Chapter 16
Gina
There’s a beeping that’s annoying as hell, and a smell that makes me want to scrunch my nose in distaste. It’s a clean smell, but it’s sterile and off. Like disinfectant.
I try to move, but my limbs won’t cooperate.
That slight exertion seems to have depleted all my strength, so I fall back into the dark, but then come back up.
I’m not sure if I was pulled fully back under and into the deep pit, and I’m now pulling myself out again.
I’m not sure how much time has lapsed—it could’ve been seconds, maybe hours, days.
Time has no meaning where I am.
But there’s an urgency that pulls me out of the dark. But an urgency for what?
I can’t say.
I try to move again, and this time my hand lifts. At least I think it lifts. I can’t be sure because my eyes are closed, and my consciousness is just being reattached to my body.
I hear voices, low and deep. Male voices.
I don’t know who they are. I don’t know where I am. Or why it’s so hard to wake up and open my eyes.
Why can I hardly move? Why does my head hurt so badly? And my face? God, it throbs.
But then a voice pushes through among the others, and I calm. I can’t place who the voice belongs to, but it soothes me for some reason. Tells me I’m safe.
“Gina, can you hear me?” I could drift on the timbre of his deep baritone voice. Hands touch me, and I know they’re his, and I drift some more. “Can you open your eyes, il mio sole?”
Something within me awakens, lifting its head.
Il mio sole.
My sun.
Why do I know that?
“Come on, love. Open your eyes.”
I want to tell him I like the other endearment more than ‘love,’ but my throat is dry and parched.
There’s a touch on the side of my face that doesn’t hurt, and I lean into it and sigh, completely content to just lie here and exist.
He has other ideas, though, and coaxes me to open my eyes.
And I finally do.
I’m aware enough to realize I’m in the hospital. The room is dim as I blink slowly, trying to get more of my bearings. Two figures are fuzzy, but I can see enough to know they’re men.
Are they doctors?
My vision clears a bit as I blink some more, and they don’t strike me as doctors… They look like dangerous men.
Panic starts to stir within me; I don’t know them. Who are they, and why am I in the hospital?
The men step aside when the doctor hurries into the room and heads straight for me.
“She just woke up,” the one with the deep baritone timbre to his voice says, and my panic instantly dissipates upon hearing him.
The doctor says something to a nurse who appears by my bed, but I can’t make out what he says. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate on more than one thing at a time.
And right now, I want to concentrate on that man’s voice. It makes me feel safe, like strong arms wrapping around me to protect me.
“Gina.”
A hand gently cups my chin, and I know it’s him—the man with the voice. He slowly turns my head, and I need to blink rapidly again to clear my vision.
Both because it went fuzzy, but mainly because the man beside the bed is so gorgeous he can’t be real. He’s that otherworldly type of handsome.
The fact that it looks like he’s been sleeping at my bedside doesn’t diminish the potency of his attractiveness.
His unique crystal-blue eyes are startling. Makes you just stop and stare, not wanting to look away from something so beautiful.
“ll mio sole,” his voice is thick with emotion—relief and…love?
I can only stare at him, confused but still feeling safe. However, I still need to ask, “Who are you?”
He jerks, pain flashing over his face, and he quickly glances at someone. I’m assuming it’s the doctor because I can’t look away from him as I try to pull something from the black hole that seems to be my memories.
He leans down and presses the tenderest kiss on my forehead. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
There’s a mechanical buzz, and I’m lifted into a sitting position in the bed. I moan as my head throbs in protest.
Gentle hands brush my hair back, and I know it’s him, even with my eyes closed.
When I open my eyes, the doctor is there. Actually, there are two doctors, unless I’m seeing double. I blink to clear my vision, and one of them moves closer to the bed.
“I’m Dr. Reese Albans, your neurologist, Gina. This is Dr. Johnathon Moretti”—he points to the other doctor—“and we are both in charge of your care.”
I want to ask what happened to me, but a wave of nausea hits me, and I need to focus on not puking instead.
“You’ve been healing well, and now that you’re awake, we’ll do a full examination once you’ve had a bit more time to rest. But before we get to all that”—Dr. Albans glances at the man at my bedside—“do you know who this man is?”
There’s an expectant look on his face, telling me that I should know who he is.
I turn my head slowly to look at the man beside my bed. My battered brain notices details I hadn’t when I first saw him. He’s unbelievably tall and broad, strong and dangerous, especially if the scars lacing the tops of his large hands are any indication.
Even with those scars, though, I don’t feel fear when looking at him. However, tears fill my eyes as I answer the doctor’s question, “No.”
More pain coats his features before a resolute determination replaces it. This is a man who gets what he wants, and that thought still doesn’t stir any alarm within me.
“Who is he?” I ask Dr. Moretti without looking away from the fierce man.
“Tommaso Santoro.” He pauses, as if giving me time to recognize the name. “Your husband.”
There’s a war of conflicting emotions within me at those two words. Denial and confusion, along with hope and love.
I look down at my hand resting on top of the bed. On my ring finger sits a large diamond set in a band shaped like two olive branches twined together. There’s a matching band that goes with it.
The bed dips as Tommaso sits down and gently takes my hand. I see that he’s wearing a simple, understated band on his ring finger, and on his other hand is a larger ring with a crest of some kind. Lifting my hand to his mouth, he presses a kiss to each of my fingertips.
Intertwining our hands, he says, “Welcome back, il mio sole. My wife.”