he likely sees across strangers’ faces. He seems to hide behind anger like it’s bulletproof glass. But scars don’t make a man weak. They make him human. And I’m not sure he remembers how to be one.
So, I pull out the gloves from my back pocket, bury the snark I use as a defensive shield and whisper softly, “This might sting.”
His throat bobs. “I’m used to pain.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to bear it alone.” Damn it. Where did that come from?
I hazard a glance to his reflection in the mirror to see if he’s noticed the slip. For a second, just a second, I think I see something crack behind his eyes.
Then it’s gone.
