Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
I don’t know what to say. For the first time in forever, I don’t have a thing to offer—not a suggestion or thought. But the one thing I can do is hold her tight. “I’m so sorry, darling.”
“Mila, Mila,” she whispers, pulling away. “You know, all those nicknames you tried—you could’ve just called me darling.”
Using my thumbs, I wipe the rivulets of tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”
“But it’s my name.” She gives a watery laugh. “It’s what Mila means in my grandmother’s language. Darling.”
“My parents might’ve saddled me with an ugly name, but yours, at least, got it right. Here.” I chuck her chin and, reaching across her, pull a tissue from the box on the nightstand. “Blow,” I instruct, pressing it to her nose.
“You wish,” she says, pushing my hand away to do just that. “I hope these aren’t your masturbation tissues. Oh, God. Don’t listen to me.”
“Never grew out of the habit of a tube sock,” I respond.
“Don’t make me laugh,” she says, doing a little of that. “Thank you.” She balls the tissue in her hand. “For the tissue. And for the cuddle.”
“Anytime.” I pause, then dip to bring my eyes level with hers. “Is there anything I can do? I mean, I wish I had the cure for dementia . . .”
“That would be so good. This role-reversal shit is hard. God, what am I doing? I should be at home.”
My heart gives a little pang at her desolate words, her tear-streaked face.
“I can get you a flight.” I don’t want to, but I don’t want her to be sad right now.
“I can’t. If I leave . . .”
“I’m sure Oliver will—”
She reaches out, grabbing my hand. “Promise me you won’t tell him—I won’t risk it.”
“I promise.” I turn my hand under hers, linking our fingers.
“The silly thing is, she’ll be tucked up in bed now and likely have forgotten she’s spoken to me. I could be back in London and walk out of her room—just for a minute—and she’d forget I was ever there. She’d greet me with a hug and an admonishment for not visiting more often, even though she’d seen me just moments ago.”
“Shit, Mila. I’m so sorry.” Useless words, even if I truly mean them. I can only imagine what she’s going through.
“No. Being here is the right thing.” She brushes at her cheeks, her tone resolute. “Because I’m going to get her out of that place to a nursing home that can offer her dignity. Maybe a bit more stimulation. The home she’s in—the nursing staff do their best, but . . .”
It all makes sense now. And it doesn’t make me feel great. “Can you arrange to move her now?”
“Once I get Oliver’s money—my fee—I’ll do it then. Hopefully, they’ll still have space,” she says, her tone less certain.
“You’re worried about timing, about the money coming through?”
“It’s fine,” she says, brushing away my concern. “It’ll all work out. It has to.”
“Why don’t I help? I can do that for you, for Roza.”
“There’s no need,” she says in that stubbornly prim tone I haven’t heard since before we got hitched.
“But you want Roza in a better place, right?” Low. But I’ll go lower. “And you might not secure it in time.”
“It’ll be fine,” she insists. Then rubs her lips together nervously.
“Let me help.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is not your problem! She’s my responsibility.”
But you’re crying in my bed and you’re wearing my ring, I almost say. But I don’t go with that, because the observations wouldn’t help anything. Least of all me.
“Then let me loan you the money, at least,” I offer instead. “For Roza. For your grandmother. And because I’m your friend.”
“We’re not really friends, Fin.”
“You know how to crush a man. A fucking loan, Mila. The world won’t stop moving on its axis if you let someone help you.”
“But it wouldn’t be someone. It would be you.”
“Ouch,” I say with a stuttering laugh.
“I don’t mean it like that, but things are already so bloody complicated. I can’t borrow from you,” she repeats adamantly.
I throw up my hand. “Want me to draw up a contract? Give you a sixty-day line of credit? Charge you interest? You’re not being fucking fair here, least of all to Roza.”
At this, she frowns.
“You know, pride is a terrible sin.”
“I’m surprised you can see my pride for your own hubris,” she counters with a glower.
“You did this for her, Mila. Let me do this for you.”
Cicadas and silence and dirty looks.
“All right,” she eventually says. Because she’s smart and because she loves her grandmother. “I’ll take you up on your offer. For Roza. And with no strings attached.”
“Damn.” I move my head slowly from side to side. “You got me. I was gonna make you my sex slave and everything.”
“Idiot.”
That’s me. I’m just an idiot for her. “Give me the name of the place. Your grandmother’s name and anything else you think I might need.”