“No,” I agreed, my mind beginning to fully turn on. This was not me. I was as sharp as a newly forged sword.
“What do you remember?” she asked.
“Driving us home.”
“After? You were out here for hours.”
“Niente,” I said. “I cannot remember a thing prior.”
She began frantically searching me, keeping most of the attention on my head. Not a scratch to be found.
“Amora,” I whispered. I had to call her three times to get her to stop. Finally, she looked up at me, tears still in her eyes. “You said the doctor is on his way?”
“Yes, Giovanni went to get him. Guido is outside the door, along with Mac.”
“Help me with my pants, ah?”
“Help you? Oh my God! You never ask for help!”
“I just need a moment to gain my bearings. I can do it, but you have been spoiling me.”
My brain might have been swaying, but her hands on me touched me even deeper— my cock was hard, ready to be connected to her, my wife. And although she was helping me, I was a big man, and she could barely move me. But some place deep inside of me had missed her, missed the time we usually spent together at night, and I was desperate for her hands on me, to feel her healing touch. This was how she was helping me.
When I finally sat up, she searched me over again.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “You don’t even have a scratch.”
“I do not understand either, my love.”
She looked around, searching the room, until her eyes stilled on my desk. “You were drinking. I see a bottle but not a glass. Was the whiskey bad?”
I shrugged. “I do not remember drinking.” My mind was beginning to strain. As if the memories were there but my brain could not recall them. As if my memories were eaten by a monster inside of my head.
My wife sniffed at me. “I smell it, the whiskey.”
A knock came at the door. My wife’s eyes shot up. She was on edge.
The doctor had arrived.
Amora nodded. She went to get up, but I held her in place. I demanded to kill the tension between us, tension caused by all she demanded to change that I loved. She searched my eyes for a moment, and with tears in hers, closed them. I leaned forward some, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead.
“I might look different, Rocco,” she whispered, “but I’m still me. You’ll see. You’ll continue to see me—where it counts.”
Another knock came at the door. Amora went to get up, but I stopped her. We rose together, which was symbolic to both of us. If we were down, we would forever rise as one.
The physician, surname Silvestri, came in, and so did my men. Questions were asked. None of them I could answer. The last I remembered was driving us home.
“Do you not remember our conversation last night,SignorFausti?” Giovanniasked me.
Everyone looked at him.
“No,” I said.
“We walked together to check why the donkeys were going off. The old man who tends to them was passed out in the enclosure. I moved him and we walked together to this room. On the way, I asked for permission to protect Thandie.”
“What’s going on with Thandie?” My wife rushed out.
Giovanni looked at me.
