“I’d love that,” I answer honestly, pulling my head back so I can look into his beautiful face and stunning eyes. “I want to remember marrying you, Tommaso. And I want a redo of the real wedding night that we never got to have.”
Everything about this man consumes me. His handsomeness, his powerful build. The dominance, power, and control that rolls off him. His tender, worshipping looks of love.
He brushes his lips over my forehead. “And what my wife wants, she gets. As long as it’s with me.”
“Always, husband.” I pull his mouth down to mine. “The only thing I want and need is you.”
His kiss feels like I just made a deal with the devil.
But I sign my soul away, anyway.
Chapter 21
Gina
It’sbeentwoweekssince Tommaso made me orgasm twice in under an hour, and he’s given me many more since then.
My recovery from my injuries is progressing well, with only faint bruising left. The stitches in the back of my head are gone, and both doctors have cleared me for mild activity and increasing it slowly as long as I don’t have any symptoms.
I still don’t have any memories, and I still get nauseated with the phantom throbbing head pain that appears whenever that man’s voice plays in my head. As a result, I quickly shut him up and push down those memories that try to come forward.
I haven’t told Tommaso or Marie, the therapist, whom I finally relented and agreed to see. She comes to the house, and I speak openly about everything, except for the fact that I’m avoiding trying to remember those memories that make me react so negatively.
Now that my recovery is further along, and I’m not so exhausted or easily fatigued, I feel increasingly isolated. Like Tommaso is keeping me hidden away. Our vow renewal istomorrow, with just Marco, Silvio, Adolfo, Jerome, and Etta attending. Not that I want a bunch of strangers here to witness Tommaso reaffirming his vows and his love for me, or me for him, especially people I should remember but don’t.
I often get overwhelmed and frustrated with my amnesia, feeling like a freak.A nobody, that man’s voice hisses in my head. Whenever I do, Tommaso is always there, patient and loving, helping me work through it—reassuring me I’m perfect even without my memories. So maybe the vow renewal being limited to so few people is his way of protecting me from an overwhelming situation, especially when the day is supposed to be about him and me.
I’m in the library, curled up reading on the sofa, and I sense him before I see him. Twisting my head, I look toward the door.
And Jesus…the man is criminal.
He casually leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed while he watches me, his usually neat hair slightly mussed. His tie and jacket are off, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. I love seeing him like this because it’s a sight very few get to see.
“The clothes don’t make the person, but to many, they think they do. When people look at me, they see a powerful, successful king who’s in control of his world, because that’s what I let them see…what I want them to see.”
I sit up straight in shock at the clear-as-day memory. Not just the words said in Tommaso’s voice, but I remember where we were when he said it. At the ruins at night. I was on a slab of concrete, sitting on his jacket, and he had taken off his shirt, letting me study his broad, strong, bare upper body.
But then, like smoke, anything further is lost.
“Gina?” He kneels in front of me now. “What is it?”
My hand trembles as I lift it to his hair. Threading my fingers through it always fills me with contentment and satisfaction thatonly I get this tousled, relaxed version of him. But now it also calms and soothes me.
“I had a flash of a memory.”
He places his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear. “Tell me.”
I describe it as best as I can, and he smiles. “I was shedding my armor.”
“For me?”
His thumb continues to draw circles on the sensitive patch behind my ear. “You’re one of the only people I truly let my guard down with. Who I let see the man behind the mask. You see everything; the real me.”
I shake my head. “Not everything. I still feel like there are things you keep from me.” I study his face and the tension he tries to hide. “Just like you’re doing now. What’s wrong?”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Just struggles with work.”
“The shipping port?” I guess, since he shared a bit about that last night.
