Page 320 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

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.”

John snapped back like she had struck out at him.

So, maybe she could have presented that statement a little bit easier than she had. Still, it needed to be said, and John needed to hear it for once.

“You hover, and you nitpick at every little thing I do,” she told him. “You even get frustrated when I want to have a shower instead of a bath because I might be on my feet for too long. I couldn’t even dance at your cousin’s wedding—I wanted to dance with you. In case you forgot, I also have a job. Or I did, before you know, my brothers were killed. But now I own those businesses—they’re mine, and I have to take care of them. I need to get out, and do shit, John. Work. Walk. See the goddamn sun.”

He stared at her, unmoved and quiet.

Siena continued on, saying, “It’s a laundry basket with a half of a load full of clothes. It weights six pounds at most. I can carry it from the downstairs, to the upstairs, and put it away without a problem. I am fine.”

“Fine,” John murmured.

“That’s what I said.”

“And I am your problem.”

Siena pressed her lips together before saying, “I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it, John. I just meant … I know what happened was traumatic for you, and it scared you. You’re not going to say that, though, because it’s you. But I know. I do.”

John glanced away, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t want you to push yourself too hard, that’s all.”

“It’s been six weeks. I am cleared. I can resume normal activity. You know this.”

“But what if—”

“No.”

“Siena, you have to—”