He lifts me easily from the counter and drops me on the couch.
“You don’t want help?” I call after him, watching his now shirtless back as he moves—sue me.
He turns, winks. “Let me take care of my wife.”
I throw my head back, roll my eyes, and moan. “I love that.”
“Get used to it,Cuore mio. We have a lifetime.”
Enzo returns with dinner—crab linguine—and a crisp glass of Sauvignon Blanc. The citrus notes cut perfectly through the rich sauce.
We eat mostly in silence, savoring the food and each other’s company, trading the occasional comment.
Afterward, we put on a film, but I barely watch. I’m too busy sneaking glances at Enzo beside me. His face is soft, the hard lines gone, shoulders relaxed as he sits with one leg crossedover the other, an arm draped across the couch cushions.
I yawn. Immediately, he pauses the movie.
“What?” I mumble.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“I’m okay—we can stay.”
He chuckles, rising to his feet. “You’re not even watching.”
“I am too!” I gasp.
His hands land on his hips—an unfair distraction.
His laugh pulls my gaze back up to his face.
“What?” I ask.
“I said, what movie were we watching?”
“Um.”Shit.
He takes my hands, gently tugging me up. I wince at the pull on my back.
Enzo’s brow furrows. “I don’t like that you’re in pain. I hurt you.”
I roll my eyes. “I like it. Makes me feel alive.”
The frown lingers, but then he sweeps me into his arms, bridal style.
“Come on, Mrs. Russo.”
“You know, I never agreed to your name, Mr.Romano.”
44
Romantic Honeymoon
I dreamt of you last night. We were still just kids, the weight of the world not on our shoulders. Made me miss you more. —Enzo
Enzo
Whatwassupposedtobe a romantic honeymoon filled with booze and sex, has turned into me playing nurse. Not in some kind of roleplay situation. That would actually be preferable. Izzy has spent the past three days in bed or with her head over the toilet throwing up. It’s not pretty.
