The doctor gives a faint smile. "Rest. Eat. Hydrate. I’ll leave supplements. No stress, if that’s possible."
My eyes flicker with something close to humor. I catch Giovanni’s glance, and I sign with a slow lift of my hands. No stress. That part will be tricky.
His mouth twitches, but he says nothing. I feel free with him now, freer than I've ever been in my entire life.
The doctor gathers his things, offers another nod, and tells us he’ll be back in a week unless we need him sooner. He pauses before leaving, his gaze steady. “You’re both doing well. Keep it simple.”
Then he’s gone.
Giovanni moves in front of me, crouching down with one hand on my knee. His thumb moves slowly over the fabric of my pants, a grounding motion. “You good?”
I nod, but I don’t move yet. I let my hands speak. It feels more real now.
His eyes hold mine. “It is real.”
His hand shifts to my waist, pulling me toward him. I lean forward, letting myself press into his chest. The scent of him is familiar, the heat of his body steady. He doesn’t rush the moment. His hand runs slowly along my back, fingers splaying at the center like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
When I pull back, he’s already watching me. He lifts a hand to my face, brushing my cheek with the backs of his fingers. There’s a tenderness in his expression I haven’t seen in days. Not like this.
He kisses me, like the world has gone quiet just for us. I respond without thought, without fear. My hands move to his chest, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. His kiss deepens, his breath catching. My body follows the pull of his until I’m straddling his lap, his arms locked around me like I belong there.
He stands with me in his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist, holding tight. We’re almost at the bed when another knock slices through the quiet.
We both freeze.
Giovanni groans low, his brow resting against mine for a brief second before he lowers me gently to the floor. “Stay here,” he mutters. His tone is calm, but I feel the frustration in his body as he steps away.
I sit on the edge of the bed, adjusting my shirt, fingers smoothing down the fabric. I don’t have time to guess who it is before I hear his voice.
“Hi. I hope I’m not early.”
Giovanni lets him in. He’s tall and young, with a halo of hair and a confident walk. A clipboard is tucked under one arm, and his eyes sweep the room quickly before landing on me.
“Mrs. Renzetti?”
I nod, watching him.
He smiles. His smile is bright but not overbearing. “I’m Marco De Rossi, address me as Marco. I'm your speech therapy consultant. Your husband didn’t mention how stunning you are.”
My brow lifts slightly, caught off guard. He walks forward with an ease that makes it hard to dislike him.
“I’m just here to introduce myself today. Get a feel for your comfort zone, nothing intense.”
I lift my hands. Hello.
His eyes light up. He signs back slowly, carefully. Hello, madam.
I nod again. My hands move. How are you?
“I am fine. I was Alessio’s speech therapist,” he replies. His voice is gentle, light, and it's without condescension.
Giovanni stays in the room but gives us space. Marco asks about my dominant hand, if I struggle with any signs, and whether I’d be open to practicing some vocalization alongside it. I answer with signs. He watches closely, taking notes. He’s sharp, but not overbearing. He doesn’t try to rush me.
By the time he leaves, I find myself genuinely surprised. I walk him to the door and offer a small smile. He squeezes my hand and promises to return tomorrow.
When I turn back, Giovanni is watching me from the far side of the room.
“You like him,” he says simply.
