“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

She curls up tighter, and I think she’s going to sleep, but a few minutes later, she asks me another question. “Do you remember them?”

“What?”

“The nightmares.”

“Yeah, I do. Wish I didn’t.”

“No, you don’t.” She looks up at me. “I can’t remember mine, but it’s the same one.”

“If you can’t remember them, then how do you know it’s the same one?”

“There’s a feeling with it. Like I’m going to be sick.”

I study her, thrown off. But before I can say anything, she speaks again.

“It’s my birthday.”

“Oh yeah. I guess it is. Happy birthday.”

“Do you think Lucien will go away now? I’ll sign everything later today, and it’ll be over. He can’t get anything, even if he kills me. It all goes to Amadeo.”

“Christ.” I draw back and look down at her. She shifts her gaze up to mine. “He’s not going to get anywhere near you. We won’t let that happen.” I hear myself say it, and there’s a part of me that wonders when things got to where they got. When the endgame shifted.

She doesn’t speak for a long time, but I can almost hear her thinking, trying to sort through things. “Do you think my mother’s car accident wasn’t an accident?”

“You know whiskey and thinking in the middle of the night aren’t always the best combination.”

“It’s not the whiskey.”

“Get some sleep, Dandelion. You’re tired and a little drunk.”

“What do you think?”

“Why is this coming up now?”

“Lucien said something to me back in the office before those men came. He asked if I noticed Dad’s reaction to the news that Mom had been killed. That he wasn’t surprised or upset.”

“Your brother is an asshole who wanted a reaction out of you. He just found out that you have control of the company he expected to run. He wanted to upset you, and he did. Don’t let him win.”

She sits up, looks down at me, and lets her gaze sweep over me before she meets mine again. “He won’t win. I won’t let him. But that’s not what I asked you.”

I reach up and tug her long blond hair. “Get some rest. You can call Emma when you wake up. FaceTime with her. But if you look like a ghost, you’ll just scare the poor kid.”

“Just tell me what you think. I know you think something.”

I turn away. “Well, if you already know, then there’s no point in asking, is there?”

She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I stiffen as she traces the bandage over one of the worst burns.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, pressing on it a little.