*(If I don't see 50 votes on this chapter, I won't continue)*
Alessandro's POV:~
“Angel!”
I dash towards her lifeless form, my feet slamming quickly down the tiny marble steps leading to the bathtub, and check her pulse.
It is shallow. But it is still there.
My initial fear gives way to concern.
While kneeling on the rough stairs, I hold her face in my hands and tap her cheeks, trying to rouse her awake. However, Angel does not respond. She remains still, her exhaustion evident. So I give her shoulders a shake.
Slowly, Angel moves, her eyes opening with a look of confusion in them, and my breath catches in my throat as relief washes over me.
“You fell asleep.” I let out a sigh, my features softening as I caress her pink cheek.
“I am sorry. I was just so tired. I did not realize when I...” Comes her hoarse voice.
“It is alright.” I smile, though anxiety still lingers.
My hands reach out to pull her from the water, but accidentally graze against one of her nipples. My body goes rigid. I shut my eyes to shake off the image and look at her face, oblivious to my thoughts.
I totally forgot that Angel was naked under the surface.
I quickly pull off my jacket, slipping it backwards over her shivering figure submerged in the water, and with gentle strength, being careful not to rush or overwhelm her, assist her out of the bathtub.
Upon setting her down on the countertop, I remove the jacket. My eyes fix on the mirror above her head as I slowly discard the now wet garment. Her body is shaking, and her teeth are chattering from spending too much time in the water. I take out one of the bathrobes from the cabinet and wrap it around her.
Only when I am assured that she is fully dressed do I hug her close to my heart, and kiss her forehead, my arms creating a protective shield around her as the organ still beating in her chest somehow soothes mine. “You scared me, Angel. Do not do it again.”
With her face dug into my neck, her arms extend to touch my back. “I am sorry. I did not mean to.”
Wordlessly, I guide her to the bedroom, my steps steady and purposeful. I sit her down in front of the mirror and open her wet ponytail. Her reflection on the glass reveals the raw vulnerability etched on her face — one of a little girl all alone in this huge world without anyone to go to. I fetch a towel from the bathroom and start to dry her damp hair, each stroke of the fabric against her strands calming the raging storm inside me.
Her hair eventually dries, and in an attempt to bring her more comfort, my fingers skillfully weave her locks into a neat braid the way I have seen her do sometimes before sleeping, our breathing interrupting the quetitude.
I can only hope it actually resembles some type of hairstyle and not just a series of haphazard knots.
The room remains silent, the only sound being the rhythmic brushing of hair against my finger tips. My actions are a testament to my unwavering commitment, my desire to care for and protect the woman I want. I know that Angel is grieving the loss of her parents right now, and I want to be her rock, her pillar of strength in this time of need.
Once I am finished, I step back a little to admire my handiwork, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I lean down and press a soft kiss to the part of her neck that is exposed by the loose sleeve of the robe. “You are not alone, Angel. I am here for you,” I whisper on her cold skin and raise my head. “Always.”
In that exact moment, our eyes meet through the mirror, and I see a flicker of hope along with something else — something stronger dance within her gaze that was not there before. In return, my eyes convey an emotion too deep for my understanding, and she must have found that reciprocating hers because she forwards her hand, placing it on my cheek. Her palm holds my face against the crook of her neck, and I grip her hand in my strong fist before she closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Her whole body trembles with that gesture, betraying how weak she has become in just a day, and a single tear rolls down her face.
After taking care of her hair, I help her wear a shirt of mine, one that is too big for her, and bring her panty from the closet.
I know I could have ditched them; the shirt is long enough to cover half of her legs anyway, but I do not want to make her feel uncomfortable around me in any way.
I bend to my knees and hold it open for her, my eyes anywhere up her waist. Angel does not say anything, just grabs my shoulders and slowly slips her legs through the holes. Sliding the cotton up her thighs, I settle it against her ass with a gentle pat. I give a peck to her covered belly button on my way up, because even though she never said it, I know she likes it when I do that, and just like that, her stiffened muscles begin to relax.
Now that I think of it, this is the first time I am making a woman wear clothes instead of taking them off.
But anything for her.
Taking her hand in mine, I lead her to the bed, where I carefully tuck her in. With my back leaned against the head board, I sit next to her and comb my fingers through the loose strands that frame her face, waiting for her to drift off so I can get back to work because right now I do not trust her awake and alone with anyone but me. Not until I find someone capable of looking after her in my absence.
******************
My footsteps echo through the deserted halls as I enter the estate after a long day at work. I walk straight towards the kitchen, in dire need of something to quench my thirst. It is already past twelve so the staffs must have gone back to their mansions by now. Which is why it surprises me when I see Laura there, putting something away in the refrigerator.
She notices my arrival and rushes to my side, wearing a concerned expression. “Signore, sembra stanco. Dovrei offrirti qualcosa?”
(Sir, you look tired. Should I get you something?)
I dismiss her with a wave. “No, Laura. Ho solo bisogno di un po’ d’acqua.”
(No, Laura. I just need some water.)
An untouched plate catches my attention when I open the fridge to take out a bottle. Unscrewing the cap, I take long, refreshing gulps. As I set the bottle down, I glance at Laura, my gaze filled with worry.
“Has Angel had dinner yet?”
Laura shakes her head, her frown deepening. “No, sir. Not even lunch. I went up to her four times, but she is still sleeping. She seems really tired and does not have much of an appetite lately.”
My brows wrinkle at her words as my worries for Angel grow. She has been behaving like this for several days now. Neglecting her medicines. Napping almost the entire day and skipping meals. She rarely talks to anyone except me, though Dino and Damien try to give her company when I am away. She has not even inquired about her friends, college, or anything else since the day she woke up in the guest room, and it just shows the extent of her pain. Not that it justifies her carelessness in the slightest, because if she keeps this up, it will not be long before her health deteriorates.
People have different ways to cope with grief. Some cry. Similar to the majority of women I have encountered. Some scream and break things. Like my brother. Some take it like a responsible adult and get over it. Like Damien. Some do not feel it at all. Like my cousin. Some change its direction, then allow it to build into rage before unleashing it on their target with full force. Like me. And then there are some who retreat into their shells, blocking out the world in an effort to stop experiencing it. Like Angel. What she does not realise is that it is just a temporary solution. Not a permanent fix. She has not cried openly. Not even once, save for the outburst she had in my arms just after waking up. Sure, occasionally I notice that her face is wet, but that is all. Nothing more. And while everyone may believe that she is handling the situation fairly well thanks to this charade of hers, I do not fall into that category. I am not everyone. She can fool the world, but not me. I see right through her façade, through the broken pieces she so skillfully hides, and that is the reason her silence bothers me. She neither lacks emotions like Franco nor is a vindictive person like me. She is simply above us. So for her to try to repress her pain in this way is going to do nothing but harm her in the end. And I am not going to sit back and watch as she suffers. No fucking way.
All I need to do is figure out a way to break her shell and bring her out of it before she completely loses herself. Make her cry again and say whatever is there in her heart. I will let her do anything in return. Shout at me. Hit me. Scratch me. Bite me. Shoot me even. She just has to come back to me. Because enough with this lifeless Angel. I want my old Angel back.
I walk over to a nearby chair and sit down, my tiredness evident.
“It has been hard for her.” I sigh.
Laura is aware of what I am talking about and that this is the most I will tell her. She is the oldest servant in this house, having worked since my parents’ days, so I do not worry about her probing too much. Besides, she sees Dino and me more like her family than anything, and that is the reason I trust her with Angel more than I do with other maids. The fact that Laura regards her as her daughter also helps.
Then again, my Angel is like that only. You can not help but fall in love with her.
Laura moves closer, her voice filled with understanding and compassion. “È una giovane donna forte, ma il dolore richiede tempo per guarire.”
(She is a strong young lady, but grief takes time to heal.)
I give a nod and rise from my seat. “I am going up. Send the food when I call.”
“Ok. I will reheat it then.”
I turn to face her before going out. “Thank you, Laura. I appreciate what you are doing for her. Let’s make sure everyone does the same. She should feel the most at home here.”
“Alright, sir. We will take care of her needs.”
The bedroom is bathed in soft moonlight coming from the open balcony as I enter. My heart sinks when I spot Angel lying on my side of the bed in a fatal position, her back to me. Gently locking the door, I walk to the table to remove my watch, tie, and jacket. I close the balcony doors and tiptoe towards her, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet.
I notice the strip of medicines on the bedside table. The pills are the same number as last night, a clear indication that she has not eaten.
I strictly told the doctors not to prescribe her any sleeping pills, fearing she might get addicted to them or, god forbid, misuse them somehow. She is not in her senses right now, and I am still not over that bathroom incident.
I had the bathtub taken out as soon as she fell asleep that day, have prohibited her from taking showers when I am not at home. Even glue myself to the bathroom door, waiting with fresh clothes in my hands every fucking time she goes to freshen up, so I can barge in if something happens again, which has been reduced to two times a day as those are the only times I am present, in the morning before going for work and at night after I return if she is not asleep already. If Angel has noticed the arrangements, she has not said anything about them.
But the doctors. Those bastards told that the pills are for her betterment only. She will be less depressed if she sleeps it off, and some rest will do her good.
Of course, I did not believe their words just like that. I talked to ten other doctors from different countries, and they all said the same thing: she should use the pills for the time being. At least until she is over the initial trauma.
I have never regretted studying business instead of medicine more than now.
I shake my head and look at my Angel. She is clutching my pillow tightly to her chest, her eyebrows scrunched, and her golden hair is all sprawled out as low whimpers come out of her lips. I sit on the edge of the bed, barely disturbing the stillness in the room and brush away her hair, revealing puffy eyes and a red nose. My own brows furrow when I hear her muttering something. Seeing her restless sleep, I reach out to smoothen the creases on her forehead.
Angel stirs, as if sensing my presence, and her eyes flutter open. She gazes up at me, her look reflecting a mix of sorrow and longing. Without a word, she sits up and moves closer to me, curling up against my side. She places her head on my lap and hugs my lower stomach, seeking comfort from me, and I instinctively wrap my arms around her, providing the warmth and security she needs. My touch is gentle yet possessive as I stroke her hair with one hand and hold her waist with another, wanting to shield her from the pain that is weighing her down.
“Bad dream?” I ask in a low voice, and she nods, nuzzling my leg as I watch her fall back to sleep in my arms, my lap becoming a pillow for her weary head.
I know Angel has been getting nightmares of that explosion for a week, but I never confronted her about it, thinking it would stress her out. Now that she is finally admitting it herself, it seems like an improvement.
Minutes turn into hours while I patiently wait for her to rise from her slumber, knowing that she needs her rest. My eyes fix on Angel’s peaceful face as I closely look at the rise and fall of her chest through the plain shirt. I pass the time by counting the beats of her heart using my stopwatch, so that I can inform her doctor if it exceeds 100.
I do not remember how long I have been sitting here for, just looking at her and admiring her beauty when she suddenly yawns. “What time is it?”
I check my watch to answer her. “Two thirty.”
“You have been sitting like this for two hours!” She scrambles to sit up, her eyes widening a bit as she sees me in the same position as before. “Oh, God! You must be so tired. You just came back home.” Her fingers rake through her unruly waves. “Why did you not wake me up?”
My caring Angel. Even after so much, she still cares about my comfort more than her own.
I cup her cheek, rubbing the soft skin. “It is fine. After all, your sleep is more important to me.” My hand lowers to her stomach, and I pet her tummy. “Come on, let’s feed this.”
She starts to object, but I put a finger on her lips, efficiently shushing her, and use the intercom. Laura picks up.
“Reheat the food and…”
Angel slowly shakes her head beside me.
“Ok, drop the food. Make some healthy soup and bring it up.”
“Sure, sir.”
A few minutes later, Laura arrives at the door, and I attend to it. I take the trolley from her hands and send her off for the night, wheeling it towards the bed. Stopping before Angel, I roll my sleeves till my elbows, sit back down, and cradle the bowl in my hands. The fragrant aroma of the soup instantly fills the room.
I pick up the spoon and bring it to her lips, coaxing her to eat. Angel hesitantly eyes the soup in front of her before complying. With each spoonful, I feed her with tender care, my touch as delicate as a whisper, and she accepts the nourishment, her eyes never leaving my face. The warmth of the soup seems to have awakened her senses, if only temporarily, and her mood lifts a little, with colour returning to her cheeks.
When she has consumed enough to satisfy me and the soup is almost finished as well, I set the bowl aside and gently wipe her lips with a napkin, catching a lingering drop from the corner of her mouth. Her gaze meets mine, and what she does next nearly stops my heart. She holds my hand, and her lips wobble to form a curve, her eyes tearful.
“Thank you.” She gets out the words in a broken whisper, looking at me like I am the only thing she has left.
Angel smiled. Albeit a small one, that does not count. She fucking smiled for the very first time in a whole ass week. Not the kind of smile I love to see on her. Not the kind where her eyes shine, her face glows, and her lips part to exhibit her perfect teeth. But it is still something. And to be honest, it is more precious to me than the full smiles, knowing that she considers me important enough to be able to smile at me even in this situation.
My heart might combust with happiness. I can die a happy man now.
My hand remains paused on her lips as I keep staring at her beautiful face, completely mesmerized by the view before me. But there is something there — in her eyes — that I do not understand, and it makes my heart race. My breathing turns erratic, and the air around us suddenly feels heavier.
Che diavolo mi sta facendo?
(What the hell is she doing to me?)
I stand up to move the trolley but her hand grips mine in a tight hold, her smile fading and her eyes anxious.
“Stay?” Angel almost begs. “The nightmares get worse when you are not here.”
And my heart aches at the vulnerability in her words, the way she is clinging to me as if it is her only chance at survival.
I clench my jaw.
I never want to hear that helplessness in her voice again. It makes me feel helpless.
Lowering myself to the bed, I join her under the covers and turn her around. I read somewhere that spooning in bed helps with pain. So here I am. Trying that theory. With her back facing me, I pull Angel into my arms. One of my hands slips beneath her, drawing imaginary circles around her navel, and another goes over her body, sliding between her legs. She inhales deeply, expecting me to touch her pussy, but I do not. Rather, my palm stops on her inner thigh, and I rub the soft skin there, massaging it slowly the manner she enjoys.
“Sleep. I am not going anywhere.” I whisper, kissing the back of her ear, and feel her relax in my hold. Even when she nods off, my grip on her thigh and stomach stays firm.
This was for the completion of 2k votes otherwise I wasn't gonna post anything because you don't bother to vote. Even when I say so many times.
If you want to read further, I want 50 votes. Or else nothing.
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