The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(100)

Talk about a glower. Her grandmother’s eyebrows dropped so low, she looked like she was peering through venetian blinds.

But there was no argument. Which told Sola she wasn’t the only one spooked by what had happened.

Sola went in and pulled a chair over to the bedside. Taking her vovó’s hand, she smiled a little. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

There was a grunt. But then her grandmother sighed. “I am older than I think I am.”

“I pushed you pretty hard with that car ride. In this, I am sorry.”

“I am glad we are here. It was all worth it.”

They sat in silence for a little while. And then her grandmother closed her eyes.

“If you don’t marry him, I’m going to die—”

“Vovó! What are you saying!”

Her grandmother opened one lid. “That if you do not marry him, it will kill me and my death will be on your conscience for the rest of your life. That is what I’m saying.”

Just as Sola was about to absolutely-not-fair that one, her grandmother winked at her. “Gotcha.”

“That is not okay, Vovó. And you know it.”

“I will use anything I can.”

“Listen, your message has been received. Okay? There’s no need to press anymore. Your job, if you want to look at it like that, is to live long enough to see the ceremony. How’s that sound?”

“But then you will never go down the aisle. Just to keep me here.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Where is he?”

“Waiting outside.”

“Bring him in. I want to see my grandson-in-law.”

“We aren’t married yet, Vovó,” Sola said dryly.

“Not my fault, is it.”



* * *



—

Assail stayed outside of that patient room, mired in a skittish, annoying energy that made him want to run laps up and down the training center.

Indeed, this whole growing-a-conscience thing for him was full of angst. After a lifetime of not caring about anyone over himself, to be this concerned with Mrs. Carvalho was a change—on top of the guilt he was now carrying about—

When Marisol opened the door abruptly, he stiffened. “Is she okay? Shall I summon the healer?”

Marisol shook her head and smiled. “She wants to see you.”

Assail straightened the loose cashmere sweater he had pulled on before leaving the house—and found himself wishing that instead of casual slacks, he were in a tuxedo.

As if formality would somehow increase the older woman’s chances of survival.

Entering the patient room, he had a brief hiccup of dissociation as his brain connected the dots…and came to the realization that Marisol’s grandmother was in an identical room to the one he had spent all that time in. But before memories could tackle him and render him useless, he snapped out of it and told himself to smile.

“Mrs. Carvalho,” he said as he approached the bed. “You are looking very well indeed—”

The elderly lady interrupted him with a weak voice. “If you do no marry my granddaughter, I will die—”

“Vovó!” Marisol snapped. “Are you even serious right now!”

The woman put her arm over her forehead. “I am feeling faint. I feel no good—”

Alarmed, Assail all but lunged for the door. “Madam! I must summon—”

“Baloney,” Marisol said as she put her hands on her hips. “Why aren’t any of those machines going off?”

Mrs. Carvalho dropped her arm and appeared irked by the logic. “They no work. Pieces of junk.”

“You need to stop this right now—”

Marisol’s grandmother looked at Assail. “I must have my granddaughter taken care of and I choose you—”

“Okay, that’s it.” Marisol threw her hands up. “We’re leaving—”

Assail approached the bedside and took the old woman’s hand. Staring deeply into her eyes, he lowered his voice. “I do not deserve her. You must realize this.”

Mrs. Carvalho smiled so deeply, she glowed with the beauty she must have had when she was young. “And that is why I choose you. You recognize she is best.”

“She is everything. She is the whole world.”

“You make me happy. I sleep now. You a good man.”

As those eyes began to close, Assail rubbed his thumb back and forth on that gnarled hand. The bones were too close to the surface for his comfort, a reminder that this fixture in Marisol’s life—and now his own—indeed did not have an eternity in front of her.

“I am not a good man,” he found himself whispering. “Not even close.”

“God sees what man does not,” Mrs. Carvalho murmured.

As the woman reached out her free hand, a clear beckoning to Marisol, it was a little while before the granddaughter answered the call of her elder. But then Marisol too was holding on, the pair of them united by the frail, fierce spirit on the bed.

In the thick silence that followed, Assail looked across at Marisol with dread. She was staring at her grandmother, her face sad and serious.

What the hell am I going to do now, he thought.