Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Angelo’s smile is tender. “You look tired, cara. You need to rest. We can talk more later.”
I tighten my grip on his hand. There’s too much living I want to do, too much I can’t say when I’m in the dark place of unconsciousness. “I’d like to call my family.”
“Of course. Sleep first and then eat something. You need your strength. You’ll have plenty of time to talk to them.” His eyes harden a little even as his voice remains gentle. “I’m flying them over. They’re arriving tomorrow.”
“They are?”
“Heidi already prepared their rooms.”
“Here?”
“Yes, here.” He presses a kiss on my forehead before standing. “Are you comfortable?”
I flinch when he helps me to lie down.
“Do you need painkillers?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Another pillow?”
I shake my head.
“Later, bella,” he says with another kiss on my cheek, but he doesn’t move from the side of the bed.
When my eyes flutter closed, he’s still standing there.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Sabella
* * *
A tinkle of crockery pulls me from a deep sleep. I blink and take in the big bed with the cream linen and the oil paintings of landscapes on the wall. A masculine scent of citrus and cedar hangs in the air. It takes me a moment to remember.
I’m in the old house, in Angelo’s room.
Golden light tinted with rose fans through the window. The sounds that woke me pull my attention to the lounge area by the fireplace. Heidi is bent over the coffee table. She straightens from depositing a tray and smiles when we make eye contact.
“Angelo didn’t want me to wake you, but it’s almost dinnertime and you haven’t eaten all day. You need your strength to recover. Your body needs the fuel now more than ever.” She picks up a bowl and a spoon and carries them to me. “How are you feeling?”
I wince when I push up to rest my back against the headboard. “I’m okay.”
“I made chicken soup. I let it cool down a bit so that you don’t burn your mouth. Would you like me to feed you?”
“That’s kind of you to offer, but I’ll be fine.”
She hands me the bowl and the spoon. “My mother always made me chicken soup when I was under the weather.” Ironing out her apron, she adds, “Not that I’m comparing what happened to you to a cold or a little coughing. I just wanted to make you some comfort food.”
My stomach growls, agreeing with Heidi that it needs food. “That’s very kind of you. Comfort food is important. Mashed banana and peanut butter on toast are my go-to food when I need some nutritional comfort.” I take a small sip of the broth. It’s creamy and rich with sliced mushrooms and diced chicken. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Heidi.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” A scowl hardens her mouth. “Those bastards did a number on you.”
The mention of those men and what they took from me threatens to make the food push up in my throat, so I brush the memory aside and make light of the hurt that tears me apart. “That bad, huh? I haven’t looked in the mirror yet.”
Pulling a chair closer, she sits down. “Don’t you worry. The bruises will fade, and you’ll be as pretty as ever. We just have to make sure that you get enough rest and don’t overuse your brain. It’s not good for a concussion. I told the kids to be quiet so that you could rest, but you know how they are. They can’t remain still for long.”
The worry that never left me worms its way to the surface again. “How are the kids?”
“Those rascals?” She grins. “They’re already up to their usual mischief. Angelo had a tough time stopping them from barging in here. They whined about seeing you every ten minutes.”
I process the quietness of the house. “Where are they now?”
“Angelo is playing soccer with the boys, and Sophie is goalie. He wanted to give you time to eat in peace.”
“I prefer those little busy bodies to peace. I miss them.” I lower the spoon. “I was so worried when Angelo told me what happened.”
“That makes two of us.” She frowns. “It’s over now, and the kids don’t seem too traumatized. As I said, they’re already up to no good again. Étienne smuggled a mouse into the house. Can you believe it?”
“A mouse? How on Earth did he manage that?”
“He caught it behind the garages in a trap he made from sticks and old mesh. I should’ve known he was up to something when he asked me for a piece of cheese.”
The idea makes me grin. “The poor mouse.”
“He thought he could teach it tricks and carry it around on his shoulder like a tame mouse.” She scoffs. “The mouse escaped the minute it could, and Étienne didn’t tell us because he was scared he’d get into trouble. I realized there was a rodent in the house when I found holes chewed into the bags of flour and boxes of cereal in the pantry. I had to throw most of the food away. Étienne only came clean when I threatened to put out mouse traps.”