“Genius. I wonder what they’re going to do with that?” says Seb.
“You can ask them yourself at the wedding,” Marco says, before raising his eyebrows at me and clapping me on the back. “It’s gonna be a big meet-the-family situation for us both.”
“Can’t wait,” I say.
Moments later, we’re landing on the helipad.
“Leave Chiara there for a moment. We need to quickly shower and change out of these clothes before we head out.”
As soon as the door lifts, we file out to an alcove with locker-room-style shower facilities. A package of vacuum-sealed clothes for each of us waits on the bench top.
“Strip everything here first and put it in the hazmat bin,” instructs Marco.
I just want to get back to my girl, so I work quickly to remove my shoes and all my clothes, dumping them in the bin as instructed.
“What the fuck is that on your dick?” Marco says. I look down at mine. Nothing new to report. Then I snap my head up to see Marco staring agape at Seb.
“A Jacob’s ladder,” Seb replies.
“Why the fuck would you let anyone stick anything in your dick?” Marco says, cupping his own package and wincing in pain at the thought.
“For me to know and you to find out…if you dare,” Seb says with a wink.
“You’ve all lost your fucking minds,” I say.
“Says the one who’s been secretly married for months and sporting fresh ink.”
He has a point, but I have no time to be drawn into a competition about who’s crazier or get myself dragged into another dare.
“On that note, I have to get my wife home, so hurry the hell up.”
Chiara stirs, moaning and groaning as she tries to move in my arms while I slowly carry her from the car to the house.
“Don’t move too much, sweetheart. You have broken ribs,” I tell her.
She opens her eyes and whispers, “I’m so glad to be home.”
“You have no idea how glad I am,” I admit, placing a soft kiss on her lips, murmuring, “You scared the fuck out of me.”
The front door flings open.
“Thank God you’re all okay,” gasps Sophia, eyes lined with tears as she stands to the side waiting for us all to file in before flinging herself into Marco’s arms. She unconvincingly berates him for putting himself in such danger when he’s still recovering, but any anger is quickly dismissed when Marco kisses her worries away. I can hear other voices coming from the kitchen, but I keep walking through the house towards our bedroom.
I lay Chiara gently on the bed, and she groans in pain.
“I know it hurts; I’m sorry. I’ll go run the bath, and then I’ll come and get you.”
“Okay,” she responds.
I fill the bath with hot water and add all the smelly things Chiara has put in my cupboards.
Instead of jostling her, I just cut her bra and underwear off and gaze down at her perfect body marked with the aftermath of her ordeal. There are the superficial wounds, bruising, swelling, and some cuts and scratches too. But it’s the pain that’s not on display that I wish I could simply wash away.
“Raf, I have to tell you something,” she says hoarsely, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Alessandro did find me again at the studio a few months ago and I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh. Shh,” I say kissing her tenderly. “It—he—doesn’t matter now. Please just let me get you clean and warm so I can rest with you in bed. The doctor will be here soon.”
I lower her into the bath, and she chokes on a cry as her body enters the water.
