I watch as she drifts off, thankful that I finally know what she’s been hiding from me.
I want to go with her to the psychiatrist so I can learn everything about this phobia, and come hell or high water, I’ll find ways to help Sienna.
I want to stop being the cause of her fear and give her the same peace she gives me.
Chapter 22
Sienna
Waking up, my mind feels worn, like gum that’s been chewed for too long.
Slowly, I become aware of Christiano’s arms locked around me and his weight as he lies partially on top of me.
I’m depleted from the mental toll it took on me to admit the truth to him, but having him here gives me a sense of safety.
He didn’t turn his back on me. Instead, he comforted me and assured me of how much he loves me.
My arms are heavy as I pull them free from where they’re pinned between us.
“Feeling better after the nap?” Christiano asks, his tone unbelievably tender.
My lips part, and not quite able to talk yet, I nod sluggishly.
He lifts his head, his eyes searching my face. “Are you still drowsy from the medication?”
I nod again while I fumble to place my hand against his neck.
“Take it easy,” he murmurs. “I had Nico get us a light lunch.” He pulls away from me, and as he gets up, he orders, “Stay in bed. I’ll be right back.”
While he’s gone, I fight the haze, and by the time I pull myself up into a sitting position, Christiano comes back with a fork and a salad the size of Manhattan.
“I got your favorite,” he says as he sits down, facing me.
The corner of his mouth lifts as he spears some chicken and avocado, and when he brings the fork to my mouth, he says, “Open up.”
I take the bite, searching his face for any sign that he regrets marrying me yesterday, but all I see is contentment.
When he notices I’m staring, he admits, “I love taking care of you.”
He spends the next few minutes feeding me until I’ve had enough, then he takes a couple of bites before setting the plate down on the bedside table.
Wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, his eyes lock on me. “I told Rosie to get me a body cam and to set up a secure system so you can watch me when I’m not with you.”
Surprised, my eyebrows lift. “You don’t mind?”
His expression turns serious as he replies, “I’m worried about you seeing the gruesomeness when I kill someone. That can’t be good for you.”
I think about it for a moment. “Maybe if I see how you handle yourself at work, it will help, like a kind of exposure therapy.”
“I’d like to meet with your psychiatrist. I want to learn everything I can about…” he frowns, then asks, “What’s it called again?”
“Thanatophobia. We can call it anxiety to make it easier.”
Lifting his hand to my face, he cups my cheek. “I’m sorry I gave you such a scare when I got shot.”
The crippling fear that the memory brings is muted by the Xanax, but my body still shudders while a pit of angst forms in my stomach.
Christiano shifts closer to me and tilts his head. “Does it make it worse to talk about it?”
