She placed his medication and the nurse's instructions on the table.
“Now, you need to rest.”
Dante leaned back.
“I'm capable of deciding when to rest.”
“And I'm capable of throwing your medication at your head.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Would you like to try?”
“No, because then I'd have to explain to my friend why I injured my fiancé.”
Dante shook his head.
Isabella went into the kitchen to prepare something warm for him to drink.
When she returned, she handed him the cup and sat in the chair opposite him.
Dante studied her for a moment.
“How long have you known your friend?”
“Several years.”
“And you trust her with something like this?”
“She has helped me before.”
“Why?”
Isabella looked down at her cup.
“There were times when I couldn't afford to visit a doctor for every little problem. She helped me get medicine and gave me advice when I needed it.”
Dante's expression changed slightly.
“You couldn't afford medical treatment?”
“Not always.”
She said it casually, as though it were nothing worth discussing.
But Dante noticed the way her smile disappeared when she spoke about her past.
“What else couldn't you afford?” he asked.
Isabella turned towards him.
“Are you interviewing me?”
“I'm asking a question.”
“And I'm choosing not to answer it.”
He studied her for another moment before looking away.
For once, he didn't push.
Isabella stood and collected the empty cups.
“You should sleep now. The nurse said you need rest.”
Dante looked at her.
“Are you always this bossy?”
“Only when someone refuses to take care of himself.”
“I took care of myself before I met you.”
“And look where that got you. A bullet wound and a very annoying nurse.”
“You forgot the annoying woman who keeps calling herself my fiancée.”
She smiled.
“I thought you liked me.”
“Don't get carried away.”
“Too late, darling.”
She walked into the kitchen before he could reply.
Dante leaned back against the sofa and listened to her humming.
He had entered the apartment intending to stay hidden until he could contact his men.
Now he was sitting there after a meal he hadn't needed to share with anyone, remembering the way she had laughed across the restaurant table.
He should have been planning his escape.
Instead, he found himself wondering what ridiculous thing she would say to him next.
And that bothered him more than his wound.