He lifts his head, and even though he told me I’m one of the only people he lets down all his shields and masks for, I see they’re there.
“My work isn’t something I want you to worry about.”
“Tommaso,” I say with exasperation. “If it’s stressing you, then talk to me. That’s what a wife does, right?”
“You’re still healing; I don’t want to put any additional stress on you.”
I huff an annoyed breath. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass and will shatter.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” I flare, pushing him away enough so I can stand up from the sofa. But then my world spins and tilts.
Damn low blood pressure.
Tommaso scoops me into his arms as my world rights itself.
“Put me down.”
“No.” His not-so-gentle,I’m going to take control and dominate the hell out of the situationside is coming out.
“I’m not one of your employees you can boss around.”
I’m still upset with him, but my face is pressed against his warm, broad chest as he carries me up the stairs. Why am I such a sucker for him and his strength? I’m a weak, weak woman. But having a gorgeous dark man take care of you as if you’re the center of his universe? That’s damn addicting.
I don’t know if Tommaso is a dark man, but there’s that niggling little whisper in the back of my head warning that he might be a walking red flag—and it’s starting to get louder and louder.
“What do you actually do?” I swallow my trepidation of not really wanting his answer in case it’s something I don’t want to hear.
He enters our bedroom and kicks the door closed. “Hotels, restaurants, land development, along with imports and exports.”
I already know that. I haven’t pressed for many details while I healed, but I feel stronger now and want to know more.
“Why don’t I have any friends come visit?”
He sets me on the bed and doesn’t look taken aback by my question. It’s almost like he’s been expecting it, waiting for me to ask when I was ready. “You didn’t live in San Francisco. You only came here after you finished school.”
“But didn’t I have friends at school?”
He brushes back a tendril of my hair that has fallen into my eyes. “You hated the private school your parents sent you to. You only had a few people you actually liked there, and they all still live in Italy.”
Tears flood my eyes, but I blink them back, frustrated that I can’t remember anything, not even my friends or my parents.
I don’t even know what happened to my parents; Tommaso only gently told me they were gone. Anytime I tried to recall more about them, that nausea and phantom pain assaulted me.
He pulls me into his lap and frames my face with his large hands.
I feel incredibly safe with him, even though he’s so much larger than I am. So strong.
So strong that he could snap my neck.
What sounds like a neck snapping fills my head. Instantly, I jerk and whimper, and nausea rises within me as excruciating pain fills my head.
“Gina?” Tommaso sounds miles away. “What’s wrong?”
I try to tell him, but bile rushes into my throat. He curses, and I’m being lifted and carried while I fight with everything in me not to puke.
When the urge to vomit finally passes, and the throbbing in my head has eased to something manageable, I take stock of where I am. Propped on the vanity in our ensuite, Tommaso wipes my face with a cool cloth as he studies me with worry. “Are you okay now?”
