209
Alaric’s POV
The sound of the door crashing open jolted me awake. I was on my feet before I even registered Marisol’s pale face in the dim light.
“Senor,” she gasped, clutching the doorframe, “it’s Francesca. She’s burning up with a fever!”
Everything in me stilled for a moment before snapping into motion. “How high?” I demanded, already pulling on my robe.
“I don’t know, Senor,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “But she’s crying, and her skin is so hot-”
“Why wasn’t I told sooner?” I cut her off, my tone sharp.
Marisol flinched, her hands twisting nervously. “It just started, but it’s getting worse.”
Emilia was out of bed now, her face pale as she slipped past me. “Where is she?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“In her room, Senora,” Marisol answered quickly.
I didn’t wait for more. I was already halfway down the hall, my pulse pounding in my ears. By the time I reached Francesca’s room, I was bracing myself for the worst, but the sight of her small form, flushed and restless in bed, still hit me like a blow.
She whimpered weakly, her tiny body curling in on itself. “Papa…”
“I’m here, sweetheart,” I murmured, kneeling by her bed. “I’m here.”
“Papa it hurt’s,” she cried and I kept like my airflows was constricting. Emilia pushed me away and sat next to Francesca, wiping her face with a wet cloth in urgency.
The sound of her weak cries cut through the silence of the house like a knife, each one sharper than the last. I stood at the foot of her bed, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides as I watched Emilia dab a cool cloth across Francesca’s flushed forehead.
“She’s burning up,” I muttered, pacing to the other side of the room. “Why isn’t the doctor here yet? Where the hell is Allesio?”
“Alaric,” Emilia said, her voice steady but tired, “you’re not helping by shouting.”
“I’m not shouting,” I snapped, but her raised brow silenced me.
Francesca whimpered again, her tiny hand clutching the corner of her blanket. My heart clenched painfully, the sight of her so small and vulnerable an ache I didn’t know how to process.
I felt so damn powerless, being unable to help her feel better.
“I hate this,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “I can’t stand seeing her like this.”
Emilia didn’t respond immediately. She wrung out the cloth in a bowl of cool water and pressed it against Francesca’s neck. Her movements were calm, measured, in stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside me.
“She’s going to be okay,” Emilia said, her voice soft but firm.
“How do you know that?” I asked, my frustration spilling out.
“Because I won’t let anything happen to her,” she said, looking up at me with a determination that cut through my panic.
Her confidence should have reassured me, but instead, it highlighted my own uselessness. I was a man who thrived on control, who handled threats with precision and ruthlessness. But this-this was something I couldn’t fight, couldn’t negotiate with.
“I should be able to fix this,” I said, my voice breaking slightly.
Emilia stood, crossing the room to stand in front of me. “You can’t control everything, Alaric,” she said gently. “Sometimes, all we can do is be here for her.”
I looked away, ashamed of the helplessness I felt. “I don’t know how to do that,” I admitted.
She reached for my hand, her touch grounding me. “You’re already doing it. You’re here, Alaric. That’s what matters.”
Francesca stirred, her small voice cutting through the moment. “mommy?”
Emilia dropped my hand and hurried back to her side. “I’m here, sweet girl,” she said, brushing Francesca’s damp hair back from her face.
“Why do I feel so bad?” Francesca whimpered, her voice weak and trembling.
“You’ve got a little fever,” Emilia explained, her tone soothing. “But we’re taking care of you, and you’ll feel better soon.”
I stepped closer, my chest tightening as Francesca’s watery eyes turned to me. “Are you mad, daddy?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“No, sweetheart,” I said immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you.”
Her little hand reached for mine, and I took it, my fingers swallowing hers. “I don’t like being sick,” she said, her lip trembling.
“I know, baby,” I said, my voice thick. “I don’t like it either.”
Emilia smiled faintly at me, her eyes soft. She handed me the cloth and nodded toward Francesca. “Here. Keep her cool while I get the medicine.”
I hesitated but took the cloth, mimicking the gentle way Emilia had dabbed at Francesca’s forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing slowed slightly.
“Is she going to be okay?” I asked, my voice low.
“She’s strong,” Emilia said, her voice steady. “She just needs rest and care.”
For the next few hours, we stayed by Francesca’s side, taking turns cooling her fever and coaxing her to sip water. The doctor arrived eventually, confirming that it was nothing serious-just a common virus. But even after he left, the knot in my chest didn’t loosen.
As the night wore on, Francesca finally drifted into a deeper sleep, her small body relaxing against the pillows. I sat back in the chair by her bed, exhaustion weighing heavy on me.
“You should rest,” Emilia said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m not leaving her,” I said firmly.
“I wasn’t asking you to,” she said with a soft smile. “But you look like you’re about to fall over.”
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. “I just hate feeling powerless.”
“You’re not powerless, Alaric,” she said, kneeling beside my chair. “You’re her anchor. She looks to you for strength.”
I met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes cutting through my fatigue. “And I look to you,” I admitted quietly.
She reached for my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. “We’re a team, Alaric. Francesca needs both of us.”
I squeezed her hand, the weight on my chest lifting slightly. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
She smiled, leaning her head against my shoulder. “You’re not so bad yourself.”