Remington stared at her, noticing the color returning to her lips, and asked with a gentle voice.
He turned to pour a glass of warm water for Lizetta, then sat down by the bed.
Gently, he wrapped his arms around Lizetta's shoulders, helping her to sit up.
In that moment, she was enveloped by his presence once more.
Unlike the fear and cold outside, now her senses were fully alert.
Feeling the familiar embrace and scent she had missed, Lizetta found herself overwhelmed with mixed emotions.
"I told you, I'm fine!"
She swiftly raised her hand, pushing Remington away and scooted back to sit up against the headboard.
Her action was abrupt, clearly showing her rejection.
Remington's outstretched arm stiffened in mid-air, and even though he half-expected it, a shadow of sadness crossed his dark eyes.
He swallowed hard, pushing down the sting in his heart, and picked up the glass of water from the nightstand to offer it to her again.
"Have some water."
Lizetta looked down, seeing his slender, pale hand bringing the glass to her, as if the steam blurred her vision.
She stiffened, taking the glass and said distantly, "Thank you."
Remington watched her, his gaze filled with restraint and hidden anguish, his expression helpless.
Lizetta felt his stare but did not meet his eyes.
After taking a few sips of water, her gaze landed on some items on the table in front of the window.
There were dressing accessories, including a dark brown wig and the curly sideburns he had previously stuck on his face.
Lizetta felt foolish. When she saw the snowman outside the window, she should have understood.
Yet, she had deluded herself into thinking she was overthinking things.
Seeing where her gaze fixed, Remington followed it and felt a sudden jolt in his heart.
He immediately stood up, taking a step to stand solidly between her and the table.
Lizetta looked up, meeting his gaze, "Mr. Dashiell, enjoying playing dead?"
Remington realized she was indeed angry, probably feeling that he deliberately pretended not to know her, toying with her emotions.
He panicked slightly, quickly saying, "It wasn't about deceiving you on purpose. I was afraid that suddenly appearing would scare you..."
Lizetta snorted, "Right, Mr. Dashiell was waiting for the perfect moment, like now, to play the hero, at least appearing as the savior fits your stature."
Her tone was mocking, not giving him any slack.
After two months apart, she felt no longing for him, nor any regret for running away.
Remington felt suffocated, his lips pressed thin and his hands clenched, struggling to contain his turbulent emotions. When he spoke, his voice was as calm as possible. "Liz, it's only natural for a man to protect his woman and child. It's not about being a hero or a savior. I wasn't waiting for any moment.
I just didn't know what to do with you, hiding away like a coward."
His voice was hoarse, filled with helplessness.
The usually indomitable man seemed lonely and wounded at that moment.
As if she had committed some unforgivable sin against him.
Lizetta felt inexplicably guilty and quickly looked down.
She gripped the glass tightly, reminding herself not to trust his words so easily again. This man was too good at pretending.
The shadow over her was Remington stepping closer to the bed.
He leaned in, gently lifting her chin to make her look at him.
Gazing into her eyes, he said, "Liz, can you not think of me as so calculating and malicious? Trust me this once. Come back with me, let me take care of you and Daisy, okay?"
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