Chapter 83 -
“Miss Wallace,” he started, but Rosa held up her free hand, silencing him.
“Not now, Matteo,” she said firmly. “The girl needs rest, not questions.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened but he nodded, stepping aside to let them pass. “I am sorry,” he said as Nia walked by. “I should have stopped you from leaving earlier. I should have—”
“You did your job,” Nia interrupted. Her voice came out flat, emotionless. “This is not your fault.”
She did not wait for his response. Rosa opened her door and guided her inside, closing it gently behind them and leaving Matteo alone in the hallway with his guilt.
The room was exactly as Nia had left it. Her book still sat on the nightstand, bookmarked at a page she would probably never finish. The empty whiskey glass Micheal had given her sat on the floor beside the bed, a ring of condensation staining the expensive rug beneath it. The window still showed the same view of the grounds, though the darkness was starting to lift now, turning everything gray and hazy.
Rosa moved around the room with practiced efficiency, drawing the curtains to block out the approaching dawn, turning down the bed, fluffing the pillows. Nia stood in the middle of it all, swaying slightly, watching Rosa’s movements without really seeing them.
“Sit,” Rosa said, patting the edge of the bed.
Nia sat. The mattress gave beneath her weight, soft and familiar. She had spent so many nights in this bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how her life had turned into this. Tonight would just be one more to add to the collection.
Rosa knelt in front of her, her joints cracking slightly with the movement. She started unlacing Nia’s shoes, gentle and methodical.
“I can do that,” Nia protested weakly.
“I know you can,” Rosa said. “But let me help anyway.”
She pulled off Nia’s shoes one at a time, setting them neatly by the bed. Then she stood, her knees protesting the movement, and reached for the hem of Nia’s sweater.
“Arms up,” she instructed.
Nia raised her arms obediently, letting Rosa pull the sweater over her head. She felt like a child being put to bed after a long day, too tired to take care of herself. Maybe that was exactly what she was. A child playing at being an adult, thinking she could handle a man like Leonardo DeSanto.
Rosa folded the sweater and set it on the chair in the corner. Then she pulled back the covers and gestured for Nia to lie down.
“I do not want to sleep,” Nia said. “Every time I close my eyes I am going to see him. I am going to remember the way he kissed me and then pushed me away like I was nothing.”
“You were not nothing,” Rosa said firmly. She guided Nia down onto the mattress, pulling the blankets up over her like she was tucking in a small child. “You were everything. That is why he pushed you away.”
“That does not make sense,” Nia said. Her head was on the pillow now, soft and cool against her tear-stained cheek. The room was starting to blur around the edges, exhaustion finally catching up with her.
“It does if you understand Leo,” Rosa said. She sat on the edge of the bed, one hand coming up to brush hair away from Nia’s forehead. The touch was so gentle, so maternal, that it made Nia want to cry all over again. “He is so afraid of losing someone else that he pushes everyone away before they can get close enough to hurt him. It is not about you, dear. It is about his own fear.”
“It feels like it is about me,” Nia whispered. “It feels like I was not good enough. Not worth the risk.”
“You are worth every risk,” Rosa said. “But Leo cannot see that yet. Maybe someday he will. Maybe someday he will realize what he let walk away tonight and he will spend the rest of his life trying to fix it. But right now, in this moment, you need to let yourself rest.”
“I do not think I can,” Nia said. “My head is spinning and my heart hurts and every time I close my eyes I see him.”
“Then I will stay until you fall asleep,” Rosa said simply. Her hand kept moving through Nia’s hair, slow and rhythmic and soothing. “I will be right here.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Nia asked. The words were getting harder to form, sleep pulling at her despite her best efforts to stay awake. “I am just a prisoner here. I do not matter.”
“You matter to me,” Rosa said. “You matter to Micheal and to little Gabriel and to Lucia. You even matter to Leo, whether he is brave enough to admit it or not.”
“I do not want to matter to him,” Nia said, though even as she said it she knew it was a lie. “I want to stop caring about him. I want to wake up tomorrow and feel nothing when I see him.”
“That is not how hearts work,” Rosa said gently. “They do not stop caring just because caring hurts. They just learn to carry the hurt alongside the caring.”
“That sounds terrible,” Nia mumbled. Her eyes were closing on their own now, too heavy to keep open anymore.
“It is,” Rosa agreed. “But it is also what makes us human. The ability to keep loving even when love brings pain. The courage to keep hoping even when hope seems foolish.”
“I am tired of being courageous,” Nia said. The words were barely audible now, slurred with exhaustion and the last remnants of whiskey still in her system. “I just want to sleep and not think and not feel.”
“Then sleep,” Rosa said. Her hand never stopped moving through Nia’s hair, steady as a heartbeat. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will come whether you are ready for it or not. But at least you will have had this night to recover.”
“Will it get better?” Nia asked. It was the last question she had energy for, the last thing she needed to know before sleep took her completely. “Will I ever stop hurting like this?”
“Yes,” Rosa said, and there was such certainty in her voice that Nia almost believed her. “It will get better. Maybe not tomorrow or the day after or even next week. But eventually, the hurt will fade. It will turn into a scar instead of an open wound. And scars, they make us stronger.”
“I do not feel strong,” Nia whispered.
“You do not have to feel it for it to be true,” Rosa said. “Now close your eyes and let yourself rest. I will be right here watching over you.”