The penthouse was quiet when they returned, the kind of quiet that felt intentional. Rosa must have told the rest of the staff to clear out of sight, leaving the space hushed and undisturbed, like it had taken a breath on their behalf.
Nicholas carried Ella inside—not because she couldn't walk, but because he refused to let her strain herself. One arm beneath her knees, the other around her back, holding her as if even the slightest jostle might hurt her again.
She'd tried to protest, weakly.
He'd ignored it, kissing her forehead.
Their footsteps echoed faintly through the marble-floored entrance, past tall windows that let in the soft peach glow of late afternoon. Ella tucked her face into Nicholas's neck, her lashes fluttering against his skin.
