Chapter Sixteen
Elio
The rehab wing at Harbor View smells like rubber mats and sweat. The corridors are wide and brightly lit. They’re designed for wheelchairs, walkers, and the slow, careful steps of people learning to trust their bodies again. People like my brother.
I sign in at the front desk and clip a visitor badge to my shirt.
I wore the loosest shirt I own to hide my growing belly.
It used to hang off me, now it pulls snug across the middle if I’m not careful about how I stand.
I’ve been dressing strategically for weeks.
Layering, choosing fabrics that drape instead of cling, angling my body when I sit so the bump doesn’t show too much.
The strategy works on strangers. It’s starting to fail with everyone else.
Case in point, Mama cornered me three days ago. She gave me a knowing look as she said the family would be overjoyed whenever I was ready to share my news. I stared at her, embarrassed. She simply patted my cheek and walked away without another word.
Fabio, however, still doesn’t know about the pregnancy.
He doesn’t know about Marcello, the marriage, the syndicate, the contract, any of it.
For months I’ve been living two lives. One at the estate with my husband and his family, and one at this hospital where I’m still just Fabio’s doting big brother.
I’ve walked through these doors dozens of times.
Guilt eating at me, I’ve smiled and lied to my brother’s face.
I’ve changed the subject when it focused on me too much, slipped off my wedding ring and worn high collars to cover the bite mark Marcello gave me.
Not once have I allowed my two worlds to collide.
Today is the day they merge.
My brother is getting stronger. His discharge is two weeks out. He can’t go back alone to the apartment in Millhaven. I’m hoping he’ll never go back. I want him near me, and I can’t leave Marcello. Soon we’ll have a child together, and going back to Millhaven, PA simply isn’t an option.
I need to talk my brother into staying near me.
I pray he’ll be receptive. Recovering from open-heart surgery is no simple thing.
Fabio needs someone near him to watch over him.
He needs to live with me at Marcello’s home until he’s a hundred percent again.
I’m not prepared to take no for an answer.
The problem is, I know he’s going to be upset with me when I come clean.
He’ll be hurt, furious, possibly even rebellious.
Fabio is a good kid and he’s always been easygoing about stuff, but this is different.
I’ve never hidden anything this huge from him before.
But no matter what happens, our conversation must end with him agreeing to stay with me at Marcello’s home. At least until he’s strong again.
Even after all I’ve been through recently, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more nervous. My gut is churning as I find Fabio in the rehab gym. He’s on a treadmill near the windows, walking at a brisk pace that would have been impossible for him before the surgery.
The gym inside the rehab wing is a large, bright room with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall.
It overlooks a courtyard with tables and chairs, where patients can sit out in the sun.
The equipment inside the gym is spread across padded floors: treadmills, recumbent bikes, low-resistance weight machines, balance boards.
A few other patients are working with therapists, mostly older, moving carefully through supervised exercises.
Soft music plays from a speaker mounted near the ceiling, some sort of inoffensive jazz.
Fabio is thinner than he was before the surgery.
His black hair has grown out and it curls at his neck and behind his ears.
His arms are soft where they used to have some definition.
The heart condition has shaved him down, all the muscle mass he’d built through his teens stripped away by weeks of stillness and careful recovery.
He’s wearing a gray T-shirt, athletic shorts, and sneakers.
Even though he looks like a frailer version of himself, it’s wonderful to see him upright and moving.
His color is good, warm instead of the ashy pallor he’d had before the surgery.
When he sees me his face breaks into a smile that makes him look even younger.
My heart aches for the pain I know he’s already been through and for the fresh pain he’s about to experience.
“Elio.” He hits the stop button and steps off the treadmill, a little unsteady.
His physical therapist, a sturdy woman in scrubs named Dee, gives me a friendly nod.
“How’s he coming along?” I ask.
“He’s doing great today,” Dee says. “Twenty minutes on the treadmill, no dizziness. We’re increasing his resistance work next week.”
“That’s amazing.” I smile at Fabio, who’s toweling off his face and trying not to look too pleased with himself. He’s always been a humble kid. “You’ll be at the Olympic trials before you know it,” I tease.
He laughs. “Not sure about that. I can barely walk on a treadmill without holding the rails.”
“Details.” I grin.
He swipes the towel over his sweaty arms. “Dee said I can start light weights next week. Thank God. I’m losing all my muscle definition.”
I shrug. “It’ll come back once you start weights.”
“Hope so.” He elbows me. “Come on, let’s go sit. I’m starving.” He eyes my backpack. “Did you remember to bring food?”
“Like I’d forget something so important?” I smirk. “I brought you a turkey and Swiss sandwich from that place you like.”
“Sharky’s Subs?” He pumps his fist, which makes me laugh and also makes something twist in my chest. He’s not a child, but something about him is so young. Maybe it’s that he’s so easily delighted. And here I am about to drop the weight of my entire double life on his skinny shoulders.
He turns to Dee. “You want to join us for lunch?”
She laughs. “Aww, no, but thank you for asking. I have other victims I need to go torture.”
He smiles and we leave her there in the workout room.
We find a quiet spot in the patient rec room at the end of the hall. It’s a medium-sized room with a few armchairs, and a television that’s not on at the moment. There’s a window that looks out over the parking lot. It’s not scenic, but it’s kind of private since no one else is in the room.
Before I give him his sandwich, I pull out a vanilla cupcake with colored sprinkles. He grins at me and I grin back.
“You thought I forgot it was your birthday, didn’t you?” I say.
His smile is sheepish. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. A lot has happened recently.”
“Pfft. As if I’d forget my baby brother’s twentieth birthday.” I shake my head and stick the candle I brought into the thick frosting. I then light it with the lighter I also packed and meet his gaze. “I won’t embarrass you by singing Happy Birthday.”
“Thank God.” He smirks.
I lean toward him, holding out the treat. “Happy Birthday, little bro.”
He laughs, the golden flame of the candle reflecting in his eyes. “Thanks, Elio. I don’t feel a day over ninety.”
“You’ll feel different once you’re back in shape.” I lift the cupcake. “Make a wish and then blow out the candle.”
He obeys by closing his eyes and then opening them. “Okay, I know what I’m wishing for.” He leans forward and blows, snuffing the candle instantly. He smiles at me as a little wisp of smoke curls in front of his face. “Done.”
“Don’t tell me what you wished for. It’s bad luck.”
“I won’t.” He unwraps the paper from the cupcake and stuffs it in his mouth, devouring it in seconds. He swallows, licks his lips, and rubs his hands together. “Now, is it sandwich time?”
“Oh, yeah, baby. It’s sandwich time.” I pull the sub out of my backpack and Fabio settles into a chair. He then proceeds to tear into the sandwich with the enthusiasm of a starving bear. I guess the bland rehab food isn’t cutting it.
“Hey,” he says around a mouthful of turkey and Swiss. “How come you didn’t get a sandwich?”
I grimace. “I had a big breakfast.” I’m not lying. I ate a ham and cheese omelet and three pancakes. Now that the morning sickness is past, my appetite is healthy as a horse’s. In fact, it’s embarrassing how much I can eat right now.
He nods, studying me. “You look different.”
I tense. “Do I?”
“Yeah, like fuller-faced. Your jaw isn’t so sharp.”
“Damn. There goes my chance at being a supermodel.” I laugh, fingering my jaw. My plan is to wait until he’s done eating to drop my news on him. I want to let him enjoy his meal.
As he eats I examine him. His blue eyes are bright and there are sandwich crumbs on his chin.
His T-shirt collar is stretched out and his surgery scar peeks above it, the top of the pink vertical line that runs down his sternum.
He looks frail, but I know he can change that with some hard work.
He’s smart and capable, and now that his physical health should improve, he’ll have more opportunities.
Marcello’s money and influence will also help with that.
A few minutes later, he shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth.
My heart begins to race because now it’s time to come clean.
I have to tell him about Marcello and me.
There’s no more putting it off. There’s so much to share, I feel frozen with anxiety.
Each secret is huge on its own, but when I combine them, I know he’ll be overwhelmed.
He must see something in my face because he squints at me. “Everything okay?”
“I… I need to tell you some things. A lot of things, actually.”
He blinks at me. “Okay.”
“Some of the stuff I tell you is going to sound insane. But I… I need you to hear all of it before you react.” I swallow hard. “If possible.”
“I’ll do my best to just listen.” A worried line appears between his dark brows.