CHAPTER 38: She Cares.

CHAPTER 38: She Cares.
Luca woke up hours later…Slowly, unwillingly…pulled back into consciousness by the banging ache in his shoulder. His breath suddenly became frantic as the pain intensified for a moment, but then it softened into something tolerable. He exhaled, careful and steady, letting his senses return to him bit by bit.
It took him a moment to focus…to gather enough strength to register where he was and why he was lying on his bed instead of standing in a conference room or sitting behind a desk burying himself in work.
Then it all came crashing back.
The attack.
The bullet.
His eyes opened fully, and the first thing he saw made the pain in his shoulder feel like nothing.
Isabella was there…slumped forward in a chair beside his bed, with her head resting against her arm, and her face angled toward him even in sleep…as if she wanted the first thing she saw when she woke up to be him.
There were large dark circles under her eyes, and her usually flawless hair fell messily across her cheeks. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. She had clearly fought sleep for hours before her body forced her to surrender.
Luca stared at her for a full minute, taking in everything…the worry lines still lightly visible on her forehead, the slight puffiness around her eyes from crying earlier, with her fingers still loosely curled as if she had been holding his hand before passing out.
His heart thudded painfully as realization began to hit him.
She stayed…She stayed the whole damn time.
A soft breath escaped his lips…half disbelief, and half awe. He lifted the blanket covering him and saw that his chest was bandaged, and his torso was also wrapped cleanly with fresh gauze. His shoulder was padded and immobilized. Someone had wiped the dried blood from his skin, cleaned the edges of the wound, and changed him into comfortable clothes.
The servants didn’t touch him like this. They were not allowed to. Even Riccardo kept a respectful distance with certain things, so it meant there was only one person in the house who could have cleaned and dressed him so carefully.
Isabella…It had to be her.
He pushed himself upright slowly, suppressing a groan as pain shot down his side. His hand pressed against the mattress for support, and he focused on breathing through the discomfort.
He looked at Isabella again.
She didn’t move in her sleep.
She looked…fragile, in a way he had never seen her. And the sight of her sleeping like that, worn out because of him, made the wave of guilt and warmth that swept through him so strong that he nearly stopped breathing.
“Bella,” he whispered softly.
She didn’t hear him.
Maybe that was good. Maybe he wasn’t ready for whatever argument…or confession…might follow her waking up.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed slowly, and the room spun for a moment, but he steadied himself and stood. The pain flared again, but he pushed through it like he always did.
He approached her quietly.
Up close, she looked even smaller, curled into that chair that was never designed for sleeping. Her hand rested inches from his side, a silent reminder of how she had stayed by him.
His hand hovered over her cheek, but he stopped himself before touching her.
Don’t wake her, he told himself. She needed sleep more than he needed a moment of sentiment. Instead, he bent down carefully, sliding an arm beneath her knees and another behind her back. His injured shoulder screamed in protest, but he ignored it. He tightened his core and lifted her gently.
She didn’t even move a single muscle as her head fell softly against his chest, and her lips parted a little as she slowly exhaled.
How long had it been since he held her like this?
Too long.
Carefully, painfully slowly, Luca lowered her onto the bed, arranging the pillows behind her so that her neck wouldn’t strain. She finally shifted a little as he tucked the blanket around her, but she didn’t wake. She simply curled instinctively toward the warmth of the sheets.
Luca stood at the edge of the bed for a long time.
Just…looking at her.
She had taken care of him and stayed for him. If she had wanted to walk away from him, that day, in that hallway where he collapsed…she could have.
But she had not.
It made him realize something that he had not dared believe in a long time. Isabella still cared.
He drew in a shaky breath and straightened, wincing again as the bandages pulled tight around his wound. He needed a shower. He needed to clear his head. Because right now, with her sleeping on his bed, he was dangerously close to doing something reckless…something he couldn’t afford.
Luca forced himself toward the bathroom where the warm water hit his skin carefully…too carefully, because he kept his injured shoulder dry. Even then, every movement hurt. But the pain felt different now. Manageable because he knew that if he looked through the bathroom door, she would still be there.
When he stepped out finally with a towel slung over his neck, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked pale and tired, vulnerable in a way he despised. And yet…he didn’t feel weak.
He felt calm in a strange, comforting way.
Because Isabella had stayed.
He dressed quickly, choosing a dark shirt and slacks…something simple. Nothing that required him to move his arm too much. His movements were methodical, driven purely by habit rather than strength.
Then he stood at the doorway for a long time, staring at the sleeping figure on his bed.
Her chest rose softly with each breath. Her hair covered half her face. She looked peaceful for the first time in days.
He moved closer, unable to stop himself.
He sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to shake the mattress. His uninjured hand reached out and lightly brushed the hair from her face. He hesitated, watching how she didn’t move.
His voice was barely a breath when he spoke.
“You shouldn’t have worried about me,” he murmured quietly. “But you did.”
He hated showing vulnerability. Even when he was alone….Especially when he was alone. But now, he found himself speaking to her in ways he couldn’t when she was awake.
“You stayed,” he whispered. “You… stayed.”
He leaned in slowly, and his lips ghosted over her forehead in a soft, tender kiss.
A promise. A confession. A mistake.
He wasn’t sure which one it was, but when he pulled back, he allowed himself one last look.
Then he stood and walked toward the door.