Or keep me in?
My heart thumps wildly as I look up at the house Tommaso is approaching. It’s massive. And stunning. Grand.
Three-stories covered in stone, it has columns, arched windows, and balconies with wrought-iron railings. I feel like I’ve been transported to Europe, staring at the home built to showcase the power the owner commands.
He holds me closer and tighter as he ascends the steps to a set of tall doors engraved with a shield and what could be a family crest. Before I can study it, one of the doors opens, and a man older than Tommaso smiles.
“Adolfo,” Tommaso greets.
“Sir.” He nods and steps to the side, letting us in.
My first thought had been that this might be Tommaso’s father, but the ‘sir’ kicked that theory to the curb.
Adolfo might look reserved and stuffy, but his eyes are lively when they land on me. “Welcome home.” He glances at Tommaso before looking back at me. “Everything is set up for you.”
“Thank you. Is Jerome making some food? I’d like Gina to eat before she rests.”
“Yes, sir. It will be brought to your room.”
I squirm in Tommaso’s arms. Uncomfortable, not because he’s holding me, but because nothing here—the grounds, the house, or the people—is familiar, and my distress is rising, and I’m quickly becoming overwhelmed and frustrated.
Tommaso gently sets me on my feet but keeps me close, his arm around my waist.
Adolfo takes that as his cue to leave, and I study the house. It’s as grand and beautiful inside as it was on the outside. High-domed ceilings, an ornate crystal chandelier, and a few paintings and sculptures are visible as I look deeper into the home. There’s a sitting room that somehow feels warm, even with its large size.
My eyes fill with tears of frustration. “Nothing feels familiar.”
Tommaso shifts to stand in front of me, cupping my face. “I wouldn’t expect it to be. Remember, we had just married before your accident.”
There was a brief pause before he said that last word, but I’m too consumed with my frustration to notice.
“But surely, I would’ve been to your house, Tommaso. That’s what normal people do.”Right?
“We had a whirlwind romance,il mio sole. And please, don’t cry.” He kisses my cheeks, collecting my tears, being extra gentle with the bruised side of my face. “I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”
I let him envelop me in his arms, feeling safest when I’m there, and don’t protest when he scoops me up again. Carryingme through the house—our home—the scale and size of it is overwhelming.
“How rich are you?”
“We,” he reaffirms. “And very.”
He climbs a set of curved stairs, and I study the portraits lining the wall. Some of them are of individuals, and some are family portraits.
“Who are the Santoros, Tommaso? What do you do?”
If he wasn’t carrying me, I don’t think I would’ve noticed his slight stiffening.
“I’m a businessman.”
“What kind of business?” For some reason, my heart is pumping rapidly, like I’ve just sprinted.
“Hotels, restaurants, land development,” he answers easily. “Along with import and exports.”
“Are you not telling me something?” My head starts to throb. Something is pushing inside my mind, determined to be remembered.
‘I’ll do it!’
The briefest flash of a memory pushes in, and sweat breaks over my skin and my vision blurs.
