Page 91 of Valentino

And yet, like a moth to a flame…. He’s all I can think about.

I don’t know how to turn it off, or how to change course.

Only that I need to.

Three a.m., the witching hour.

The wall has become my trusted friend, I know every crack, the dip of the plaster and the way the moonlight dances across it as the hours tick by. I’ve been staring at it for six hours, not a shut eye in sight.

My door slightly cracks open behind me, and I frown as I lie on my side, what’s he doing? Is he going to wake me up or….

He steps into the room, and I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. I don’t know what he’s doing in here, but I’m positive at this hour it’s more of a need than a want and nothing good will ever come of it.

Val’s shadow walks across the wall and stands beside the bed looking down at me.

My breath catches in my chest as I wait for his next move.

Is he…?

I hear something set down on the bedside drawer and then the bed dips.

He’s getting into bed.

My God.

My heart thumps as I wait for his next move. What’s he doing?

He’s still.

Has he lain down beside me?

Huh?

I wait…. And wait…and nothing. He doesn’t make a move, or a sound. I peer over my shoulder to see him lying beside me on his back, on top of the blankets, fully clothed. His eyes are closed and his arms are up under his head as if planning on not staying long.

Weird.

I turn back to face the wall and ten minutes later his regulated breathing lets me know that he’s drifted off to sleep. He must be exhausted, so why didn’t he just go to bed?

Something is wrong with him; I can feel it. Something insidious is seeping through his skin, crawling from the inside out.

I don’t know what to do with this man, but I do know that he’s not himself at the moment, and it’s up to me to look after him while he’s here looking after me.

We were friends before anything else, and regardless of his feelings for me, I care for him deeply.

I quietly get up and grab a spare blanket and put it over him, I gently take his shoes off and put them down on the ground.

And then I see it, a Glock sitting on my side table.

What the fuck?

Why is he sleeping with a gun?

Has something happened…something worse? Is Carlo about to turn up or are Valentino’s nerves so fried that he doesn’t know what it means to feel safe anymore?

I go to the bathroom, grab a glass of water and climb back into bed beside him,

somehow comforted by his presence in my bedroom.