Mafia Lord's Mute Sweetheart

Chapter 53: Chapter 53 Her care

After she heard his breathing become even, Daisy let out a quiet sigh. The tension in her shoulders loosened just a little, like a knot being untied after hours of holding tight.

Cedric was asleep. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, each breath deep and even. His face was turned toward the wall, his dark hair falling across his forehead in messy waves.

Daisy stood up from the wooden chair. Her legs were stiff from sitting so long, pins and needles prickling up from her feet, but she walked to the bed anyway, stepping softly so the floor would not creak beneath her weight.

She looked down at his feet.

His shoes were still on. The leather was scuffed at the toes, the laces loose and tangled. He had not even bothered to untie them. The soles were dirty, probably from walking through the garden or the parking lot or wherever his feet had carried him.

She knelt down and carefully untied the laces, one shoe at a time, her fingers working slowly so she would not wake him. She pulled them off his feet and set them on the floor beside the bed, side by side, neat.

His socks had holes in the toes. Daisy looked at them for a moment, at the pale skin peeking through the worn fabric, then looked away. She did not know why that made her sad.

The room was warm. The temperature was medium, not too hot and not too cold, the way it always was in this house. He did not need a blanket. He would be fine.

Daisy walked to her small bathroom and found her towel. It was old and faded, once white but now a soft gray, the edges frayed. But it was clean. She wet it under the tap, letting the water run until the fabric was damp but not dripping. Then she reached for the small bottle on the edge of the sink.

Her essence. She had made it herself, weeks ago, mixing lavender and chamomile and a drop of something she had found in the garden, a flower she did not know the name of anymore. She had forgotten its name, but she remembered its properties. The way it relaxed the muscles and calmed the mind.

The liquid was clear, almost invisible.

She poured a few drops onto the wet towel. The scent rose up, soft and gentle, filling the small bathroom before following her back into the bedroom.

She walked back to the bed.

Cedric had not moved. His back was still to her, his body curled slightly, his knees tucked up. His shoulders were still tense, even in sleep, the muscles hard and knotted.

Daisy hesitated.

Her yellow scarf was bunched under his shoulder, the fabric wrinkled and crumpled beneath his weight. He had just fallen on top of it when he had collapsed onto the bed.

She reached out carefully, slowly, and pulled the scarf from under his shoulder. He stirred but did not wake. His hand twitched once, then went still. She clutched the scarf to her chest and stepped back, holding it like something precious, and placed it nearby.

After all, it was not for him.

Then she looked at his face.

His frown was deep, carved into his forehead even in sleep. The lines between his brows were dark and heavy, like trenches dug by years of anger and disappointment. His jaw was still tight, his teeth clenched even in unconsciousness. His lips were pressed together in a thin, hard line.

Daisy looked at the wet towel in her hand. Then at his face. Then at the towel again.

She hesitated again.

Then she walked to the other side of the bed, where she could see him better. She climbed onto the bed carefully, her knees pressing into the mattress, the old springs creaking softly beneath her weight. She leaned over him, her face close to his, close enough to see the small scar on his chin, the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his eyelashes curled against his cheeks.

She started wiping his face with the wet towel.

Gentle circles on his forehead. Soft strokes across his cheeks. Slow movements along his jaw. She was careful, so careful, like she was handling something fragile, something that might break if she pressed too hard.

The essence soaked into his skin, carrying the scent of lavender and chamomile and that flower from the garden. It would cleanse his face deeply, pull out the dirt and the oil and the tension that had settled into his pores. It would relax his muscles, one by one, starting with the ones in his forehead and moving down. It would calm his mind, quiet the angry thoughts that chased him even in sleep.

Daisy watched his face as she worked.

The frown lines began to soften, the deep grooves fading into smooth skin. The tightness in his jaw began to loosen, his teeth unclenching, his lips parting slightly. His breathing became deeper, more peaceful, the air moving in and out of his lungs without struggle.

His frown disappeared.

Daisy smiled.

She wiped his face one more time, a final gentle stroke across his forehead, and then she stopped.

Daisy finished wiping his face. She climbed off the bed and walked back to the bathroom. She rinsed the towel under cold water until the soap was gone, then wrung it out and hung it to dry on the small rack by the window. She put the bottle of essence back on the sink, in its usual spot, next to her comb and her hairbrush.

She walked back to the bed.

Cedric was still asleep. His face was peaceful and innocent now.

Daisy picked up her yellow scarf. She folded it carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles with her palms, and placed it near the window where the morning light would reach it.

She looked at the bed. There was no room for her. Cedric’s body took up most of the space, his legs hanging off one side, his arms spread wide across the mattress. The pillow was under his head, the blanket bunched at his feet.

She walked to her wooden chair and sat down. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, making herself small. The chair was hard and uncomfortable but she was used to it.

She rested her chin on her knees and watched him sleep.