Chapter 18
Gina
The bathroom lighting is dim because I’m not able to handle bright light yet. But it doesn’t hide the hideous sight of my face. My left eye is half-swollen shut, the left side of my face is swollen and bruised, and my cheek is stitched.
I stare at myself, trying to see behind the injuries to find and remember the woman I used to be.
Was I pretty? And if I were, was I conceded and rude? Did I care about others around me? And why can’t I remember anyone?
Maybe I didn’t have anyone.
But that’s not true. I look down at my hand gripping the porcelain sink and see my ring.
I have Tommaso. The tension in my body eases at the thought.
My husband has basically not left my side; not since I woke, and I know he had kept a vigil at my bedside when I was unconscious.
Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t stop them. Regulating my emotions is something I’m still recovering.
Or maybe I was always overly emotional?
Frustration swells at my inability to remember.
There’s a knock on the door, and Tommaso enters when I don’t answer to let him know that I haven’t collapsed unconscious onto the cold tile floor.
My breath snags when I see him, and my heart races when I look at him.
Even without my memories, I know that I love him. I just wish I could remember him.
How did we meet? What was our first kiss like? Our wedding?
These unanswered questions bring a fresh wave of tears.
“Il mio sole.” He wraps me in his strong arms and gently pulls me against his broad chest. The feel of it rising and falling reassures me that he’s real, and the beating of his heart under my cheek tells me he’s mine.
“Say it again.” I sniffle.
He kisses the top of my head. “Il mio sole. My sun. My life. My queen.”
My heart kicks in my chest, and I snuggle closer. “It stirs something in me when you say that. Something bleary and fuzzy in the back of my head.”
His heart pounds under my cheek, and his arms tighten around me. “Then I’ll call you that multiple times a day.”
I pull back and look up at him, but then quickly become self-conscious about how I look. Not only my bruises and swelling, but a small patch of my hair at the back of my head had to be shaved when they sutured the wound.
He gently cups my face and presses soft kisses all over it. Last, he kisses my lips. “I love you, Gina.” His deep voice is thick with emotion. “I love your light and your fire. Find that again within yourself and come back to me fully.”
I grip the lapels of his suit. “What if my memories never return?”
He brushes his lips over my forehead. “As long as I have you and your light, that’s everything I need.”
“What happened to me?” I whisper.
I’ve asked that question several times these past few days. However, every time I’ve asked, nausea rose, rapid and intense, and my bruised face and head started to throb. And Tommaso hasn’t fully answered.
“You were in an accident,” he says, just like all the other times before.
And because I’m quickly fatiguing just standing here, and because the nausea and throbbing warn me that I don’t want to know, I let it go for now.
He scoops me into his arms, and I ease completely against him.
“Dr. Albans says it’s good for me to walk,” I say but snuggle in closer.
Tommaso carries me toward my bed, and I glance at the nursing station desk in the corner of the room. I’ve had one-on-one care, but once I regained consciousness, the nurses were in here less as the tests showed I was stable and improving.
“Dr. Albans isn’t here; your husband is.” Tommaso sits me down on the bed, my heart fluttering. “And your husband can see you’re fatigued, and he dotes on you because you’re his world.”
“Did you?” I ask as he pulls my bag across the bed, checking the contents inside. “Did you dote on me?”
He’s bent over slightly and turns his head to me. “Not nearly enough. We had…” Something passes through his eyes before it’s gone. “We had only married right before your accident.”
“But we dated,” I say as he turns back to the bag.
He doesn’t answer right away as he zips it up and straightens to his tall height. “Not very long. We had a rapid, whirlwind romance.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Tommaso?”
He cups my chin, his hand warm and rough. Like he’s a man who does hard, manual work, yet you’d never guess it from his impeccable suit. “I’m not telling you many things. But I’ll tell you all of it in time, I swear.”
Dr. Albans had warned Tommaso and me not to push for the memories to return right now. To give myself some time to heal.
“I trust you.”
It might be insane, but I do. I can’t help but trust him.
He briefly closes his eyes, looking pained. “We’re all set. Ready to go home?”
Home.
I have no idea where that is or what it looks like. However, I’m ready to go anywhere with Tommaso.
Both Dr. Albans and Dr. Moretti have gone over my discharge instructions and for my care at home. They’ll be coming daily to the house for the next while.
I may not have memories, but I know that a doctor, especially two doctors, making house calls isn’t the norm. I study Tommaso’s powerful form encased in that perfectly tailored suit as I stand.
He grips my elbow. “Gina, let me help you.”
I smile up at him, trying to hide that I’m already tired from the bit of movement I’ve done this morning. “They won’t let me leave the hospital if you baby me. I need to be able to do things myself.”
“They’ll do whatever I tell them to do.”
I laugh lightly. “Pretty sure that’s not how these things work.”
He brushes my hair back from my temple on the unbruised side of my face. “You’ll see,” he murmurs.
My brow pinches as I frown at his comment. He wraps his arm around my waist, securing me to his side, and picks up my bag with his free hand.
We leave the room, and Tommaso leads us away from the main nursing station down the hall and to an elevator. I glance out a window as we pass, seeing what looks like the back of the hospital.
“Isn’t the parking more to the front?” I ask, looking up at him.
He pushes the button once we’re inside the elevator. “We’re going out the back.”
I don’t ask why, as the elevator’s descent makes me sway and my vision blurs momentarily.
Tommaso’s arm tightens around my waist to steady me. Then he scoops me into his arms and shushes me when I protest.
I’m a sucker for the feel of him and the safety I feel nestled against his powerful body, so I let him carry me without further protest.
The elevator door opens, and I startle seeing Marco and Silvio there. The back lobby entrance of the hospital is eerily empty, except for men who look an awful lot like security guards. They surround us, keeping Tommaso and me in the middle, and Tommaso cradles my head against his chest.
I glance up at him. His jaw is hard and set, and his eyes are ice as he scans the area.
A shiver of alarm moves through me, but I stay silent.
We move outside, and the sun is warm, but I don’t have much time to luxuriate in the feel as Tommaso gets into the back of a vehicle. Setting me on the seat, he buckles me in as the vehicle starts to move.
I’m disoriented and fuzzy, trying to get my bearings, when I realize we’re alone in the back of a limo with the partition closed to give us privacy.
“Are you rich?” I stare at him like a simpleton. The car, his security, his suits…the power that rolls off him.
His low chuckle sounds a bit forced. “We’re rich. What’s mine is yours.” He kisses my forehead. “Rest. We’ll be home soon.”
I do as he says, leaning against him while I stare out the window. Nothing looks familiar; nothing is sparking that fuzzy feeling in the back of my mind of something that is lurking and hiding in the borders of my consciousness.
I finally close my eyes, because not remembering is exhausting, and it’s compounding on top of the physical exhaustion.
I must doze because I startle awake when Tommaso lifts me out of the car.
“You’re safe.” He kisses the top of my head. “Let me carry you inside.”
I turn my head so I can see where we are, and my mouth parts in surprise.
The grounds are immaculate and expansive, with a manicured lawn and trees giving some shade.
I never knew there were yards this big inside a city.
But this isn’t just a yard, it’s…grounds.
Protected by an imposing high stone wall, which has an equally imposing metal gate with men standing beside it.
To keep people out.
Or keep me in?
My heart thumps wildly as I look up at the house Tommaso is approaching. It’s massive. And stunning. Grand.
Three-stories covered in stone, it has columns, arched windows, and balconies with wrought-iron railings. I feel like I’ve been transported to Europe, staring at the home built to showcase the power the owner commands.
He holds me closer and tighter as he ascends the steps to a set of tall doors engraved with a shield and what could be a family crest. Before I can study it, one of the doors opens, and a man older than Tommaso smiles.
“Adolfo,” Tommaso greets.
“Sir.” He nods and steps to the side, letting us in.
My first thought had been that this might be Tommaso’s father, but the ‘sir’ kicked that theory to the curb.
Adolfo might look reserved and stuffy, but his eyes are lively when they land on me. “Welcome home.” He glances at Tommaso before looking back at me. “Everything is set up for you.”
“Thank you. Is Jerome making some food? I’d like Gina to eat before she rests.”
“Yes, sir. It will be brought to your room.”
I squirm in Tommaso’s arms. Uncomfortable, not because he’s holding me, but because nothing here—the grounds, the house, or the people—is familiar, and my distress is rising, and I’m quickly becoming overwhelmed and frustrated.
Tommaso gently sets me on my feet but keeps me close, his arm around my waist.