She gulped half of it through sheer force of will. The rest would take more motivation. She frowned at the tepid water. Getting ice would require sprinting across the room—bad idea sober, treacherous in her current state—before Dante returned.
Lukewarm tap water would have to do.
As she steeled herself for one more sip, Dante walked out in nothing but a towel.
Alessa lowered the glass from her still-parted lips.
“Sorry. Forgot a change of clothes.” He cocked his head. “You okay?”
Oh. She was staring. And didn’t really feel like stopping. She held up a hand. “Don’t move.”
He scanned the room for trouble, then crossed his arms. “Why am I standing here?”
“You told me to be bold.”
“And?”
“And a half-naked man is in my bedroom, so I’m boldly looking.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, bemused. “That’s … not what I meant.”
“You don’t get to dictate what someone does with your advice. I’ll work on other kinds of boldness later. For now, I’m ogling. Unless you’re shy.”
“Shy?” He ran his tongue over his teeth, not entirely hiding his smile. “Hardly.” Palms out, he spun in a slow circle. “There. Seen enough?”
A dangerous question. “I suppose I’ll let you put your clothes on now.”
He snorted. “Like you could stop me.”
“I could kill you with my pinky.”
“I’m shaking.”
She threw a pillow and he caught it, tucking it beneath his arm as he headed for a stack of clean clothing on the couch. “Keep throwing these at me and you’ll have none left.”
A smile playing on her lips, she sank into a pile of pillows. At least one person treated her like a regular person. It was more than she’d dared to hope for in a very long time.
Twenty-Five
Le bestemmie sono come la processione: escono dal portone e ritornano dallo stesso.
Curses are like parades: They return from whence they came.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 19
She was dying. She had to be. Her skull seemed determined to split down the middle, and she was fairly certain heads weren’t meant to do that. She swayed, grasping for something to hold herself up, but finding only air.
Dante caught her elbow. “Steady.”
“How many times—” She tugged but couldn’t get away and gave up as the movement sent the world swooping.
“Relax. I’m wearing gloves, and you have long sleeves and gloves.”
“Nothing in the history of the world has ever been less effective than telling a person to relax.” She yanked her arm free. “My head hurts.”
“Should’ve had more water.”
She found the wall and pressed her forehead against the stone. “I’m dying.”
“You aren’t dying. You’re hungover.”
“Why aren’t you hungover?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“Yes. I do. Very much so.”
“And here I thought we were such good friends.”
Were they? She hadn’t had a friend since she was thirteen, but maybe a night of drunken idiocy was how it worked for adults. She couldn’t think over the loud throbbing in her head—because throbbing had a sound all of a sudden—so she set her mind to walking instead. Duty waited, whether she was up for it or not.
“Sometimes the best cure is a bit more poison. There might be a little left in the bottle.”
She gagged. “Sounds like advice invented by a greedy pub owner.”
“Come on, you need to eat something.”
Alessa’s stomach performed acrobatics as she took her seat. Sweat beaded her forehead, hot and clammy at the same time. Checking to be sure no one was looking, she pressed a water glass against her cheek, sighing at the cool.
Dante deposited a plain roll on her plate, glared at her to eat, and returned to his post by the door.
Alessa nudged it away and swallowed a few times.
Kaleb had already bolted for the day, and the remaining Fontes scarfed down their pastries and juice, clearly eager to begin their day off.
“Too much fun last night?” Kamaria smirked at her while Nina chattered to Josef about which temple service they should attend, or whether they should attend them all to cover their bases.
Alessa stared at her fork in misery.
“What are your plans for the afternoon, Finestra?” Saida asked. “Do you get to leave after your portrait session?”
Alessa gave up on eating. “I don’t really have anywhere to go.”