"Can you stand?" Dario asked.
I looked up at him, then nodded. "I can manage," I muttered, even as the dull throb in my head pulsed in warning.
The truth was, I didn't want him holding me. I didn't want anyone touching me at all. I just wanted out. The sterile smell, the white walls, the quiet beeping...it brought back too many memories I didn't want to remember.
I swung my legs off the bed too quickly and the room tilted in protest.
Before I could even hit the floor, Dario caught me. His grip around my shoulders, firm and unyielding. He exhaled softly, more resigned than amused. "You can be very stubborn."
I said nothing, staring past him as if my sheer will alone could carry me out of this room.
Then I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing until the room stopped spinning. At least until the harsh tilt of the world started correcting itself.
The moment my feet found the floor, solid and cold, I straightened. Inch by inch, forcing my body to obey even as my head protested.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
Soon as the dizziness faded away, I lifted my hands and gently pushed his away. The contact lingering for half a second too long before it broke, as I took a step back, testing my balance.
Dario watched me closely, his expression unreadable, as if he was deciding whether to argue or to let it go. Thankfully, he chose the latter. I kept my focus on staying upright, one foot in front of the other, refusing to let the heaviness in my chest to show.
"The doctor said once you can walk, you're free to go," he said.
"I can," I answered, fastening the belt of my coat with steady hands. "It's fine. You can go now. My driver and assistant should be waiting outside."
My grandfather had left an hour earlier, claiming that he had an urgent meeting in the city. I nodded at the thought, relieved by his absence even as unease curled in my stomach.
There was just something about the way he had left. It felt wrong.
"You're to stay with me," Dario said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I straightened, then turned toward him, stunned by how easily he had said it.
"Your grandfather approved," he continued, bending to pick up the hospital bag my assistant had left by the bed hours earlier. "He thinks it's best. He doesn't like the idea of you being alone in the city."
I held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, searching for something, hesitation, perhaps, but found none.
"Fine," I said at last.
Dario didn't argue. He reached for the hospital bag before I could, lifting it from my shoulders and slinging it over his own with practiced ease. When he turned back to me, his free hand hovered at my elbow. Not quite touching, but close enough to remind me he was there. Close enough to make it clear I wasn't walking out on my own terms.
"Careful," he said quietly as he guided me toward the door.
I nodded, letting him guide me to the corridor outside, every step echoing louder than it should have. Still, I kept my eyes forward, jaw tight, forcing my body to cooperate even as my head throbbed with each measured pace.
Dario paused just by the elevator, speaking into his phone without looking at me. "Bring the car around. Now."
His men responded immediately, but their words barely registered. What I noticed was the certainty in his tone when he slipped the phone back into his pocket. Then he placed his hand on my back, firm and steady, steering me down the hall.
Doctors and nurses passed us, their gazes lingering a second too long. Curious. But I didn't care.
It wasn't until we reached the lobby that unease tightened in my chest. I straightened, realizing we weren't heading toward the private parking level where our cars would normally be waiting. When the elevator doors opened and Dario ushered me forward, I turned to him, startled, only to freeze as flashed of light erupted beyond the glass.
There were cameras and reporters waiting at a distance outside behind a sleek black sedan, parked just right by the entrance.
I turned to him. "You called the press?"
His jaw tightened. "If we're about to be married," he said evenly, "the public should see us together from time to time, shouldn't they? To keep up the appearance that this wasn't something agreed between our families."
The air felt suddenly thin. Because somehow, I highly doubted that was his only reason. Dario knew something. "Did my grandfather put you up to this?"
"He didn't have to," he simply answered. "But he agreed."
I didn't have any other choice but to go along with his ruse.
So I curled my hand into the sleeve of his coat, my fingers tightening just enough to look affectionate and convincing for the cameras. I lifted my chin and offered the cameras a subtle smile, restrained and composed. The kind that suggested gratitude and a quiet sort of happiness, nothing more.
The flashes were blinding, erupting in rapid succession. And I wouldn't lie and say they didn't hurt. Those white bursts of light stabbing behind my eyes, worsening the steady throb in my skull. I had to lean into Dario when the dizziness crept in, my grip on him tightening instinctively to steady myself.
Whether he noticed my discomfort or not hardly mattered. To him, and to me, this was just a part of the performance we were trained for. Even when my insides were starting to crave for someone else.
He guided me slowly towards the passenger's door and opened it for me. Every inch the gentleman, I felt his hand on my back guiding me in, careful and practiced, shielding me from this unnecessary chaos as if this was nothing more than a courteous gesture.
I slid into the seat. The cold leather grounding me as the door closed softly at my side.
I watched as the reporters surged forward anyway, despite his men holding them back.
"How is Miss Ricci feeling?"
"How did she collapse?"
"Was it an accident or something more serious?"
"Is it true that she is pregnant?"
"When is the wedding?"
Their voices overlapped, slicing through the bulletproof windows of this car, sharp and insistent. I clamped my hands together, my fingers fidgeting on my lap as I watched Dario stepping between them and the car as he answered their questions, like he had rehearsed it all. Maybe he had, I don't know.
He told me I had taken a nasty fall. That I had hit my head. That I was recovering well and only needed rest. It was simple, clean and believable. An explanation neat enough to erase the gunshot and the snow. The memory of another dark-haired man, clutching at his chest.
I stared straight ahead, absorbing the irony with a hollow, distant clarity.
A fall. God, I wanted to laugh.
That was what the world would remember.
Not the cliff. Not the gun he carelessly tossed in my hand. Not the way he looked at me, as if he trusted me with his life. And certainly not the truth I now remember, that I was married to Alexandre Barinov.
By the time Dario rounded the hood and slipped into the driver's seat, the questions had dissolved into background noise. The door shut with a dull thud, finally sealing us in as he drove us out of the hospital's driveway. The world outside vanishing behind tinted glass.
"We'll talk when we get home," he said evenly. "You should rest for now."