Sugar Sweet Sin

A Match

My ankle isn't broken, thank God. But it's a bad sprain. And my wrist is sprained, too—though only mildly. The rest of me is just bruised, but those two injuries are going to put me out of commission for a couple of days, maybe longer.

Dante stays with me the whole time at the ER, even though I know he probably has plenty of better things to be doing. He gets a couple of phone calls while we're there, but they go the same way as the phone call he took during our cake consultation—both end with him tersely insisting he'll send pages as soon as they're ready. In spite of everything, I find myself curious about these conversations, about the business he's always kept so private from me. His big movie just launched. Shouldn't he be on top of the world right now?

I manage to bite my tongue until we're on the car ride home, and then my curiosity gets the better of me.

"It looks like Cataclysm: Earth had a great opening weekend," I say. "The newspaper in the waiting room said it broke all kinds of records."

He glances over at me, his expression unreadable. "I didn't realize you were paying attention."

"It's hard to miss it," I say with a shrug. "Are you working on a sequel?"

This time, he can't seem to stop himself from slipping into a scowl. "What are you after, Ash?"

"Nothing. Just wondering." I gaze out the window at the passing houses. "This movie's a big deal."

"And I'm damn near sick of promoting it." There's no ignoring the bitterness in his voice. "I'd prefer to talk about something else."

"Fine."

We don't speak much on the rest of the ride home. I should have known he'd avoid my questions. But any annoyance I feel at his responses dissolves when we reach my house. The hospital gave me a crutch to use until my ankle heals, but Dante's having none of it. Without a word, he lifts me in his arms again, and he carries me all the way inside to my bed. If he's angry at me for prodding—or for taking up his entire day with my injury—he doesn't show it. Instead, he's unspeakably gentle—tender, even—as he settles me down on my comforter.

"Are you hungry?" he asks as he carefully props my leg up on a pillow.

I nod, afraid that if I say anything this sudden fluttery feeling in my chest will overwhelm me.

Dante heads into the kitchen to find us some food, and the minute he's out of earshot, I pull out my phone and dial Jack. It's a little awkward with my left wrist in a brace, but I manage. He picks up on the second ring.

"Among the living, are we?" he says cheerfully. "I was just about to give you a call. How's that hangover treating you?"

"Jack, Dante's here," I hiss.

"Whoa, seriously? At your house?" He laughs. "Sounds like our little plan went well. What ridiculous excuse did he give you?"

I'm more than willing to give Jack every last detail later, but Dante could walk back in here any second, so I need to be brief.

"I fell in the shower," I whisper quickly into the phone. "It really screwed up my ankle. And then he called and I thought it was you and I ended up blurting out everything before I realized my mistake. He insisted on taking me to the ER."

"Shit."

"And now he's in my kitchen making me food and I have no idea what to do."

"Jesus, Ash. I hope they gave you some good drugs. You're going to need them."

"I need to get him out of here," I say. "But I don't think he'll leave unless he thinks I have someone here to help me."

"You know I'd normally be there for you, Ash, but I promised Evan I'd go to his brother's birthday dinner after work."