“Okay.” She pauses. “Anything else?”
“No. I’ll text you the details.”
“Okay. No prob–”
I hang up, hearing Izzy moving around.
Back in my room, I find her out of bed.
I rush over to her. “Cuore mio, what are you doing? You need to rest.”
She glowers at me. “I’ve been resting. I need to get out of this room.”
Placing an arm around her waist, careful not to touch her shoulder, I help her into the living room. “Stay here. This is as far as you’re going.”
She goes to argue, but then her face twists in pain and she shuts her mouth. I can see how much effort it took her just to walk this far—sweat beads on her brow, and her eyelids are already drooping. I cover her in a blanket, then head to the kitchen to fetch her something to drink, but by the time I’m back she’s already asleep again.
It takes Izzy another few days before she’s able to move without pain. If she twists wrong, then she grunts, gritting her teeth as if she can hide it from me.
Today, after spending some time in my office, getting caught up on missed work, I find her in the kitchen. Her back is to me as she tries to stretch to reach the glass cupboard. As soon as she does, she cries out in pain.
I’m at her side in an instant.
“Let me help you.”
She rests her head on my chest as she breathes through the discomfort. “I’m useless.”
“No.” I tilt her chin up gently, forcing her to look at me. “You’re doing amazing.”
“Of course you think that,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
“Because I love you?”
Her breath catches. “Say it again.”
I grin down at her. “I love you.”
She sighs, closing her eyes then reopening them, smirking. “Once more?”
“If you weren’t injured, I’d take you over my knee for being a brat.”
Her lips part, eyes flashing with heat.
“Now’s the part where you admit how much you love me too,” I coax.
She pushes away from me, rounding the kitchen counter. She doesn’t speak until she’s almost out of the room, tossing the words over her shoulder. “I love you more than anything.”
I groan, relishing the sound of those words on her lips—and they’re directed at me. How did I get so lucky?
Izzy
The bathroom fills with steam as Enzo runs me a bath—finally. It’s been eight days since I first woke up in the hospital. Recovering has been awful. The pain in my shoulder is finally subsiding, it’s still there, but not as constant. I can wash again, thank God. I feel disgusting, having only been allowed hygiene washes.
I still can’t get the bullet wound wet, so it’s wrapped in plastic wrap to keep it dry.
In front of me, my reflection glares back at me. The ugly scar on my cheek mocks me. Now, even if the internal scars heal, I’llalways have this reminder of Lucas—of Marcus.
Enzo holds out a hand to me, helping me out of the chair where I’ve been sitting patiently waiting for him.
