Chapter 139 139

Chapter 139 139
EVA

I woke up to the feeling of being carried.

My body was moving, but I wasn't walking. I know that because my leg was wrapped up and practically useless, and it hurts , so I would definitely know if I was walking. But I wasn't and I could feel the sway of someone's steps beneath me. I squinted against the light, my head pounding, and tried to focus on the face above me.

Dante.

His arms were tightly wrapped around me, one under my knees, the other supporting my back. His eyes were fixed ahead. He was probably in pain too from his wound, and what? It's only been a few days, a hole as wide as that doesn't just heal in a few days.

He shouldn't be carrying me. He was injured too. His felt like it hurt more than mine, but he didn't stop.

I sighed and let myself relax against him, breathing in the familiar smell of his skin and clothes. The warmth of his chest seeped through my clothes and cheek, and for a moment, I felt safe.

Like nothing would dare to touch me as long as he was holding me.

He carried me through the door and into the main mansion.

He suddenly stopped and turned to someone. "Is that bath ready?" he asked.

A female voice replied in a low tone. "Yes, sir."

He nodded and carried me upstairs, his steps steady despite his own injuries. We soon reached his bedroom and he gently placed me on the edge of the bed, helping me sit up. I looked up at him and sighed.

"How's your injury?" I asked, and slowly reached out, wincing from the pain in my arm. It hurts so bad, and is super uncomfortable that sometimes I think cutting the entire arm off would give me relief.

It's like having your hand tied behind you tightly for hours, with no knife or any sharp object in sight to at least try and free yourself.

The pain, the discomfort, it feels like your brain just ignores every other thing and zero in on that pain. It's excruciating.

I lifted his shirt gently, exposing his waist. A bandage was wrapped around him, the white fabric stark against his skin. I trailed my finger along the edge of the bandage, feeling the shape of the wound underneath.

"Does it still hurt?"

It was a ridiculous question. I know. Of course it hurt. He was shot, literally a bullet went into him, if it doesn't hurt I don't know what else will. It was stupid, but I couldn't stop myself from asking.

He crouched down to my level, his hand coming up to pat my hair, slowly and gently.

“Of course it does.”

I sighed and threw my arms around his neck, pulling him close. I let my head fall on his shoulder. And the stupid tears I've been holding back decided it was time to come, soaking into his shirt.

My face burned with embarrassment but no matter how hard I tried to stop myself from crying and embarrassing myself and hurting my head, I couldn't stop.

It felt like my body was acting on its own.

Thankfully, Dante didn't say anything to move to pull away, he just patted the back of my head gently and after a short moment. Kissed my temple.

I finally pulled away after minutes of crying and stopping and thinking of ways to not embarrass myself further.

I was a grown woman for crying out loud, you don't just cry out of nowhere.

I wiped my face with the back of my good hand and tried not to sniffle. That was enough embarrassment for one day. I don't even know why I was crying. "Sorry," I said, my voice cracking. "I ruined your shirt." I cleared my throat and tried to salvage what was left of his wet shoulder. It looked like it rained there.

He looked down at the wet spot on his shoulder, as if the amusement in his eyes wasn't enough to bury me. He chuckled.

“I've got more new shirts to cry on if you want.”

It–it’s a new shirt?

Way to go, Eva.

You didn't just embarrass yourself, you ruined a shirt that probably costs two grands.

"I'll give you a bath." He suddenly said, standing up.

I blinked at him, surprised. "Sorry?” I blinked harder. “What?"

“Give me a second to remember.” He stood up and reached for me, lifting me off the bed again and carrying me into the bathroom. Warm steam filled the room the second we walked in. The hot shower was already running in the open cubicle, a box of chamomile body wash on the soap dish rack and one again by the tub.

He sat me down on the edge of the tub, careful with my leg, and stood in front of me. Without wasting a second, or giving me one to prepare myself he reached for the hem of my shirt.

"Tell me if it hurts." He said and for some stupid reason my face heat up. I tried to breath in and out silently to expel the heat wherever it came from but that only seemed to worsen it.

He slowly pulled the shirt up and over my head, then reached for my pants. I stupidly helped where I could, but I was too tired to do much. He undressed me gently, his hands careful not to touch the bandages or the bruises. The second I was stark and consciously naked, steam began to cling to my skin.

He helped me into the tub. The heat from the shower heated up the bathroom and the tub too, and when I got in, it seeped into my sore muscles, loosening the tension that has been locked in my body for days.

Dante crouched by the tub, and reached for the shampoo and the nozzle connected to the tub faucet. He poured some into his palm to check the temperature and until he was sure it was warm enough he began pouring it on my hair ends.

"Lean your head back.”

I did, careful not to break one of the only good parts of the body. He poured the chamomile shampoo into his hand and began to wash my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp in slow, gentle circles, I almost dozed off from it.

I thought a hair wash was only going to worsen the headache but this just makes me want to fall asleep.

I didn't know he knew how to massage. I mean, he once told me he sucked at it, and would probably break my bones if he tried.

I breathed in the scent of chamomile filling the air. It was calming and soft, and the particular headache that was pounding behind my eyes began to ease. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, trusting his work completely.

For minutes , Dante kept washing, making sure every strand was clean. I don't know if he was genuinely doing it for the hair or to ease the ache, either way both were working. I was worried earlier when he carried me that the smell of my three days unwashed hair would open his healing wound.

He finally rinsed my hair, then helped me stand and guided me to the shower. Where to my satisfaction he washed my body with the chamomile soap, his hands gentle against my bruised skin. I leaned against him, too tired to stand on my own.

I didn't think I'd ever feel loved from being washed by someone. If anything I thought the only time I was going to be given a bath was by Lily, when I was too old to move.

“Come on, don't fall asleep.” He gently patted my head with his lather-full hand and rinsed it immediately when he saw what he did.

“I'm so tired.” I drawled, snuggling my head further into the corner of his neck. At this point I don't care anymore if the water dripping from my heavily wet hair was drowning him.

I just wanted to sleep.

He wrapped a towel around me when he was done, and carried me back to the bedroom.

He sat me down in front of the vanity.

“Lotion?”

I slowly shook my head. Holding myself back from falling on the bed

He hummed and began to dry my hair with another towel, then a hair dryer. I watched him in the mirror to try to stop myself from falling asleep, his eyes focused on the task.

I was dozing in and out of sleep, unable to pick a side, my head nodding, and my eyes heavy. When he was done, he pulled a shirt big enough to take me and Lily over my head. It was huge on me, swallowing my small frame.

He picked me up again and carried me to the bed. My entire body relaxed into the mattress, sinking into it, I let out a satisfactory moan.

He pulled the covers over me, tucking them around my shoulders. I grabbed his arm and tried to open my eyes, but I fell asleep before I could get my words out.