Il Suo Zaffario (His Sapphire)

Chapter 5

The next day, Logan took me shopping. I'd told him I didn't need anything else, but he ignored me, dragging me from store to store until I was weighed down with bags. I won't lie—I enjoyed being out, seeing something other than the same four walls. But after hours of walking, my feet were killing me. "Ugh, my feet hurt," I groaned as we neared his car.

Logan turned to me, concern flashing in his eyes. "Do you want me to carry you the rest of the way?"

I shook my head, trying to walk without limping. "No, no. I'm fine."

He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated, and thrust the bags he was carrying into one of his guard's hands. "Take these back to the car," he ordered. The guard nodded and hurried off, leaving us alone. Logan stepped closer to me, and I instinctively backed away.

"Seriously, I'm fine," I insisted, realizing too late that he was contemplating carrying me. "The car's only a few more steps away."

Logan's expression hardened, his tone cold. "Sapphire, if you're going to be stubborn, I'll leave you here."

I swallowed hard. My feet throbbed, but I was determined to manage. "I can do it," I said stubbornly, watching as his jaw clenched and unclenched with anger.

"Fine," he snapped, turning away from me and stomping off like a child denied his way.

"Ugh, why did they have to park so far away?" I muttered to myself, dragging my feet across the parking lot. Each step was torture, my foot threatening to give out at any moment.

Logan was watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, and when I looked up, I saw the concern behind his anger. He leaned against the car, waiting, and when our eyes met, I offered a small smile. He rolled his eyes in response, pulling out a cigar and lighting it with a casual flick of his lighter. He took a long drag, his body visibly relaxing, and I couldn't help but think how annoyingly attractive he looked.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally made it to the car. Logan crushed his cigar underfoot and opened the door for me, surprising me. I hadn't expected him to, thinking he was too angry, but he was always full of surprises. I slipped inside, and Logan walked around to the driver's side. As he settled in, he leaned over, and my heart skipped a beat, my hands sweating. But all he did was pull the seatbelt across my chest and lock it in place.

He pulled out his phone, and I watched as he scrolled through it. I never had a phone like his, the one I used to have was old, with buttons and barely any use.

I lifted my leg onto my lap and removed my shoe, wincing as I examined my swollen foot. I tried rotating it, but pain shot through me. I wasn't used to walking this much.

"So stubborn," Logan muttered under his breath, still staring at his phone. I heard him, but I didn't respond.

When we arrived home, I hesitated before reaching for the door handle, deciding to let Logan do it. He hopped out, opened the door for me, and was about to walk away when I grabbed his hand.

"Logan," I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper. He turned, his gaze stern but curious. "Carry me, please," I whispered, looking down at the ground, my arms raised like a child asking to be picked up.

His expression softened, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was suppressing a smile. Without a word, he scooped me up, my arms automatically wrapping around his neck, my legs around his waist. He carried me effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing, one arm secure around my waist while the other hung by his side. I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

Inside the house, he gently placed me on the sofa. "Thank you," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze, embarrassed by my earlier stubbornness. I started to sit up, but he stopped me with a look.

"Don't move."

"But—"

"Don't." His tone left no room for argument.

I watched as he left the room, returning a few minutes later with a bag of ice. "Here, put this on your foot," he said, handing it to me. "I'll go get some pain relief cream."

I nodded, taking the ice and pressing it to my foot. Logan might be stubborn, but I knew he cared, even if he had a strange way of showing it.

Logan disappeared into the hallway, leaving me with the ice pack pressed against my throbbing foot. I leaned back into the cushions, closing my eyes and letting the coolness soothe the ache. The room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of Logan moving around in the other room.

When he returned, he was holding a small tube of cream. His expression was unreadable as he knelt down beside me, gently moving my foot so it rested on his knee. I tried to pull away out of instinct, but he held firm, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone with such a rough exterior.

"This might sting a bit," he warned, squeezing a small amount of cream onto his fingers. His hands were warm as he began to massage the cream into my foot, working it into the sore muscles with a surprising tenderness. I bit my lip, the mix of pain and relief making me wince, but I didn't pull away.

"You don't have to do this," I murmured, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and awkwardness.

He didn't respond immediately, his focus on my foot as he continued to work the cream in. After a moment, he glanced up at me, his eyes softened in a way that made my heart skip a beat. "You're too stubborn for your own good," he said quietly.

I managed a small smile. "Guess we're both stubborn."

He chuckled, a sound I didn't hear often enough from him. "Fair enough."

We fell into a comfortable silence as he finished, the tension from earlier melting away. Once he was done, he gently lowered my foot back onto the couch, standing up and wiping his hands on a towel.

"Feel better?" he asked, his tone casual, but I could see the concern still lingering in his eyes.

"A lot," I admitted, flexing my foot experimentally. The swelling had gone down a bit, and the pain was more of a dull throb now. "Thank you."

Logan nodded, his expression unreadable again. "You should rest," he said, his voice a little softer now. "No more walking around until that foot is better."

"Yes, sir," I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He just rolled his eyes.

He turned to leave the room, but I found myself reaching out to grab his hand again. "Logan," I called, my voice soft. He stopped, looking down at me with a question in his eyes. "I need to get upstairs." I said and he picked me up bridal style, my heart was thumping in my chest again. I couldn’t even look up at him. He brought me to my room then placed me down on the bed.

“While you were busy I asked Sara to pack your stuff in the closet” he said and I nodded. He turned in his heel to leave but then stopped in his tracks. “Don't be afraid to ask for help, okay?"

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. He let go of my hand and walked away, leaving me with a sense of comfort I hadn't felt in a long time. As I settled back into the cushions, I couldn't help but smile to myself. Logan might be a lot of things—stubborn, overbearing, infuriating—but I was starting to see the softer side of him. And maybe, just maybe, I was okay with that.

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