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“Is it that awful?” I ask. It didn’t look that bad to me when I inspected it in the mirror after the doctor had left. Only six stiches.
“What?”
“The scar?”
“No, it’s just...” She lifts her eyes to mine, reaches up with her hand, and lightly brushes her fingers over the hair tied at the top of my head. “I was worried they had shaved it all off,” she says in a strangled voice.
“Just the bottom part.” They got rid of everything below the crown, leaving the rest.
“I like it. Very stylish.” She plays with one of the strands that has escaped the bun.
I was rather surprised when I realized I had long hair. I didn’t expect that for some reason and considered cutting it. But after seeing that it makes her happy, I decide I’m keeping it.
Isabella leans forward to look at the back of my head, and a faint vanilla fragrance envelops me. I turn my head, burying my nose in the crook of her neck, and inhale. She tenses but doesn’t move away, just steadies herself a little more and sighs.
“Did your family make you marry me, Isabella?” I ask and cup her cheek with my hand. “You’re way too young.”
“No.”
“Then why did you marry me?”
She doesn’t reply right away, just nuzzles my neck with her nose for a few moments. “Because I’m in love with you, Luca,”she whispers, then goes rigid, like she didn’t mean to say those words.
“And me? Am I in love with you?”
Isabella steps away and smiles. “Of course you are,” she says and brushes my cheek with the back of her hand. “I have to go. Don’t forget to call Rosa.”
“I won’t,” I say.
I’ve been calling Rosa twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. She’d usually be the one who talked while I mostly listened. About her friend Clara who has a cat. About the construction workers who came to fix the façade and one of them ending up in the rose bush. About movies she watched. It has been the hardest thing so far—talking with my child without having any recollection of her. Almost as hard as shaking my head when Isabella showed me a photo of a dark-haired girl with shoulder-length hair, asking me if I recognized her.
I don’t remember my daughter.
“Damian and I will be here first thing in the morning,” Isabella says and leaves the room without looking back.
Chapter 13
I stand next to Damian in the hospital hallway, staring at the door as we wait for Luca to come out of his room.
Dear God, what the hell possessed me yesterday to tell him he was in love with me? I spent the whole night awake, trying to think of a way to correct that fuckup. What kind of person am I, lying to a man who’s lost his memory about something so important? I didn’t mean to say it. It just kind of burst out of me. I was so fucking scared this whole week, worrying that Luca’s condition may change for the worse, or that someone from the Family may make an appearance and find out about his memory loss, that I wasn’t thinking straight and just blurted out that nonsense. So, now what? Should I come clean right away? Or wait until we get home?
The door opens, pulling me from my internal turmoil, and Luca comes out, dressed in a dark gray shirt and black pants. I think he’s lost a couple of pounds during his stay, but it’s barely noticeable. He still looks the same—larger than life. After a few words with Dr. Jacobs, Luca nods at Damian, and then his eyes land on me. I offer him a small smile and turn toward the exit when I feel his arm around my waist.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
“No. I’m just nervous.”
“Don’t be.” He bends and whispers in my ear, “You’ve taught me well.”
He kisses me on the top of my head, and I close my eyes, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill. This lie will probably make me burn in hell, and Luca will most certainly hate me when he finally remembers everything. But walking down the hallway with his arm around my back feels so right, and the heart in my chest literally makes a leap. That kiss. The way he watches me with affection instead of reluctance. His warmth next to my side. I’ve wanted this for so so long. I don’t want to go back to the cold treatment. Not now, when I almost lost him. As we leave the hospital and walk toward the car, I make my decision.
I’m not telling him the truth.
* * *
As we pull up to the house, and Damian parks the car, I nod toward the man standing at the front door. “Emilio.” I tell Luca. “The one at the gate was Tony.”
“Emilio. Tony.” He repeats.
