Chapter 21
Gina
It’s been two weeks since Tommaso made me orgasm twice in under an hour, and he’s given me many more since then.
My recovery from my injuries is progressing well, with only faint bruising left. The stitches in the back of my head are gone, and both doctors have cleared me for mild activity and increasing it slowly as long as I don’t have any symptoms.
I still don’t have any memories, and I still get nauseated with the phantom throbbing head pain that appears whenever that man’s voice plays in my head. As a result, I quickly shut him up and push down those memories that try to come forward.
I haven’t told Tommaso or Marie, the therapist, whom I finally relented and agreed to see. She comes to the house, and I speak openly about everything, except for the fact that I’m avoiding trying to remember those memories that make me react so negatively.
Now that my recovery is further along, and I’m not so exhausted or easily fatigued, I feel increasingly isolated.
Like Tommaso is keeping me hidden away. Our vow renewal is tomorrow, with just Marco, Silvio, Adolfo, Jerome, and Etta attending.
Not that I want a bunch of strangers here to witness Tommaso reaffirming his vows and his love for me, or me for him, especially people I should remember but don’t.
I often get overwhelmed and frustrated with my amnesia, feeling like a freak.
A nobody, that man’s voice hisses in my head.
Whenever I do, Tommaso is always there, patient and loving, helping me work through it—reassuring me I’m perfect even without my memories.
So maybe the vow renewal being limited to so few people is his way of protecting me from an overwhelming situation, especially when the day is supposed to be about him and me.
I’m in the library, curled up reading on the sofa, and I sense him before I see him. Twisting my head, I look toward the door.
And Jesus…the man is criminal.
He casually leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed while he watches me, his usually neat hair slightly mussed. His tie and jacket are off, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. I love seeing him like this because it’s a sight very few get to see.
“The clothes don’t make the person, but to many, they think they do. When people look at me, they see a powerful, successful king who’s in control of his world, because that’s what I let them see…what I want them to see.”
I sit up straight in shock at the clear-as-day memory.
Not just the words said in Tommaso’s voice, but I remember where we were when he said it.
At the ruins at night. I was on a slab of concrete, sitting on his jacket, and he had taken off his shirt, letting me study his broad, strong, bare upper body.
But then, like smoke, anything further is lost.
“Gina?” He kneels in front of me now. “What is it?”
My hand trembles as I lift it to his hair. Threading my fingers through it always fills me with contentment and satisfaction that only I get this tousled, relaxed version of him. But now it also calms and soothes me.
“I had a flash of a memory.”
He places his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear. “Tell me.”
I describe it as best as I can, and he smiles. “I was shedding my armor.”
“For me?”
His thumb continues to draw circles on the sensitive patch behind my ear. “You’re one of the only people I truly let my guard down with. Who I let see the man behind the mask. You see everything; the real me.”
I shake my head. “Not everything. I still feel like there are things you keep from me.” I study his face and the tension he tries to hide. “Just like you’re doing now. What’s wrong?”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Just struggles with work.”
“The shipping port?” I guess, since he shared a bit about that last night.
He lifts his head, and even though he told me I’m one of the only people he lets down all his shields and masks for, I see they’re there.
“My work isn’t something I want you to worry about.”
“Tommaso,” I say with exasperation. “If it’s stressing you, then talk to me. That’s what a wife does, right?”
“You’re still healing; I don’t want to put any additional stress on you.”
I huff an annoyed breath. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass and will shatter.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” I flare, pushing him away enough so I can stand up from the sofa. But then my world spins and tilts.
Damn low blood pressure.
Tommaso scoops me into his arms as my world rights itself.
“Put me down.”
“No.” His not-so-gentle, I’m going to take control and dominate the hell out of the situation side is coming out.
“I’m not one of your employees you can boss around.”
I’m still upset with him, but my face is pressed against his warm, broad chest as he carries me up the stairs. Why am I such a sucker for him and his strength? I’m a weak, weak woman. But having a gorgeous dark man take care of you as if you’re the center of his universe? That’s damn addicting.
I don’t know if Tommaso is a dark man, but there’s that niggling little whisper in the back of my head warning that he might be a walking red flag—and it’s starting to get louder and louder.
“What do you actually do?” I swallow my trepidation of not really wanting his answer in case it’s something I don’t want to hear.
He enters our bedroom and kicks the door closed. “Hotels, restaurants, land development, along with imports and exports.”
I already know that. I haven’t pressed for many details while I healed, but I feel stronger now and want to know more.
“Why don’t I have any friends come visit?”
He sets me on the bed and doesn’t look taken aback by my question. It’s almost like he’s been expecting it, waiting for me to ask when I was ready. “You didn’t live in San Francisco. You only came here after you finished school.”
“But didn’t I have friends at school?”
He brushes back a tendril of my hair that has fallen into my eyes. “You hated the private school your parents sent you to. You only had a few people you actually liked there, and they all still live in Italy.”
Tears flood my eyes, but I blink them back, frustrated that I can’t remember anything, not even my friends or my parents.
I don’t even know what happened to my parents; Tommaso only gently told me they were gone. Anytime I tried to recall more about them, that nausea and phantom pain assaulted me.
He pulls me into his lap and frames my face with his large hands.
I feel incredibly safe with him, even though he’s so much larger than I am. So strong.
So strong that he could snap my neck.
What sounds like a neck snapping fills my head. Instantly, I jerk and whimper, and nausea rises within me as excruciating pain fills my head.
“Gina?” Tommaso sounds miles away. “What’s wrong?”
I try to tell him, but bile rushes into my throat. He curses, and I’m being lifted and carried while I fight with everything in me not to puke.
When the urge to vomit finally passes, and the throbbing in my head has eased to something manageable, I take stock of where I am. Propped on the vanity in our ensuite, Tommaso wipes my face with a cool cloth as he studies me with worry. “Are you okay now?”
I nod because I can’t speak yet.
“Can you tell me?”
I shake my head, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“If not me, then you’ll tell Marie.”
Anger flares within me, and I find my ability to speak. “You can’t command me to speak about what you think I should in therapy. I’m not your subordinate.”
Rather than get angry, because I never see this man as anything but calm and controlled, he smiles. “I know you’re not my subordinate. You’re my equal. My wife. My queen.”
“Then, as your queen, I’m telling you to back the hell off,” I snark, which makes his smile broaden.
“I’ve always loved your spine and fire, il mio sole.”
Rather than focus on the pleasure that the preening wench inside of me loves with his praise, I unload the questions that have been bothering me.
“Why aren’t more people coming to our wedding tomorrow?
Why are we doing it here?” And because I’m on a roll, I demand, “Why don’t you take me anywhere? Why don’t we entertain guests here?”
With each question, his smile dims. Oh, it’s still there, and maybe anyone else wouldn’t be able to tell that it’s now forced, but I can.
“What aren’t you telling me, Tommaso?”
“Many things, Gina,” he admits, making my stomach fall. “And all things I’ll tell you once you’re ready to hear them.”
“Stop treating me like I’ll break.” But it comes out as a choked whisper as I suddenly fight tears.
“I promise you, I’m not.” He wraps me in a tight embrace, and I spread my legs so he can get closer as I wrap my arms around him to hold on tight. “We just need to do this in steady drips.”
“I hate this.” I sniffle. “I hate not remembering, and I hate feeling like the other shoe is always about to drop.”
He stiffens almost imperceptibly, but I catch it.
“Tommaso…am I safe?”
He pulls back from me only as far as he needs to in order to look at me. “Always. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Never.” His tone and the fierce protectiveness in his eyes emphasize his claim.
“Is that why you don’t take me anywhere?” I chew my bottom lip. “Is that why you don’t have anyone here other than your brother and best friend?”
His thumb runs over my lip, telling me without speaking to stop gnawing on it. “Partly.”
I should be frightened, or at least ask a hundred more questions. Maybe part of me knew this, or maybe I don’t ask more questions because I trust him to keep me safe.
“The biggest part, though,” he continues, “is that I don’t want to overwhelm and upset you.”
“But now that I’m healed—”
“You’re not completely recovered.”
“Mostly.” I roll my eyes, making him smirk and mutter, ‘Brat.’ “I want to start doing things. I can’t be a kept woman for the rest of my life.”
“Why not?” He looks insulted, and I laugh.
“Because. I had aspirations… Right?” It comes out as a question because I honestly don’t know.
He wraps his hand around my nape. “You wanted to travel and see the world. And I will show it to you. Just not yet.”
“Can I contact my friends from back at school?”
If I didn’t know better, I could swear panic flashes over his face, but I blink and it’s gone. “Soon, il mio sole. Now, I want you to get some sleep before tomorrow.”
My fingers curl into his shirt, holding him close. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
Panic swirls inside me at the thought of sleeping without him by my side. He’s been there every night when that man’s voice haunts my nightmares, and I wake up coated in sweat and shaking, or sometimes even screaming.
“Since we’re already married and are just renewing our vows tomorrow, that superstition of not seeing the bride before the wedding doesn’t stand,” I argue.
Something passes over his face again; it’s not exactly panic, but other than describing it as dark, I can’t pinpoint it exactly. He smiles down at me. “Superstition wouldn’t keep me away from you, anyway.”
Shyness falls over me as I stare up at him, feeling his body under my hands and pressed between my thighs.
Since that day two weeks ago when he gave me those toe-curling, breath-stealing orgasms, we’ve gotten acquainted—or I should say, re-acquainted—with each other.
But each night, even though he insists I sleep naked, he wears his boxer briefs and a T-shirt, refusing to show his full naked self to me yet.
Almost like he’s my gift that I get to fully unwrap after we renew our vows. It’s been both heaven and hell. I want to feel and see all of him, just as he has with me, but I also appreciate that he hasn’t pushed me.
But I’m ready. I’m done with waiting. And I can hardly breathe thinking of him being inside me tomorrow night.
As if he can read my mind, his eyes darken, and he pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Tomorrow, you’re legally and fully mine, Gina.”
It almost sounds like a warning, but I don’t heed it. I shiver and shift closer.
“And I can’t wait.”
“You took the test?”
The ovulation kit. We’ve spoken at length about the children we want to have. I’m young, but even though I can’t remember it, I know that I’ve always wanted to be a mother. And I don’t want to wait.
“It was positive, so I should be ovulating within the next day or two.”
His eyes darken further, and he presses into me. I can feel how hard he is, and I shiver, imagining finally seeing that big bulge tomorrow. Touching him. Tasting him.
“The perfect window for me to fuck a baby into you,” he growls.
My mouth parts in shock—and with lust. Because that statement, coming from him is setting my skin on fire.
I squirm, feeling need bloom within me. “Yes. The perfect window for you to fuck a baby into me,” I say breathlessly.
He cups my head. “And no one…no one,” he repeats fiercely, “can ever take you from me.”
His mouth crashes to mine, and with a whimper, all questions about his claim or thoughts of any kind are banished.