Twitter? What’s a twitter?
Nightshade kept her mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Just then, Francis burst into the room, her skinny arms laden down with a heavy tray of food. Nightshade rushed forward to take the tray from her before the frail woman toppled over.
“I made you all your favorites, dear. I'm sure you haven’t eaten properly at all. Look at these arms.” Francis grabbed her wrist and the tray shook on the verge of spilling, but the older woman refused to let go. “You’ve grown so bony.”
Feeling as if she were caught in the middle of a brewing storm, Nightshade went to the bed, thankful Francis was more focused on her skinniness than her kissing Merc, and gently lowered the tray to the surface before it was knocked out of her hands by another emotional outburst. Lifting the lid, she studied what was mainly fruits and dips. There was a small carafe of coffee, a crystal glass of orange juice, and another glass of water. She lifted a piece of bacon, surprised when it hung limp in her fingers, and cautiously took a bite. She grimaced.
It wasn't bacon. It wasn't even close to bacon.
“What's wrong, darling? Did your turkey bacon sour?” Francis clasped her hands together in front of her stomach.
“Turkey bacon?” Nightshade choked out and dropped the meat back onto its plate.
Since when did turkeys make bacon?
“Yes, dear, just like always — two slices of turkey bacon with a side of egg whites and nonfat Greek yogurt. I also threw in some of your favorite snacks in case you got hungry while Fernando worked on you this morning — strawberries, whipped cream and sugar. And a non-fat soy latte, too.”
Nightshade studied the plate, trying to decide what she could stomach and not appear too suspicious in front of Francis. Turkey bacon was just wrong, so that was out of the question. She took a small forkful of egg whites into her mouth and tasted absolutely nothing. She could handle that. And strawberries, she liked strawberries. She carefully made a plate of egg whites and strawberries, took the glass of water, and sat at the frilly vanity chair Fernando held out for her, studiously ignoring Francis and Harriet's concerned glances.
She didn't want to hurt the older woman's feelings. Francis obviously cared for Caroline. “Thank you for the food.”
Harriet strode across the floor, making no bones about hiding her curiosity and slapped a hand on Nightshade’s forehead. “No fever. Well, I guess we can’t expect you to go right back to normal after all you've been through. But if you start turning down chocolate, then me and you are going to have a talk.” Harriet softened her gruff words with a chaste kiss on Nightshade's cheek.
Warmth spread across Nightshade’s chest. They were acting like concerned mother hens. Like the mother she never had.
Maybe Caroline hadn't had it so bad after all if she had these two looking out for her.
An intense wave of longing to see her twin nearly derailed her completely. Nightshade spun around in the chair to try and focus on her plate, blinking back the sting of tears.
Fernando tugged at her hair, pulling loose her braided ponytail. “Well, your hair is just as lovely as ever. Once we get you fixed up right, you'll start feeling back to normal, just wait and see.”
What took place next was nothing short of heaven. Fernando spent nearly three hours massaging and squeezing every ounce of tension from her body. Then came the facial. She was butter in his hands.
“Don't move, I'm going to raid your closet,” Fernando announced.
“As if I could move.” She wasn’t butter, she was JELL-O — a blob of nothingness.
“Here we go, your favorite color.” Fernando emerged from Caroline’s walk-in closet holding up a pink dress and Nightshade’s nothingness disappeared.
“No.”
He froze in his tracks and looked at her in total confusion as if she'd said the Earth was ending.
Crap. “I mean, I really would like to wear pants and not a dress today.” She could have told him to shove it, that the clothes she had on were fine, but Nightshade had a feeling dealing with another one of Fernando’s faux heart attacks would be more trouble than going along with him.
“Of course. Just give me a minute, I'll find the perfect outfit.” Fernando disappeared back into the closet leaving Nightshade to collapse back into her delicate seat.
Operating in a dress would be less than ideal, not to mention she was already surrounded by enough pink to last her an entire lifetime.
“How about this?” Fernando emerged from the closet holding up a pale green shirt that looked like it would hit just below her midriff and a pair of black trousers.
“I like it,” Nightshade answered, immediately latching on to the closest thing to normal she’d seen.
Fernando tapped his foot, holding the shirt in one hand and the pants in the other. “Well, what are you waiting for? I don't even know if these will fit you anymore since you've lost so much weight.”
Nightshade gaped at him in shock. This was the second time in a week someone had expected her to undress in front of them. She and her teammates changed clothes in front of each other – sometimes that was necessary — but this seemed so...different. More personal. And Fernando was a man.
Her thoughts must've shown on her face because Fernando clucked his tongue. “Don't tell me you’ve suddenly become shy. Who bought you your first Dior gown? And who helped snap you up into that gorgeous concoction of a corset dress you wore for your twenty-first birthday? Come on, I need to take the measurements anyway and this will be the perfect time.”
She had on a sports bra and boy cut panties underneath. Figuring those covered a lot more than most swimsuits, Nightshade said, “Fine. If you insist.”
He crossed his arms, her clothes flying out around him with flair. It seemed like everything he did had flair. “I do.”
Nightshade shucked the pants first, using her feet to toe them off her legs. Next came the shirt. She sucked in a deep breath and carefully pulled it off over her head. Fernando's loud gasp had her immediately covering her body. “What?”
Had she flashed a boob or something?
“Oh honey, honey...” He draped the clothes over the back of her chair and pressed three fingers to his lips as if trying to hold back a cry. “What did they do to you?”
Nightshade glanced down at herself halfway expecting to see horns growing out of her sides at his reaction, but all she saw was the same body she’d always had, similar to Caroline's but a tad more muscular.
Fernando approached, his hand outstretched, and Nightshade held as still as she could when all she wanted to do was pull away. She'd never had so many people touch her as much as she had since she’d walked into Cotter's home. Harriet and Francis couldn't seem to quit hugging her or kissing her, now Fernando...
And Merc. Lord, how he'd touched her.
“Your poor shoulder,” Fernando said, pulling Nightshade from her thoughts of Merc. “Did they say if it would leave a scar? Does it still hurt?”
Nightshade glanced down at the red puckered scar on her right arm, having already forgotten about the injury. “It's fine, really. Doesn't hurt at all.”
“What happened?” Fernando sank down onto the mattress next to her as if his wobbly knees could no longer hold him upright.
His genuine concern made her Nightshade check her immediate reaction to snap that it was none of his business. She reminded herself these were people who cared about Caroline.
So, what would a girly girl like her twin sister do in this situation?
Honestly, Nightshade had spent so much time studying what her father had given her about her sister, which was superficial at best, she realized she had no idea about Caroline's true nature. She frantically thought back to the online video she’d watched of her sister at one of Cotter’s political fundraisers, how she comported herself with calm, collected manners, obviously at ease in social situations and always displaying compassion for others.
Nightshade sank down on the mattress, holding her small shirt over her
chest and reminding herself that half-truths were the most believable. “The man holding me hostage shot me.”
“Shot you? That's it? Spill the beans before I have a nervous breakdown here.” Fernando started fanning himself, giving credence to his words.
“I don't remember the beginning – they must have had me drugged or something. But I think it was some sort of trap. The last night I was there, a man came into my bedroom. He was angry and hit me.” Her father had pulled his punch, but not entirely. He had every intention of leaving a bruise, another layer of proof in his plan. Nightshade lifted her hand to touch her left cheekbone at the memory.
“He did what?!”
She went into an abbreviated version of what had happened next, with Fernando's audible gasps punctuating her sentences. When she finished, she worried she’d said something wrong at the look of utter disbelief on Fernando’s face.
“Hold on. You're telling me some prince charming stormed a palace, rescued you from your enemy, and then rescued you again? Oh honey, I need to meet this man.”
Unbidden, the image of Merc last night rose like a tidal wave. She jumped to her feet, unable to sit still with the riot of emotion boiling inside of her.
Fernando shrieked and Nightshade's hand went immediately to her hip, only to find it empty. Dammit, she felt practically naked without a weapon.
Then Fernando's hand was back over his mouth, and he was pointing at her as if she were a ghost. She was getting tired of his dramatics. “What is it this time?”
“Your back – your precious beautiful back. Did he whip you or something?”
“No, that was from the explosion. The doctor said it would heal perfectly.”
“You poor, poor thing. How are you not having a mental breakdown right this minute? And after I talked about you losing weight... He starved you, didn't he? I can't believe I was so callous. Can you ever forgive me?” Fernando clutched her hands in his.
“Only if you stop gasping and screaming every time you see a scar, okay?” Had she compared him to Lily? Lily had nothing on this guy.
“I'll only ask one more question – how did you get that one?” He pointed to her thigh and the puckered scar that raised her flesh in a line almost a foot long.
Of all the things Fernando had asked, this one she couldn't answer. And for some reason, her normal ability to distance herself hovered just out of her grasp.
Her thigh throbbed, a deep hurt that welled up to her stomach and wrapped around her chest. She turned away, knowing this time her expression was not neutral. “Shrapnel burn. A piece of debris skimmed my skin there and burned it.”
“But –”
Nightshade held up a hand, her back still turned to Fernando. “No buts – you promised no more questions and I have no more answers left to give. I really don't want to talk about it anymore.”
She felt him approach, knew his hands hovered just above her shoulders, and she tensed. But he pulled back at the last second and changed paths, snatching up the beautiful blouse and pants from the chair. “This shirt won’t hide your scars. Give me another minute and I'll find something that covers everything.”
Nightshade glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her blue eyes turning to steel. “No. I want to wear it.” She wanted Cotter to see every scar he could and know deep in his heart that it was his fault his daughter's body had been disfigured.
Chapter 15
Merc paced outside of Caroline's bedroom door. He'd seen Harriet passing by one of the spare bedrooms and she’d told him where to find her without hesitation, easing his worry that Francis had told her about the previous night.
But Harriet smiled a secret kind of smile and told him exactly where to find the woman he sought, which was where he’d been ever since, standing sentry outside her door. He honestly didn’t know what the hell he would say to her, only that he needed to see her and make sure she was all right.
After several hours, her bedroom door finally clicked open. Excitement and nervousness leapt in him, and he spun only to see a willowy man emerge. Was he wearing makeup?
The guy raked him from head to toe, a slow perusal of appreciation that made Merc's skin crawl. If Makeup Guy didn't quit looking at him like that, he'd knock a few teeth out of his bright white smile.
“So, you’re Prince Charming.”
“What?”
“You’re the one who saved Caro.”
Merc managed a hesitant nod, and the guy launched forward, wrapping his thin, almost feminine-like arms around Merc's waist. “Thank you. Thank you for rescuing my friend.”
Merc froze, fighting off the urge to peel his body away until he started rubbing his cheek against Merc’s chest. Then he had absolutely no compunction about setting the man from him. “I was just doing my job.”
A sly look passed across the guy’s features, like he held some secret that was going to rock Merc's core. “I’m Fernando by the way, Caroline’s close personal friend. I hear you two had fun in the study last night.”
Merc’s jaw hardened. Francis had sworn she wouldn’t tell the Senator. Merc hadn’t realized he needed to impress upon her the need for complete silence. He was as gentle as possible talking to Francis, but he had no such reluctance with Fernando. “Spreading rumors can be bad for your health.”
Fernando’s Adam’s apple bobbed to the bottom of his little neck. “Of course. I would never spread rumors.” He let loose a nervous bubble of laughter and waived his hands in the air. “I’m happy for her. My Caro deserves some happiness.”
Merc straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “She does. And she deserves to be protected from threats.”
Fernando took a step toward the staircase, and then another, his tan skin turning pale. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ve got some shopping to do.”
Fernando turned and bolted down the stairs while Merc watched him disappear. Why had he had that sudden urge to crush Fernando when the man was most definitely not a threat? Was it because he had spent the last few hours alone with Caroline in her bedroom? Or called her Caro? Or was it that he seemed so close to her when Merc himself longed for that kind of connection?
Merc didn’t know for sure, not that he intended to find out. At least that’s what he told himself as he entered Caroline’s bedroom and then pulled up short at the overwhelming tide of pink.
Pink bedspread. Pink walls. Pink dresser.
He kept close to the door, afraid his mere presence would crush the dainty furniture. Then a flash of movement at the double doors to his right caught his attention and Merc forgot all about the pink.
Caroline’s dainty frame leaned against the doorway. She ducked her chin looking up at him from beneath lowered lids. Her honey blond hair hung in long loose curls. The pale green top she wore stopped just above her belly button, giving him an occasional peekaboo of her smooth flat stomach before it disappeared into loose fitting black trousers.
Stunning wasn't an adequate word.
Merc cleared his throat, trying to figure out what to say. “Hey. Um, I just wanted to check and see how you were feeling today.”
Thankfully, she stayed right where she was when she answered. “I’m a little tired but fine. Thank you for asking.” The smooth melody of her voice caressed him as if she'd trailed her fingers down his body. God, he was so screwed.
“I've been assigned to watch you personally.” Shit. The words whipped out of his mouth before he could take them back. He and Cotter had agreed Merc would be her bodyguard but that they would keep the information from Caroline after she’d chafed so much about being controlled. But seeing her like this brainwashed him, leaving him with a primitive need to stay near her.
Any trace of softness disappeared as her posture straightened and her eyes hardened. He held his breath, bracing himself for her fury, but all he got was a cold shoulder as she strode right past him out the door.
“Caroline, wait. You won’t even know I’m around most of the time.” Merc trailed her out of her
bedroom, kicking himself for opening his big trap without thinking.
“Oh, I’ll know,” she said as she stormed down the hall.
“Hold up. Can we talk about this?”
“Sure. We’re going to talk about it with the Senator. Right now.” Her steps continued to chop across the carpet.
Merc had just caught up with her when Francis topped the stairs, panting and out of breath. “It's time for lunch, Miss Caroline. I'll serve you in the formal dining room.”
Nightshade paused. “I'm not hungry.”
Francis scoffed and pushed a stray strand of gray hair back from her face. “I don't care if you're hungry or not. You're going to eat.” And with that she turned and marched back down the stairs, leaving them to gape.
Merc chuckled. “Sounds like you've got your orders.”
“You mean we have our orders, right?” Caroline lifted her chin and kept moving down the hall, leaving him to admire the graceful sway of her hips. Those high-waisted black trousers were a sight he knew he'd never forget.
She started down the stairs with long strides and he stayed behind her, but not too close. The connection between them was undeniable. He’d never felt anything like it before or was even aware such a thing existed, until now. “She's just worried about you, you know?”
The stiff set to Caroline’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I know. I'm not mad at her, I’m just not used to being force fed.”
“But at least you have someone like her who cares about you. Not everyone does.” He’d never known love or affection and never really missed it before now.
They stepped off the staircase into the empty foyer. She turned and craned her neck to look up at him. “What about your family?”
“Don't have any,” Merc answered honestly.
“So you were an orphan?” He liked that her question wasn't tinged with pity, just curiosity and something else.
Was it affection?
“I guess so. After I turned up in that battlefield not knowing my past, no one ever came looking for me. At least, not that I know of. Mr. J could've told them I died in battle along with my team.”
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