Lucien ended the call with May, but worry gnawed at him. He'd already scanned through her file more times than he cared to admit, knowing she had a tendency to come down with nasty colds that could leave her bed-ridden for days. The thought of her suffering alone was enough to set his teeth on edge. He wanted her to be somewhere better, somewhere safer. He'd bring it up with her eventually—finding her a more comfortable job than waitressing—but he knew better than to rush. With May, he had to move carefully. Pushing too hard might cost him the trust he was working to build.
Picking up his phone, he dialed his assistant. "I want a driver assigned to May Willows," he said. "He'll take her to and from work, every day, starting tomorrow night." There was a pause on the line, and then his assistant agreed, understanding the subtle urgency in Lucien's voice. It wasn't just a gesture of convenience; it was a step to make sure she was protected.
Later that evening, sitting in the backseat of his car, Lucien lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag as he thought of her. Every time he closed his eyes, it was May's soft, blue-eyed gaze, her unruly curls, and that sweet, addictive smile filling his thoughts. He exhaled a puff of smoke, his lips lifting in a small smile. He was hooked, and he was fine with that.
The next morning, Lucien ordered a hot thermos of homemade soup and headed to her apartment. As he arrived, he noted his men stationed discreetly nearby, blending in so seamlessly that anyone would mistake them for neighbors. Satisfied, he approached her door and knocked, waiting. When there was no answer, he frowned and knocked again, harder this time. Still no response.
"May!" he called, his voice edged with concern. When he heard nothing in return, his patience snapped. Bracing himself, he rammed his shoulder against the door, feeling the lock give way under the force. He quickly moved through the apartment until he found her, bundled in blankets, a hoodie, and a robe, curled up on the floor as if she'd tried to keep warm against a fever.
Relief flooded him as she slowly opened her eyes, surprise and confusion flickering across her face. "Lucien?" she croaked, her voice scratchy and weak.
He smiled gently, crouching down to brush the wild strands of her curls back from her face. "Yes, angel, it's me."
She blinked, still drowsy with fever. "Am I dreaming? You keep showing up... it's like everything's out of place."
A soft chuckle escaped him. "It's the fever," he murmured, keeping his tone light. "Don't worry; I've called my doctor. He'll be here soon."
May's eyes softened as she looked up at him. "Thank you, Lucien. I was going to go to the pharmacy... but I just didn't have the strength."
His jaw tightened slightly as he took her hand, warming her fingers in his. "You shouldn't try to manage things like this alone, May. That's why I hired someone to pick you up and take you home from work, so you don't have to go through this again."
May's gaze narrowed, flashing with a stubborn light. "Why, Lucien? I'm not a baby. I don't need someone to babysit me."
He sighed, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I don't want you getting hurt, mi amore. Just... please, do this for me." He softened his tone, looking into her eyes with quiet intensity. "I don't think I could handle it if something happened to you."
She gave a small, reluctant sigh, her resistance waning as she took in the genuine concern in his eyes. "Okay," she whispered, her voice soft and yielding.
A smile of relief tugged at his lips. He stayed by her side until the doctor arrived, brushing her curls away from her face as she drifted back to sleep, feeling at peace with her beside him.
