20
Emilia’s POV
I walked out of Emilia’s room, tying my hair into a bun and rubbing my eyes sleepily. I was so tired. I had barely had any rest today because Francesca had been hyperactive.
I turned around the corner leading to my room and stopped in my tracks, my eyes widening a bit at what I saw and my breath catching in my throat.
I wasn’t sure why I felt so strange. Standing at the end of the hallway, I could just make out Alaric and the woman he was leading toward his room. She was laughing, her hand lightly touching his arm. He looked… relaxed, something I haven’t saw in him. Her laugh echoed softly, and the sight of his calm expression hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My chest was hurting and it felt like my airflow had been cut off. I couldn’t breathe. I haven’t felt like this every since my parents death, and the day I found out Matteo had a kidney failure.
I turned away quickly just as his head turned to where I was standing, pretending I hadn’t seen anything. After all, what right did I have to feel hurt? It wasn’t as if Alaric and I were anything to each other. He was my boss, nothing more, yet the ache in my chest felt far from impersonal.
Maybe it was because, over the past few days, I’d been holding onto hope that something more-friendship, maybe even warmth-could exist between us. I’d seen glimpses of it, brief flashes when he was with Francesca, and I suppose I’d started to think… but no. That was foolish of me. He was Alaric, and I was just… just me. I was nothing important in his world, just the girl he’d hired to look after his daughter.
Still, the way he’d been cold and distant lately hadn’t made things easy. It was like a door had shut between us, and I was left out in the cold. And now, seeing him with her, that feeling only deepened, cutting into me with a bitter sting.
I tried to shake it off, telling myself I was being ridiculous, that this was nothing. I had no right to be jealous-if that’s even what this was-over someone like him. And yet, I couldn’t deny how hollow it made me feel, as if some small, fragile hope I hadn’t even realized was there had been shattered.
Forcing myself to breathe steadily, I turned and slipped quietly down the hall toward Francesca’s room. Maybe she was asleep by now, but just being near her would be a comfort, something to help me clear my head. I knocked lightly, but when there was no sound from within, I gently opened the door.
The little room was warm, Francesca tucked under her blankets with her small face softened in sleep. I felt a rush of affection just looking at her, how peaceful she looked. Just looking at her, I felt the chest pain reduce.
Moving quietly, I crossed the room and knelt by her bedside. I felt the softness of her small hand as I held it, and I didn’t realize how cold I had been until her warmth seeped into my skin. She stirred lightly but didn’t wake, and I felt my heart settle just a bit. But still, there was that heaviness in my chest and I didn’t like it. I couldn’t explain it.
With a sigh, I laid down beside her, curling up on the narrow bed and letting my head rest near hers on the pillow. I wrapped an arm around her, feeling that heaviness dispassiate a bit. But it was still there. She murmured something in her sleep, turning toward me and holding me back, and I felt my heart soften.
Lying there, I tried to understand why this hurt so much. I tried to convince myself that it was silly, that nothing had changed, that Alaric was simply being who he always was, who I should have known he was all along. But even as I told myself all these things, the ache remained, dull but insistent, as if some quiet part of me refused to let go of this feeling.
Maybe I’d hoped too much, let myself get too close, thinking that somehow I mattered to him. But tonight had made it painfully clear that I didn’t. I was just the girl who looked after his daughter. That was all.
After a while, Francesca stirred, and her sleepy voice broke the quiet. “Mommy?” she whispered, her little hand reaching out to touch my face, her eyes blinking open with confusion.
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m here,” I murmured, gently stroking her hair. “Go back to sleep.”
“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice drowsy but curious.
“I just… I just needed a little company,” I said softly, offering her a small smile. “I hope that’s okay.”
She yawned, her hand clutching mine tightly. “‘Course it’s okay,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting closed again. “Did you see daddy today? I haven’t seen him all day,” she added, opening one eye.
“Yes, honey. Your dad got back not quite long ago. He’s in his room now,” I explained, stroking her hair.
“Really? Daddy is home? But he hasn’t come to check on me,” he murmured.
“Sweetie, Daddy is very very tired,” I told her softly.
“Can we go to him? I want to sleep in daddy’s room,” she requested.
“Not now sweetie. Let daddy have his space. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay mommy,” she smiled. “I love you mommy.”
I stiffened, being at a loss for words for a few moments while she stared at me with questioning eyes. And then I replied.
“I love you too, baby,” I whispered. And it was the truth. I did love her. I loved her like she was my own. But she wasn’t, and maybe I was starting to forget that. Maybe the lines were starting to blur.
She smiled at me and closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep while I laid awake, burying my feelings for her father.