“Jesus,” he mutters, sounding upset. He throws my door open, then his arm wraps around my lower back, and I’m ushered into my bedroom. “Get in bed,” he orders, and not wanting to upset him more, I quickly obey.
Before I have the covers pulled over me, Gabriel rushes out of the room, leaving the door wide open. I sit awkwardly, wishing I could rest my throbbing head on the pillow.
I close my eyes again and startle when I hear Gabriel come back into the room. He’s carrying a tray with a glass of water and other things on it. Only when he sets it down on the bedside table, do I see there’s medicine.
“Take the pills for your fever and get some sleep.” His tone is still harsh.
I pick up the medicine and quickly swallow it down.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” he instructs.
Feeling more confused than ever, I cautiously lie down.
Without another word, Gabriel leaves the bedroom, drawing the door shut behind him.
He gave me medicine?
Does that mean he’s not as angry with me as I thought?
I don’t get to worry about things for too long before exhaustion drags me into a restless sleep and feverish dreams.
Chapter 18
Gabriel
Guilt creeps into my chest as I walk away from Lara’s bedroom. She probably got sick because I scared the living shit out of her.
I’ve never second-guessed my actions until two days ago when I lost my temper with Lara. I regret how I handled the situation, and since then, it’s clear Lara’s frightened of her own shadow again.
I hate how she flinches and cowers away from me. It makes me feel like shit.
Ignoring the guilt, I head to the east wing. When I enter my grandmother’s private sitting room, she tells me, “I’m going to teach Lara how to knit.”
I drop down in one of the plush armchairs and meet her eyes. “I think it’s too early for you to interact with her.”
“Allah Allah,” she huffs. “She’s been here a month, Gabriel! I’m tired of staying in the east wing, and Nisa loves her. You and Emre are in and out all day, busy with work. You know I get lonely, right? I need fresh company. Lara doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly. Don’t make the poor young woman pay for Mazur’s sins. Nisa tells me Lara has suffered a great deal.”
Christ, give me strength.
“I don’t trust her,” I voice my opinion.
At least, not entirely. I’m not as guarded after having her in my house for a month, and my gut still tells me she’s being truthful about everything. The woman is too scared to lie to me. She’d offer Mazur up on a fucking platter to save herself.
Letting out a sigh, I mutter, “But if it pleases you, I’ll allow her to have access to the east wing.”
I’ll never win when it comes to the women in this house. They have me wrapped around their little fingers.
After giving my approval, my grandmother leans forward, an eager expression lighting up her face. “Now that Lara’s no longer banned from the east wing, there’s so much I can teach her, seeing as you and Emre refuse to get married and give me great-grandchildren. I wonder if she loves gardening?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say as I get up from the chair. I don’t want to spend the rest of my evening talking about Lara. “I’m heading to bed. Don’t stay up too late.” Walking to my grandmother’s chair, I press a kiss on her temple.
“Iyi geceler,” she wishes me a good night. “Gözümün nuru.” Hearing her call me the light of her eye, the corner of my mouth lifts as I leave the sitting room.
On my way to my own bedroom, my thoughts turn to Lara and how quickly Nisa accepted her and how eager my grandmother is to get to know the woman.
Stopping by Murat’s bedroom, I knock on the door.
“Evet?” he calls out.
I let myself in. Murat turns down the volume on his TV. “Something wrong?”
I shake my head. “You’ve been guarding Lara since she got here. What do you think of her?”
His eyebrows draw together. “Boss?”
“Do you get along with her?”
He shrugs. “She’s a good person. Hard-working, as well.” One of his eyebrows darts into his hairline, then he rambles, “I just think she’s a nice person. There are no feelings. Nothing like that.”
I let out a sigh. “Relax. I just want to know if you get along with her, seeing as she has Nisa and my grandmother in love with her.”
“Lara is always respectful. I have no reason to dislike her.”
Nodding, I open the door again. “I’ll let you rest.”
When I leave the room, I start to think the problem lies with me. If everyone in my household gets along with Lara and practically embraces her as part of the family, maybe I should ease down on the suspicion and give the woman a chance.
She’s given me no reason not to trust her since she started working for me.
Then why did Mazur want to know whether she’s alive?
While thoughts of Lara and Mazur fill my mind, I shower and prepare for bed. When I’m dressed in a pair of sweatpants, I stand in front of the window and stare out over the yard, the outdoor lights illuminating the garden my grandmother loves so much.
My thoughts turn to the fever Lara had when I made her get in bed.
Is she sick because of the worry I’m causing her?
Again the guilt creeps to the surface.
I let out a disgruntled sigh, then decide to check on her before I turn in for the night. Walking into my closet, I grab a white t-shirt and pull it over my head.
Barefoot, I take the stairs down to the ground floor, and not wanting to wake Lara, I slowly push her bedroom door open. The bedside lamp is still on, giving me a clear view of her sweat-drenched face and hair. Her lashes lift, and with feverish eyes, she stares at me, looking like a lost puppy.
Fuck.
I step inside and shut the door behind me. I don’t even make it halfway to the bed before Lara tries to get out from under the covers. “I’m sorry,” she starts pleading as if I’m holding a gun to her head, then she drops to the carpet, hacking up half a lung from a tight cough that sounds painful as fuck.
I dart forward, and slip my arms beneath her. Picking her up, I place her back on the bed. “You’re fucking sick,” I state the obvious, sounding like I’m about to rain hell-fire down on her.
“I can work,” she protests weakly. “I can still work.”
The beating organ in my chest that’s been threatening to soften with compassion and guilt gives up the fight and aches for this woman. Even feverish and clearly sick, she’ll probably clean the whole fucking house if I give her half a chance.
‘It’s not right for someone to live in so much fear,’ I remember Nisa’s words.
“I can work,” she mumbles half deliriously.
I pull the covers over her trembling body, and sitting down on the side of the bed, I place my hand over her forehead.
She’s burning up something fierce.
“I can…” her breath hitches in her throat, then she’s overwhelmed by another painful coughing fit that shakes her entire body.
I quickly pull her up until she’s convulsing against my chest and pat her back, hoping it will help loosen the tightness in her lungs.