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My lids can no longer keep up the fight. Neither can my brain. Any focus leaves me.
Deathly, dreamless sleep claims me once again…
“Shhh…shhh! Don’t wake him.”
“But, Grandmama, I think his lids are moving.”
“That’s just your imagination,” comes the female’s voice. It’s deep with age, thickened by an accent. Her next words are spoken in fast Italian. “How many times do I have to tell you about bothering our guests? Go!”
The other voice—squeaky and small like a boy’s—groans and then the thump of footsteps stomping away meets my ears.
My head rolls onto my left shoulder. I can’t control it. It’s like my body has a mind of its own. The woman creeps closer and presses what must be a damp rag to my forehead.
The cool relief causes me to make a throaty sound of approval.
“Oh, so youareawake,” she says. “Aldo was right about you all along. You’re playing pretend.”
I open my eyes with difficulty. They ache like every other part of my body. My vision’s blurry. So far, the woman at my bedside looks like nothing more than a moving blob.
“What…” I clear my throat. My voice sounds like shit, hoarse and weak. “What…happened…”
Pathetic. I can’t even finish a full sentence before it goes out.
Luckily, the woman takes pity on me. She presses the damp rag to my brow some more. “You’ve had a temperature every day since you’ve been found.”
“Found?”
My vision halfway clears, affording me a less blurry view of my surroundings. As suspected, the woman is older. Her face is marked with the lines of time, but her eyes are kind and gray. So is her hair, framing her face in loose tendrils. The rest of the room is small, barely large enough to fit the bed I’m lying on. Sunlight streams in through the open window. My eyes tear up and I blink them away.
“My husband, Rocco, found you in the water. You were almost drowning.” She gingerly dabs the rag down the side of my face and then my neck. “He loves to take his boat each day and catch some fish. You were quite a big fish to catch.” She laughs, the tinkling sound strange to my ears. “You were badly injured. Some burns. Some bleeding. He brought you home with him. I’m one of the village nurses.”
“Village…what village…” I choke out.
She smiles. “You washed up in Santa Margherita. Do you not remember a thing? You were awake when he found you. But you were incoherent. You couldn’t stop babbling.”
None of it rings a bell. I can barely remember my last moments, but as I lay there forcing my memory to piece them together, the yacht comes to mind. C.J. and me standing side by side and then…
“Someone…” I swallow hard. “Blew me up.”
She clicks her tongue. “Horrible world. Old remedies have healed some of the burns. It could have been worse.”
“I…need…to go.”
With every ounce of strength, I push myself up. She pushes me back down with no effort. Two hundred and five pounds, trimmed with muscle, and yet a middle-aged woman easily overpowers me. I’m in fucked up condition.
“You cannot go. You are still recovering.”
Panic explodes in my chest as the reality sinks in. My yacht exploded. I almost died. Now I’m bedridden in some seaside village. And Falynn—
“Falynn!” I yell. My voice goes out, but I battle my vocal cords. “Where is she?”
“Who is that?Porca miseria, you are delirious. I have more pain reliever.”
“Falynn…my woman. Portofino.”
She holds me back with a bony but firm hand, pushing me against the pillow. “Stay. Rest. Recover. If your Falynn is in Portofino, we will find her and let her know you are alive.”
“I can’t…stay here…” I grumble, but a sharp pain stabs me in the side. It’s sharp enough that it robs me of my next breath, leaving me panting. I’ve broken a couple of ribs.
