“I’m fine.” I pull myself free. This side of him, this almost caring side, throws me off guard, and I can’t let that happen with him. I can’t let myself believe him. And I can’t let myself take comfort from him.

“You lost your balance at the top of the stairs, Ivy.”

“I didn’t lose my balance. I just needed to sit down for a minute. And it hasn’t happened all day.” Mostly.

He studies me like he doesn’t quite believe me.

“It’s why I’ve been asking about the pool. I swim every day. Or I used to. And it helps. As soon as I’m allowed to swim again, I’ll be fine,” I start, finding my irritation again as I say it. “Santi,” I add.

Santiago steps back with a smile. Now we’re on territory we both understand.

I feel myself flush again, sweat breaking out over my forehead this time. When Mercedes had used that nickname earlier, it had grated. I didn’t really register it, but I realize now as I mock call him by her nickname for him, what I felt.

Jealousy.

Because I’m an idiot.

I shift my gaze away momentarily, feeling his eyes on me, feeling that smug grin.

“Mercedes being territorial?” he asks.

I clear my throat and make myself look at him. “I just thought it was funny she had a nickname for you. I mean, you.”

His mood darkens.

I blink, trying to calm my breathing. He can’t see my heartbeat. I just need to relax.

He looks me over, taking his time. I’m wearing a knee-length close-fitting black knit dress with buttons a little lower than I’d usually wear. Not that I have much cleavage to show, but I clear my throat again and adjust the dress when I see his gaze settle there. But maybe he’s just eyeing the rosary beads.

My hair’s been cut but only an inch was taken off. And it’s been styled, which I admit does look nice. I don’t bother blow-drying it usually. I’m also wearing makeup which, again, I rarely do, and I won’t do for him. My nails have been done, and much to my dismay, I’ve been waxed in places I didn’t know you could be waxed. Mercedes’s doing. Or maybe it was at his request.

“You look beautiful,” he says, walking a circle around me, letting his fingers weave through my hair but not hurting me. “But you always look beautiful.”

My stomach growls loudly then, and my cheeks burn again, my hand moving automatically to my belly. He stops in front of me, and for a moment, I wonder if he meant to say that. To compliment me.

“Hungry?”

I nod.

“Please tell me my sister fed you.”