—What? —Katherine's question did not express surprise, but indignation—. What do you mean?  Are you going to send her to a hospital?

—Well… I already made the arrangements this morning, I'm going to send her to a clinic...

Johan didn't continue speaking, but everyone was quite aware of what he meant.

—A... psychiatric clinic? —Kathy clarified, full of astonishment—. That's your answer?

Her brother—in—law shrugged, as seemed to be his habit, and the gesture forced Ian to take a deep breath so as not to confront him. Furious, yes, he was furious at the attitude of a man who did not care about the obvious suffering of his wife.

—It's the best for her. Lia needs professional help.

—What Lia needs is her family! Bring professional help here, to the house!

The Italian watched Johan's gestures carefully. It was obvious that he was determined to lock her up in a mental institution despite all her sister's protests; and not even all his self—control prevented him from clenching his left hand violently; only his left hand, because his right hand closed over Lia's, palm against palm, in such an intimate communion that more than one shiver ran through him when she made some gentle pressure.

—Kika, I've already brought in two psychologists and she hasn't wanted to talk to either of them.

—What makes you think then that she will talk to doctors at a psychiatric hospital, when she hasn't even wanted to talk to the ones you brought her home? —Kathy replied—. You're not trying to help her, you're trying to help yourself, you know this is the only way she'll stop being entirely your responsibility, don't you, you're trying to get her off your back!

Ian felt a slight tug on his hand and turned his head: Lia was calling him. His voice was the only pleasant thing she heard in the shadows, because he was the only one who wasn't shouting. Everyone was screaming, always screaming, and she was tired, tired of waiting for the baby that was gone, tired of rocking alone, tired of crying, tired... and she wanted to sleep. To sleep close to the voice of the handsome... stranger... because his voice was the most perfect of silences.

—Kika, I haven't slept for three months! —Johan got defensive—. I don't rest, I can't concentrate on my work, I must be watching her at all hours because I'm afraid she's going to do something stupid! And no matter how much I talk to her, she doesn't answer me! That's all she does, move the damn cradle and sing! —he looked at Ian with angry eyes—. I can't take it anymore; I spend three hours every day trying to feed her! I must send her to the hospital. What else can I do?

—Nothing —Katherine replied—. You can't do anything!

And it seemed that the expression in Ian's eyes supported that answer, because the man put his hands in his pockets and walked in circles, abstracted, waiting for his sister—in—law to regain her composure.

—I will not allow you to send my sister to a mental hospital. I'm taking her home.

—Kika...!

—Johan, don't get confused! —she warned him—. I don't care how much you say you love her, you gave up on her, and I'm not going to do it.

When she turned to look at the Italian there was only a mute plea in her eyes. Ian walked over to the girl, who had fallen asleep, and lifted her gently into his arms.

"My goodness, she's so petite!"

Lia opened her eyes at that instant almost in terror, and at once he knew why. It wasn't because he was carrying her, because of the contact with his body, it was just the fear of having her past taken away from her again.

—Don't worry —he whispered in her ear—. We'll bring your rocking chair too.

The caress, near the base of her neck, made her shiver, but she let her head fall on the male shoulder. Her body was feverish and light.

"She has outrageously delicious curves." He thought before mentally slapping himself.

He remembered the lullaby and kept singing as Kathy went up to her room to get a suitcase.

Ten minutes later, restless and tenuous on his chest, the girl slept as Ian carried her out of her husband's house.

*******

During his return to the port, Ian had five kilometers to try to think clearly. This time Katherine was driving the van and from time to time she thought out loud.

—It will be good for her to be with us... Ray won't object.

That was true. Raymond, her husband, would do exactly as she asked. Always.

— It will be good for her to be with us… —she repeated stubbornly— The children adore her... —she suddenly fell silent. Children, she had two: a four—year—old girl and a sixteen—month—old boy. Maybe it wasn't the best thing to confront Lia with children when she had just lost her baby.

Very softly, Ian continued to sing in the ear of the girl on his lap. She seemed relaxed and calm, but she stirred with anxiety when she stopped listening to his voice. She was so small, so... sensual.

The Italian wondered if she would ever really recover from the loss of her baby. Katherine was right about one thing: if they left her like that, she would probably end up committing suicide. You didn't have to be a psychiatrist to realize that she had a serious case of depression. Lia was damaged, very damaged, he knew it.

—She hasn't spoken for three months —Kathy murmured, and the pain in her words was immense—. Do you also think she should be hospitalized?

—I think she needs specialized help, but not away from her family, not locked up in a clinic with a bunch of strangers.

The woman next to him nodded, relieved to know that someone with less compromised judgment than her own supported her decision.

—You could...

—I'm a stranger to her, too —Ian replied, and Lia shifted in his arms.

The girl grabbed the T—shirt to press herself even tighter against his chest, leaving him, again, bewildered. Why was she doing that? He was a stranger to her. Why was that broken doll suddenly demanding, trembling, and protesting and clinging to the warmth of his body?

He concentrated on the road to dismiss the possibilities.

"It's not an option, I can't do it." Tempting as it was, urgent as it was. Helping her required something far beyond the elementary relationship between a dominant man and his woman... and she wasn't his woman! Nor could he make her his mistress!

—She needs guidance —Katherine's voice became hoarse and choked—, and discipline. She needs someone strong to force her to perform those basic activities for her survival... eating, resting, working, occupying her mind, until she can do them on her own... Until she wants to do them on her own!

Ian gave an angry jump in his passenger seat.

—Are you listening to yourself? Do you want me to train her, as if I were training one of my wolves?

—Why not? —Kathy sobbed—. Your wolves are alive, aren't they? Your wolves go hunting, they go in the sea with you, they play...

—For God's sake, they're animals! They just follow orders, there's not a drop of reasoning in that!

—Nor is there in her! Ian, how can you not see that? Lia isn't alive, she died along with Grace and there's nothing to make her react. She needs to be forced to live until she wants to live!

“Oh hell! Why am I considering it?”

Lia settled on top of him and slid her nose down the base of his neck to his throat. She hummed a lullaby low, her lips pressed to his skin, and the Italian felt a rush of adrenaline rush through him from his stomach to the hair on the back of his neck. Since he had carried her, she had not made any effort to break that contact...

... Because he was sweet, sweet and her smell did not remind Lia of the hospital, nor the lost baby, nor the room decorated with clouds. She was tired, sleepy, and tired, and the handsome... stranger... was strong, every muscle in those legs on which she rested was perfectly designed.

Ian closed his arms around her and felt her skin tingle and vibrate.

"I'm crazy as hell!"

—You must promise not to question my methods —He said to Katherine, and that was an order.