Slow Dancing

17 | tenuto

1 7

t e n u t o

[It.] : Keep, hold, grip; sustain without detachment.

I ENDED UP overstaying my welcome as Kaden's fever continued through the night, subsiding but spiking back up again every few hours. The night wore on as I alternated between cooling him off with wet towels and propping him up so that he could take his medicine.

It wasn't until four in the morning when his fever showed signs of fading, and I set the alarm on my mobile for five so that I could check up on him, before collapsing onto the sofa in fatigue. Sleep came quickly as it always did when I wore myself out and I supposed I must've overslept, because when I next opened my eyes, the sky outside was bright, sunlight streaming in through the windows.

I immediately jolted awake, faltering when I noticed a white blanket draped over me. Blinking blearily, I saw Kaden leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug in his right hand, texting on his mobile with the other. Several papers were spread out in front of him which could only mean one thing – he was back to work again.

"What time is it?" I blurted, feeling momentarily disoriented.

Kaden flicked a brief glance over at me before returning his attention back to his phone. "Seven-fifteen."

"But my phone was supposed to – "

"You couldn't even hear it when it rang next to you. I had to get out of bed to turn the bloody thing off."

"Oh." Climbing to my feet, I picked up the blanket and folded it neatly, placing it on the sofa. He paused, watching warily as I headed over to him. "How're you feeling?"

He ducked when I reached out a hand. "I'm fine."

"Have you taken your temperature?"

When he didn't reply, I resisted the urge the roll my eyes and went into his room. His bed-sheets were rumpled and well slept in, but I paused when I realised that the blanket from his bed was conspicuously missing. I came back out with the thermometer in hand, glancing suspiciously at him.

"Did you give me your blanket?"

He kept silent, but silent meant consent, and I felt my heart constrict as I looked over at the white blanket left on the sofa. Stifling a smile, I held out the thermometer to him, waiting as he took his temperature. The moment he was done, he glanced down at it, eyes narrowing just fractionally but it was a good enough indicator and I grabbed the thermometer before he had a chance to react.

"You're still feverish," I said flatly, meeting his gaze squarely when he glared at me. "You can't work now, you have to get more rest."

"I don't – "

But the words seemed to freeze on his tongue when I took him by the arm gently, tugging him in the direction of his bedroom. I blatantly ignored all his aggravated protests, remembering to take the blanket on the way back to the room. He fell silent when I fluffed the pillows, easing him back down onto the bed and tucking the blanket over him.

"After my catastrophe in the kitchen yesterday, I think I'll call room service," I told him, "Just go back to sleep. I'll wake you when the food's here." I turned to leave but paused when he called my name softly.

"Isla," his gaze was guarded but searching all the same. "Why're you doing this?"

Maybe sleep had cleared my head. And if I couldn't lie the night before, I sure as hell knew that I couldn't lie this time. And maybe Dad was right – maybe Kaden Bretton was just as terrified as I was, although I didn't know why he had to be, and one of us had to take the first step.