"Over there." I gesture at the space between us. "By the door. Like you're ready to run."
"I'm not?—"
"You are." I wheel forward a few inches. She doesn't move, but I see her shoulders tense. "Last night you were in my lap. Now you won't come within arm's reach of me."
"That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?"
"My father." Her voice rises slightly. "I'm asking you about my father, Bruno. Not about us. Not about last night. About my father."
"And I told you. He's fine. He's working. He'll be back soon."
"When?"
"Soon."
"That's not an answer."
"Your father will be back soon," I say again. "When he returns, you can ask him yourself why he hasn't been answering his phone."
Antonella's expression hardens.
"Fine," she says. "Keep your secrets."
She turns toward the door.
"Antonella."
She stops but doesn't turn around.
"Come here."
Antonella
"I'm not a puppy," I say without turning around. "You can't just call me and expect me to come."
I hear the soft whir of his wheelchair. The sound of him moving closer.
I turn around.
He's right there. Right in front of me. Close enough that I have to look down to meet his eyes.
I didn't hear him cross the entire room. Didn't realize how fast he could move when he wanted to.
His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.
Before I can react, he pulls me down onto his lap.
I land hard, my hip pressing against the armrest, my legs draped awkwardly across his thighs. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me in place.
"Bruno—"
"Why are you trying to leave this room without kissing me?"
I stare at him. At the hard line of his jaw. At the intensity burning in his dark eyes.
"I didn't know what to do," I admit. The words come out quieter than I intend. "You're not talking to me. You're lying to me about my father. And last night?—"