Cold Words, Quiet Hurt

[Alfio's Pov] 

Time slowed.

One more step—just one—and she was going to tumble. I could see it happen in my mind already, like one of those slow-motion dramatic movie scenes where everything shatters before the climax.

And then—

"WHOA WHOA WHOA!" I lunged like a caffeinated cat. My hands shot out, arms flailing in Olympic desperation.

I caught her. Barely.

One of my hands landed under her arms, the other awkwardly wrapped around her middle like I was cradling a particularly angry burrito.

We spun—okay, I spun—and landed on the ground with a thump so dramatic, Shakespeare's ghost probably applauded. My back kissed the cold marble floor with the kind of intimacy I usually reserved for my bed after a long, painful day—and my entire spine filed a formal complaint. Possibly in triplicate.