Amore

Chapter 8

"Not too bad," he whispered, kissing my stinging hands. His lips were soft and gentle. I shivered slightly as his lips traveled to my wrists, up the inside of my forearm. There was another knock on the door. Andrew groaned and slid off the bed, heading toward the door. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as he looked back at me. He smiled and opened the door.

Robbie walked in, a wool hat covering his fiery red hair. He plopped down in front of the fire and warmed up his hands.

"I hope you're ready for another day of reading because I don't want to do anything else. It's cold outside. I'm the only one with permission to be gone, thanks to you," he turned around and smiled. His face was red with cold. He smile slipped off his face, "Are you sick? Do you have a fever? You're face is red."

He came over and slid a cold hand on my forehead. I flinched back from the temperature of his hand.

"Oh, sorry. Well, you're not burning up, thankfully," he walked back over to the fire, where Andrew had taken the other seat. He stretched out in the chair. Robbie and Andrew conversed in quite voices, looking back at me once. I squinted my eyes, watching them. I sat up slowly and painfully, my ribs not being completely healed yet. I made a noise in the back of my throat and Robbie's and Andrew's heads snapped towards me, worry coating their faces. Andrew rushed over and helped me up, fluffing up pillows behind me.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, blushing as his hands brushed mine. I didn't like being treated as a child. I looked up into Andrew's face and saw my blush reflected in his own cheeks. He turned back to the fire and put another log in. I saw Robbie smile out of the corner of my eye. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling out a well-used book.

"This man's a genius, you'll love him," Robbie said, showing me the cover, "The writer's name is Shakespeare. He's written all kinds of things. I thought we should start out with this one, since it's funny and witty. I'll read it out loud to you and show you the words."

"What's it called?" I asked, looking at the two words on the binding.

"Twelfth Night. It's a romantic comedy, I thought you would enjoy it."

I nodded and looked at the words as Robbie started to read. After he has finished a few words I exclaimed, "That's beautiful. Andrew listen to this, 'If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.' Isn't that pretty! He's so melodramatic though. Keep reading."

Robbie chuckled and continued. I was fully enthralled when a knock came at the door. It was Cook, with lunch.

"Time has certainly flown by," I murmured, spooning some soup into my mouth. Robbie kept reading until it was dark.

"I'll come back tomorrow so we can continue," he said.

"Please do," I said, watching him as he rounded the corner, closing the door after him. Andrew was looking out the window. I tilted my head, "Andrew?"

He looked over at me, "Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, turning back to the window.

I frowned, "Something's wrong. I can tell."

"So we've known each other that long," he sighed, standing up and coming over to the bed. He slid in, leaning against the head rest. I turned to him and took his chin in my hand, turning his face towards mine. My eyes searched his.

"What is it?"

"Do...do you like Robbie?" he asked slowly.

"Of course."