He Didn’t Kidnap Me. Not Exactly novel Chapter 188

Chapter 188

(Daisy’s POV)

The room felt strangely different after Archer left.

Not quieter exactly. Hospitals were never truly quiet. Machines still beeped somewhere in the background, nurses still moved through hallways, and distant voices occasionally drifted past the door. Yet something had changed, and I suspected it had less to do with the room itself and more to do with who remained inside it.

Perhaps it was because the room suddenly felt smaller.

Or maybe it was because there was no longer anyone standing between DeLuca and me.

Whatever the reason, I found myself becoming painfully aware of his presence.

The problem was that DeLuca himself didn’t seem affected by any of it. Or perhaps he was and simply handled emotional situations significantly better than I did, which admittedly wasn’t a particularly difficult accomplishment.

He sat beside my bed with his phone in one hand, his attention fixed on the screen as his thumb occasionally moved across it. Whatever he was reading appeared serious because his expression had settled into that familiar focused look he wore whenever something important occupied his thoughts.

For several moments neither of us spoke, and the silence left me alone with my own mind.

A terrible situation.

Truly terrible.

Because now there was nothing distracting me from everything that had happened.

DeLuca had confessed.

The thought still felt ridiculous.

Not because I didn’t believe him.

Ridiculous because I did.

That was somehow worse.

He had apologized, explained himself, promised to stop running, and promised to stay. Then, just in case my heart had somehow survived all of that, he had looked directly into my eyes and told me that his place was with me.

Me.

Daisy

The same Daisy who had spent months arguing with him.

The same Daisy who had accidentally developed feelings for a man whose primary hobby seemed to be emotionally confusing her.

And the worst part was that I already knew my answer.

The realization had arrived quietly sometime during his confession, slipping into place so naturally that I had almost missed it. I knew exactly what I wanted to tell him. I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

The problem was that saying it felt significantly more terrifying than getting shot.

To be fair, I had only been shot once.

Perhaps I needed additional experience before making such comparisons.

My gaze drifted toward him again.

That was another problem.

I kept looking at him.

I told myself to stop.

Then immediately failed.

It wasn’t even my fault.

The man was offensively attractive. That should honestly qualify as a crime.

His dark hair looked slightly disheveled, probably because he had spent the last several hours running his hands through it, and although exhaustion lingered beneath his eyes, it hadn’t diminished him in the slightest. If anything, it made him look more real, more human, and somehow more dangerous because he no longer seemed untouchable.

I was in the middle of appreciating that fact when his voice cut through the room.

“If you’re going to stare,” DeLuca said without looking up from his phone, “commit to it.”

My entire soul immediately evacuated my body.

“I wasn’t.”

The denial escaped before I could stop it.

Then I paused.

Because I had absolutely been staring.

“I mean, I was.”

Excellent recovery.

“I wasn’t trying to-”

Even better.

“It wasn’t-”

Wonderful.

I was now speaking fluent nonsense.

…

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