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A voice both familiar and unfamiliar replied, “Your mother.”
Fiore’s heart leapt back into his throat.
Enzo stood.
Fiore seized his arm.
Enzo halted as if compelled.
“Please don’t be angry with her,” Fiore begged.
Enzo worked his jaw. “Fiore—”
“Please don’t shout. Please don’t make a scene. Please—”
“Fiore, I—”
“Do not give her a reason to hate me.”
Enzo balked.
Fiore felt no less offended at his traitorous tongue. Yet it ran on. “Please.”
Enzo studied his face. Then he dropt to his knees at Fiore’s side and raised a hand to cup his cheek. His thumb wiped away the single boiling hot tear that had spilled from Fiore’s burning eyes. In a low voice that rumbled through Fiore’s own ribcage, he said, “I promise I won’t lose my temper.”
Despite himself, the tight knot behind Fiore’s breastbone eased.
“You don’t have anything to fear,” Enzo continued—which Fiore knew full well wasn’t true, but he wanted so badly to believe him. “I won’t be gone long.”
Fiore searched his gaze—then seized a lock of his hair and dragged him down for a desperate kiss.
Enzo returned it tenderly. Then he withdrew just far enough to smooth tumbled curls back from Fiore’s brow.
“I won’t be gone long,” Enzo repeated sotto voce and waited until Fiore nodded before he stood and turned to Dr. Venier, whom Fiore had quite forgotten. “You will remain?”
“Of course, your grace,” she replied.
Enzo turned to something on the floor beyond Fiore’s line of sight. “Vittorio—stay. Guard.”
Vittorio’s tail thumped against the floorboards.
And with that, Enzo slipped out the door and was gone.
~
Against all his better instincts, Enzo left Fiore’s bedside.
Dr. Venier stayed with him. Vittorio would stand guard over him. Between the two of them Fiore would remain safe and sound for the scant few minutes it would take to inform his mother that now was not the time for whatever it was she wished to discuss with him.
Still, Enzo felt as though he tore himself in twain when he shut the door on the bedchamber behind him.
Where he found his mother standing in the antechamber.
Before she could say anything, Enzo—ever mindful of Fiore a few scant yards away—jerked his chin towards the door behind her. They were less likely to be overheard if they conversed in the hall.
To his infinite relief, she took the hint and led the way out.
Only after the second door had closed upon them did she turn to him and ask, “Is he hurt?”
