Page 156 of Disgrace

“They’ll be good, and quiet.”

“They’re Marcellos. They don’t know how to be good or quiet.”

He was right.

But she had needed all their noise and love.

Just like she needed him.

• • •

Six weeks later …

The front door to the Queens home Siena now shared with John slammed shut, and she cursed under her breath. She didn’t even have the time to hide the laundry basket she was hauling up the stairs before her lover came around the corner.

John’s gaze drifted to the basket in Siena’s hands, and then to where she stood halfway up the stairs. His eyes narrowed, and he gave her that look. The one a parent might give their child when they caught them doing something naughty.

“Oh, my God,” she grumbled, “it is just clothes, John.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing anything but resting, Siena.”

He came closer, and she shook her head.

Nope.

She was not doing this with him anymore. She was fine, and he was just going to have to let his overprotective nature down a little bit.

Holy fuck, she was lucky she could wipe her own ass the way he went on sometimes. The most she had gotten to do since leaving the hospital was attend Catherine Marcello’s wedding to Cross Donati.

And even then, John barely left her side, or let her do anything more than walk a few steps before he told her to sit down. She knew he was concerned—he didn’t want her to push too far, and hurt herself.

Siena was fine.

John was going to have to deal with it.

“Siena, put that damn basket down and go read one of your books, or something,” John said, his foot landing to the bottom stairs.

She knew he was pissed.

How?

He hadn’t taken his shoes off at the front door. There was nothing he hated more than dirt being tracked through the house because people didn’t take off their shoes. The fact he was the one tracking dirt meant his focus was somewhere else entirely.

All on her, apparently.

“No,” Siena said, turning her back to him.

“Siena.”

Her name practically yanked from his lips in a growl. A warning, if she ever heard one. John was not playing around, but neither was she.

Siena picked up her pace, and climbed the last few stairs without even losing a breath. She hoped that would be a clue to John—because her last three appointments had apparently not done that for him.

John was right behind her all the way. She made it to their bedroom, and dropped the basket on the floor beside the bed when he rushed into the room, too.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” he asked.

“You.”