Chapter 10
Clouded blurs of skin hued blobs were all she could see when she finally regained consciousness. She however, didn't have enough energy to keep her eyes focused- or even open for that matter. To Alfred and Antonio, she was still asleep. Seizing what he thought was an opportunity to reprimand the doctor, Antonio lashed out.
"What were you two doing out there? At that time of night? You know you aren't supposed to venture there!" He snapped, his voice rising with each spoken word, a vein pulsing on his neck from his violent outburst.
Alfred was taken aback, why was he getting blamed for saving this ungrateful bastard's wife?
He had to jump into the cramped crevice of the floor, where the foundation gave away, and fish her out. She was unconscious and slightly bruised and battered from her blatant fall into the unforgiving materials and elements of the cottage and Earth, but she was alive. When he propped her against the wooden wall to examine her, he found that had sprained her right ankle was sprained and that her left hand was bleeding profusely. She had stabbed it harshly among the large splinters. He carried her, fireman style, back to the manor. It wasn't easy, but he managed to do it, with a few breaks here and there.
"She's not that bad…" he mused and justified himself, as he sat down against a tree, catching his breath and observing her peaceful yet ragged breathing.
When he did arrive to the Carriedo manor, he rushed her to one of the guest rooms and laid her on the bed unceremoniously and then immediately got to work. He had to undress her, which wasn't uncomfortable for him; he had to deal with women in situations like this before, some even more voluptuous than her, but when it got down to actually touching her, he had to restrain himself from losing his composure. Her skin had a certain texture he found himself to like. Soft, yet not too soft. He mumbled incoherent and passively aggressive compliments and comments about her appearance and behavior the whole way through.
"You're joking right? I just saved your wife's life and you're accusing me of- what's the word… infidelity?!" Alfred shouted back, more surprised than angry; he usually got along with Antonio.
Antonio gestured dramatically to the girl lying before them and pursed his lips. It looked quite comical, in a way, and Alfred couldn't help but chuckle, angering Antonio. Alfred had always been one to forgive easily, or find some sort of silver lining in a situation, but it was infuriating the swarthy socialite.
"You think this is funny?" He hollered, his cheeks and forehead obtaining a red hue.
The dirty blonde shook his head and composed himself, he didn't want to infuriate his bosses' son even more.
"No, but you're overreacting, she'll be okay. It's like patching a kid up after they've fallen off their trike." He looked down at the girl, a smile playing across his lips; he could tell she was a stubborn headed one.
"She better be." The brunette threatened before storming out of the room, spewing out a string of incoherent curses in Spanish.
Alfred scoffed and shook his head. Honestly, Antonio was supposed to be the refined heir, he sure didn't act like it though. Alfred unwound the bloodied bandage from her ankle and replaced it with a clean one. She looked a bit better, if that helped at all. He sighed and pushed his glasses up with his thumb and exited the room.
"Assholes."
She slightly opened her eyes and furrowed her brows. Men certainly did think in preposterous ways.