141: Bring Him To Me

141: Bring Him To Me
RUE

My hand shook where it still hovered over Adrian's hair. I wanted to pretend that what I'd just seen wasn't real.

My stomach churned violently, bile rising in my throat.

I forced my gaze down, back to Adrian. His lashes fluttered weakly against his fevered skin, his lips parted as he struggled for breath.

I couldn't tell him. Not now. Not when his body was betraying him and he needed every ounce of strength he could muster.

So I smoothed his hair back again, my voice steady even when my heart wasn't. "Go to sleep, Trouble. I've got you."

His mouth curved faintly, a ghost of his usual arrogance. "Only if you'll sing me to sleep."

Sing?

I was a terrible singer. I wouldn’t wish the calamity of hearing me sing, even on my worst enemy.

My throat tightened, but I forced the words past it. "If you don't rest, I'm calling every doctor in this city to line up outside your door and poke at you until you do."

His breathing evened out just a little, but the heat still radiated off him in waves. My palm brushed his temple, terrified by the burn.

God help me. What if the fever climbed higher? What if his lungs gave out? What if this wasn't just a cold but pneumonia?

What if I lost him?

I couldn't lose Adrian. Not to his viper family, not to sickness, and definitely not to the damn tabloids tearing both our worlds apart.

But worse than the scandal was the man who would read about it by morning.

My father.

The Cross empire wasn't built on tenderness. It was built on money, appearances, and power. And my father? He didn't tolerate weakness. Scandal was weakness. And I had just become the walking definition of it.

He would probably crush me for this. For daring to put our name beside Adrian Romano's cursed bloodline.

My pulse thundered in my ears. I swallowed the panic down, because none of it mattered right now.

The only thing that mattered was the man lying on my lap, fever burning through him while he clung to me like I was all he had.

I bent low, pressing my lips to his damp temple.

"They can drag my name through the dirt, Trouble. But they don't get to take you from me," I whispered, trying to ignore the frantic thumping in my heart.

…

The Cross dining room glowed under the golden lights. Normally, it was my favorite place in the world. Family dinners here always meant warmth, teasing, and more food than humanly possible to finish.

But tonight, the air was different. Heavy.

Dad sat at the head of the table, the crease between his brows deep as he stared at me. Mum was beside him, her hand resting gently over his, her expression softer but no less concerned.

Uncle Raf swirled his wine, side-eyeing me with that dramatic flair only he could pull off. "Well," he drawled, "our Rue finally made the front page. I always said she was destined for stardom, though I pictured Vogue, not scandal."

"Raf," Mum warned, though her lips twitched.

My sister sat straight-backed, all elegance as usual, but I saw her thumb tapping anxiously against the table. She wasn't smug. She was worried.

And then the doors creaked open, and my brother shuffled in. Wrapped in two blankets, he was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked pitiful as he dropped into the nearest chair.

The sight of him made my chest ache. He reminded me of Adrian in that moment.

My thoughts flew instantly back to him. Was his fever worse? Had he eaten anything else? Was he still waiting for me to come back?

"Rue," Dad finally said.

My whole family was watching me. Not with hate. Not with disgust. But with concern so intense it burned worse than anger.

Mum reached across the table, her hand covering mine. "Sweetheart, tell us it isn't true. That you're not still involved with one of them.”

My throat tightened.

Raf leaned in, one brow arched. "Please tell me, darling, that this isn't some star-crossed Romeo and Juliet fiasco. Because the Romanos aren't brooding poets. They're snakes."

"She knows that," my sister snapped, finally breaking her composure. "Rue isn't stupid. But what if they hurt her?" Her eyes shone, protective.

My brother coughed into his blanket. "If I wasn't dying, I'd fight the bastard myself."

"Don't joke about this," Dad said sharply. His eyes locked on mine, heavy with both love and authority.

"Rue, I don't care about the tabloids. I don't care what the world says. But the Romanos? They are our enemies. If they've dragged you into their filth, if you've been... caught in the middle of one of their games—" He exhaled heavily. "We can't lose you. Not to them."

The words twisted deep in me, because I knew the truth. I hadn't been caught. I had walked right into Adrian's fire willingly.

And I didn't regret it.

But how could I explain that to the people who loved me most?

The words burned in my throat, demanding release. I looked at every face around the table. Faces I loved, faces that had never once abandoned me, and I realized I couldn't keep lying. Not about this.

I swallowed hard, my voice slightly shaky when I spoke. "Adrian isn't like them."

The silence was instant.

My sister blinked. "Rue..."

"He isn't," I pushed, leaning forward. "You all think he's this monster, this... spoiled Romano heir. But you didn't see him last night. You didn't see what I saw."

Dad's jaw tightened. Mum's hand pressed more firmly over mine, urging me to continue.

I sucked in a breath. "They're not just cold to him. They hate him. His own family left him sick and feverish, drugged and freezing, with a window wide open in the middle of the night. He was shivering so violently I thought—" My voice broke, and I had to swallow before I could go on. "I thought I was going to lose him."

Raf's smirk faded, his glass lowering slowly to the table.

I pressed my palms together, the words spilling faster now as desperation kicked in. "He had no one. No one to feed him. No one to care. He looked at me like I was the only person in the world who gave a damn if he lived or died. And I couldn't—" My voice cracked. "I couldn't leave him there."

My brother coughed again, his voice muffled by the blanket. "So you took him in?"

I nodded quickly, tears stinging my eyes. "I fed him. Stayed with him. And I'll keep staying, because whatever the Romanos are... Adrian isn't them. He doesn't deserve their hate."

Dad's hands curled into fists on the table. His voice was low and heavy. "Rue... you're telling me the Romano heir is vulnerable. That he's not their golden boy, but their scapegoat."

"Yes." My eyes locked on his, unwavering. "He's broken, and he's stubborn, and he drives me insane, but he's also... he's mine. Please, don’t make me choose between protecting him and protecting our name—" My voice shook, but I forced the words out

Mum's breath hitched. My sister's eyes grew wet. Uncle Raf whispered, "Oh, sweet girl..." almost like he couldn't help himself.

Dad leaned back in his chair, staring at me as though he was only truly seeing me for the first time. And my heart thundered with anxiety.

Silence fell across the table, heavy and suffocating. No one moved. No one breathed. Even Raf's usual quips died in his throat.

Dad just stared at me. His eyes weren't cold, but they weren't soft either. They were searching and digging through my words, weighing every ounce of what I'd just confessed.

Mum's fingers tightened over mine, trembling. My sister's nails tapped anxiously against the table. My brother sniffled into his blanket but stayed silent, wide-eyed.

Every second stretched, unbearable.

And then, finally, Dad leaned forward. His voice was gentle, but it rumbled like thunder.

"Bring him to me."

My breath caught in my throat. "What?"

His gaze didn't waver. "You say Adrian Romano has no one. That his family leaves him to rot. Fine. Then he will answer to me." His jaw clenched. "I will see with my own eyes what kind of man he is."

My heart lurched into my throat.

Raf let out a long, low whistle. "Well. That's either going to end in bloodshed... or adoption papers."

"Raf," Mum snapped, but even her eyes darted to my dad with a hint of fear or hope.

I could only stare at my father, my pulse racing. Because the thought of Adrian standing before my father, the enemy he'd been raised to despise, was almost unthinkable.

But beneath the terror, a tiny, dangerous ember of hope stirred.

Maybe... maybe if they saw him the way I did, they'd understand.

And that’s what weighed heavily on my mind as I finally dropped the bomb in front of Adrian later that night.

He coughed lightly, blinking at me in utter disbelief.

“The great Killian Cross wants to see me?” He asked, and I nodded.

“Holy shit,” he rasped, holding a hand to the knife wound on his side. “Surely, he’s not going to empty his Glock in my skull, right?”

I winced.

If he put it like that…there was a good chance that could happen.

Still, there was also a greater chance of acceptance, right?