Fix this.
Fix her.
As I descend the steps to the kitchen, my feet are unusually hesitant.
Uncertain.
I’m sure she’s fine.
I brace myself for what I might find, but only Ellen turns my way, her mouth opening in surprise.
Pausing, I swivel my head like an idiot. Looking for her. But the rest of the room is empty.
“Where is she?” I demand.
Our housekeeper’s mouth firms in a way I’ve rarely seen. “I’m not going to let you berate her, Silas. She’s not… she’s not well tonight.”
The concern in her words makes my stomach roil. “She’s sick?”
Ellen stares at me until I feel the childish urge to shift beneath her silent judgement. “Sick in the heart, I would suggest,” she says finally. Quietly.
Condemning me with her words.
Sick in the heart.
“Ellen,” I say finally. “I’m… I just want to make sure she’s alright.”
She still looks hesitant. “Well. I was actually coming up to get you. Although perhaps Kit might be better.”
I straighten, worry piercing through me. “Why?”
When she tells me, my eyes close for a moment. “I’ll… I’ll speak to her.”
Jesus.
I make my way back up the steps, but my brothers have got to Anastasia first.
Kit turns to me, the worry clear on his brow as I reach the hallway. Rafe is holding onto the ladder, his tone pleading.
“Stasi.” He swallows, his eyes flicking to mine. “Come down. Please.”
Anastasia teeters on the very top step, wobbling as she stretches for the light.
She only shakes her head, and Kit swears softly as she tilts further. “I’m not done.”
“Yes, you are.” Kit moves to join Rafe, his hands spreading out as if readying to catch her. “Come down before you fall.”
“Can’t,” she mutters. “Haven’t finished the list.”
Her hands reach for the light fitting again. It’s not even within her reach. An impossible task—
I stop in my tracks.
The list.
The list that I made, despite knowing it was impossible to finish it all in one day, if at all. The list I made just to irritate her.
To twist the knife in a little more.
“Anastasia,” my voice is low as I step up beside my brothers. “You’re finished for tonight. Get down from there, right now.”
She blinks, staring down at me. “But I haven’t finished.”
She looks so fucking tired. How did I miss how exhausted she is?
Because I didn’t want to look at her.
And her voice sounds so small, so sad, that I have to close my eyes. Have to brace against the sudden, sharp stab in my chest.
Because I did this.
I wanted to hurt her. Wanted her to feel some of the pain that she put me through – put them through.
But I didn’t want to break her. And maybe Kit was right after all. That’s exactly what I might have done. Because this behavior, this quiet, pale Anastasia… it’s not her. It’s not right.
Fear tightens my throat. “I’m changing the list. Get down, and I’ll tell you what you need to do.”
When she immediately begins to climb down, my heart just about rips out of my chest.
I don’t breathe until she’s close enough for me to step forward. The twins fall back as I carefully place my hands on her waist and lift her down. She stares at my chest, not even looking up.
She feels breakable. Nothing like the strong Anastasia I used to know.
And her skin… it’s burning. The heat works through the cotton of her shirt, and sudden understanding makes my fingers clench.
I rest my hand against her forehead. Take in her glassy eyes. “She’s got a fucking temperature.”
Kit tests it for himself. Curses violently. “I’m calling a doctor.”
Rafe just stands silently, his face pale with shock as I lift her carefully into my arms. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at any of us as I take the stairs two at a time. I don’t stop until I’m shoving open my bedroom door, placing her carefully down on my bed.
She starts to struggle. “’M not allowed.”
“Fuck,” Rafe whispers. We glance at each other before he reaches down, carefully capturing her hands in his. “Yes, you are, Stasi. You’re staying here tonight.”
She collapses back against the covers, her face damp. “I didn’t finish the list.”
Fuck the list.
But she twists, pulling it from the pocket of her black trousers, and my throat closes up as I carefully take it from her, opening it up to see lines upon lines of my fucking orders.
As though her whole life has narrowed to a list I came up with on a whim. To torture her.
That’s exactly what it is, I realize abruptly. Day after day of cleaning and scrubbing and barely fucking existing with barely a moment to herself.
Kit was right. This isn’t a punishment. This is fucking torture.
When he bursts through the door, Rafe and I look up. “The doctor – he’s tied up. Something about that fucking virus doing the rounds. But he said it sounds like exhaustion. She needs to sleep it off.”
“The temperature?” I ask hoarsely.
“We need to monitor it,” he says. I watch as he leans over, carefully stroking the hair back from her face before checking her pulse. “But it should disappear, if it’s only rest she needs.”
I perch on the edge of the bed, my eyes on her face. “If it doesn’t change, we’re taking her to hospital.”
Her eyes are already closing as we settle in around her, her body limp. Kit picks up her hand, cradling it between both of his, violet eyes flashing to us as if daring us to say a fucking word.
I don’t say anything.
I watch, and I wait.
I don’t take my eyes from her for a second.
