Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ANNA
“Ready?”
My gaze fell to his hands. He had a bag in one and passports in the other. My chest tightened another notch.
“Let’s go.”
I wanted to move, but my feet didn’t get the message. One of those passports had Espana written across it in bold. The pit of doom in my chest climbed.
“Anna.” He swallowed the space in three strides, took my hand in his, and tugged. “I don’t want to waste time.”
That hit me right in the center of my chest. I shook my head. I knew it was happening. Hit pause. Hit pause. Hit pause.“Let’s go, stella mia.” His voice was too soft.
I wasn’t ready yet. Eleven years was too short a time to recover from one death to face another. He tugged again. I grasped the lapels of his jacket. “Lie to me,” my voice cracked. “Tell me she’s okay.”
The bag thudded to the floor. His hands covered mine.
His eyes pierced into mine. “She’s okay.
” My body went numb. In that moment, I knew Niccolò Martello had never lied to me.
Until then. I let him tug me. I followed him like he’d put me on a leash.
She was okay. She was okay. But in the darkness of the hole in my chest, there were two words he’d left unsaid. For now.
I didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. I wasn’t even sure if I blinked.
The only thing I did was stare into the emptiness in front of me.
In between, we moved. Drove to an airport, flew in a private jet, and landed in Malaga.
Got on a helicopter and flew to Marbella.
The hot, dry air of late August hit like desert heat.
We drove under clear skies, past translucent oceans and tourists paddling in bright swimwear and designer shades.
His hand on mine tightened. I hadn’t said a word to him.
He hadn’t either. Yet it felt like there was a line of static communication between us.
It said, how could people be happy when I was dying inside?
My heart picked up pace the closer we got to the hospital.
My chest ached. I rubbed it subconsciously but stopped when his gaze caressed the spot like a touch.
I was on the edge of my seat when the car drove up the driveway.
It didn’t stop. I didn’t wait for it. Shoving the door open, I flew out and ran.
Shoes abandoned in the car, heart dropping with every step.
White walls rushed past me. The sterile environment was an aching reminder of past times.
I turned the corner and collided with a woman in scrubs.
She gripped me in her arms as if she had been waiting for me. Her name tag read Dra. L. Duque.
“Is she—”
“She’s okay for now, Senora Martello.”
For now. My knees buckled. The room spun. Strong arms held me up. My confused gaze found him as he pulled me against his chest.
“Come, let me take you to her.” The doctor’s words seeped into my darkening world.
We walked to the end of the hallway. Waited for the lift and got on it when it arrived with a ping that cracked the silence. Halfway through, I noticed Nico’s hand had gone blue. With a gasp, I released my grip on him. Without a word he took it and placed it back on his.
“This way,” the doctor said, and I wondered how she did it.
Dealing with death day in and day out when I couldn’t handle one and the second was going to take me to my grave.
I was sure of it. I couldn’t survive this.
Blue vinyl underneath my feet, stainless steel bars that hugged the walls.
In front of me were two metal doors with portholes cut into them.
She pushed through them. “She’s in the ICU. ”
I nodded, then halted. I hadn’t even asked what had happened. “What happened?” My voice was raw. Rusted. It was about to break as it had eleven years ago.
“She had a stroke.” My body fought to shut down, and I swayed on my feet. He was warm. A pillar on which I leaned. “It was a minor one, but we need to monitor it.”
I asked, even though I knew better. “Will she recover?”
She glanced behind me at Nico for a brief second as if she was seeking his approval before her gaze dipped to me again. “It’s difficult to say. The next twenty-four hours are crucial.”
Next to the double doors, the visiting hours stood out in bold.
We were well past them. I stared at the disinfectant hanging on the wall below it.
My mind had shut down. What was I to do with it?
He took my hand and squeezed liquid onto them and covered both of ours and wiped it off.
When he put the mask on me, it felt like he was reaching into my soul and cradling my cracking heart.
I couldn’t hold his caress and dropped mine to the cold vinyl floor.
I had to be strong. I didn’t have the luxury of breaking down.
He hesitated at the double doors. I walked in. He stayed behind. I turned to him. “She’ll want to see you first.”
I reached for his hand. “I can’t.”
He stared at it. Like it hurt him to let me go in alone, but it hurt him worse to see my grief. He exhaled slowly. After a beat, he took my hand and walked in with me.
I’d counted in the plane, and it was forty-two days since I’d last seen her.
In that time, it felt like she’d changed.
Lost weight. Gone frail. Collected an accumulation of tubes that wrapped around her like a bizarre plastic shield.
Machines beeped, and her heart rate plunged and spiked in colorful curves.
Underneath it all, she slept, looking as peaceful as she had done when she was home in her precious little bed.
“Mamá.” A sob cracked through my chest. My back touched a chair, and I fell into it. I caressed her hand. Veins popping out, tubes going in and out. But her skin was soft. As soft as my mamá’s. Guilt gnawed at my chest. I should have been with her.
“There was nothing you could have done.” I must have spoken because the doctor was answering me.
“She had a stroke in the middle of the night. Even if you had been in Spain, you wouldn’t have been by her side.
And even then…” she trailed off. I wasn’t a medical professional to save her from a stroke, and I sure wasn’t God to stop it from happening.
My chest ached. I sought Nico out. I wanted him to stop me from breaking down.
He reached for my hand, and I wondered what my life had become when the man I was supposed to kill was the one to soothe my pain.
I didn’t have time to dwell on that thought.
The door swung open behind us, and through the curtains, I caught a glimpse of Mara rushing in.
I tucked my emotions in. Hid them away from sight.
When she fell into my arms, I was the big sister again.
Ready to be strong again. Except his gaze told me this time I didn’t have to do it alone.
Ten days passed. For all of them, I waited with bated breath.
But she never woke up. I tried everything.
Spoke to her. Cried next to her. Scolded her.
Demanded she come back. When all else failed, I played her favorite piece on the piano, poured my heart into it, and wept my sorrow into it.
Then I played her the recording of it. A tear spilled from the corner of her eye.
I had thought that was the miracle. But nothing else changed.
Except for the one time Nico and I were both in the room and he spoke.
She must have heard us because one lonely tear fell from her eye then, too.
Life happened. I didn’t take part in it.
We lived in a house that Nico had arranged.
We ate the food that he had organized. In front of Mara, I was the strength she needed.
I put on a weak smile and handled my sorrow in silence while I let her cry.
But when she wasn’t there or at night, I fell apart in his arms. No one noticed it more than he did.
While I lay on his chest and sobbed, I wondered who his person was that he could fall apart with, because somewhere between poisoned paella and fucking for a reward, he’d become mine.
One time, I asked him if he shouldn’t go back home.
His jaw had locked, and I knew he was sealing words behind his lips.
Words he refused to let out. Then he’d shaken his head and walked out, leaving me behind.
I’d paced the house, dying a million times, wondering if he was already flying.
Half an hour later, I’d seen him from the window.
Sitting on the beach. Head dipped low. Shoulders slumped.
Sticking out like a sore thumb in a black suit on the golden sand.
Somehow, he was my compass. Without much thought, I turned up at his side.
He’d looked up. I’d looked down. I forgot what I’d come for.
I guess he did, too. I’d straddled him. On that lonely beach, I’d taken his aching erection and pushed it inside me.
He hadn’t stopped me. Even if it was for a few minutes.
Every kiss, every stroke he gave me felt like he’d like nothing more than to take this twisted sorrow away.
But he couldn’t. No one could take this away.
The only thing he could do was hold me as I shook in his arms. Crying as I came apart. Finding that bit of happiness with him.
Then he carried me inside and walked into the shower.
Him in his suit. Me in a dress that Magda or Isidora must have packed for me.
I couldn’t remember the color or the shape of it.
All I knew was I’d never want to wear it again.
But his hands working my wet dress off, the way he soaped me, shampooed my hair, dried me, and put me to bed.
I was ashamed to say it, but I wanted that forever.
Because he was all mine. He was better than any symphony I would ever play on the grandest stage.
But forever wasn’t meant for us.