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“Good, you?” Reilly says, sounding distracted. I probably called her at a bad time.
“Good. We’re all going to spend a month in Italy. It’d be nice if you could come for a few days—you and the rest of the family of course.”
“To Italy? Ah, I’ll have to get back to you on that, Holly…” She mumbles something under her breath before talking into the phone again. “Shit, I gotta go. I’ll call you back later,” she says and quickly disconnects the call.
Well, that was odd. But then I remind myself that she and her husband Bray have a lot going on with their ever-expanding chain of gyms. I tuck my phone away and slide out of the car.
Walking through the house a few moments later, I find T standing in the kitchen. He’s leaning up against the counter, his ankles crossed and his hands in his pockets. He has that look on his face, the one that tells me he’s been waiting for me.
“Dolcezza, we need to talk,” he says.
“About what?” I peer up at him, doing my best to appear calm.
“You, and the reason you’re hiding doctors’ appointments from me,” he says.
Shit, I should have known he’d find out. Nothing gets past this man. “It’s nothing. If I had something to tell you, I would. You know that,” I tell him with a dismissive wave of a hand.
“Dolcezza, if you’re going to the doctor to get a shit-ton of tests done, then it’s not nothing.” He reaches out an arm and lifts my chin with a thumb, forcing me to look at him.
“I was just being precautious. That’s all.”
“Bullshit. When did we start lying to each other, Holly?” he asks me, and the question tugs at my heartstrings. I don’t want to lie to my husband. But that’s not what this is. This is me figuring out how to protect my family before I lose that ability too.
“T, I’m fine. The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong anyway,” I tell him because it’s the truth. There’s no reason for him to worry until there is something for him to worry about. “He said I need to relax, which is exactly why we’re going to Italy.”
“What were you expecting him to find?” T tilts his head as he examines me, looking for God only knows what. Likely any change in my demeanor that will give me away. This man knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and it is both endearing and infuriating depending on the circumstances.
“I just wanted to make sure that I wasn’t turning out like my mother. I took the genetic test that told me I carry the gene for Alzheimer’s.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell him this. He already knows. It’s clear by the lack of shock on his face.
“I agree with the doctor. You need to relax, and you don’t have Alzheimer’s, Holly.”
“Then why do I feel so foggy? Why do I constantly feel like I’m forgetting something and I have no idea what that something is?”
“Dolcezza, if I thought for one second that you were showing symptoms, I’d be the first to airlift you to the most knowledgeable specialist in the world, demanding the best possible treatment. Fuck, I just made a five million dollar donation to Alzheimer’s research last week.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did. I will do everything in my power to find a way to either slow down the disease or stop it altogether long before it touches my family,” he says.
“Some things are out of even your power, T. This isn’t something you can just fix.”
“I know that. Of course, I know that. But if—and that’s a big fucking if, Holly—ifit does happen, we will deal with it together,” he says, pulling me into his arms.
“I don’t want to forget. I love our life, T, all of it. And I’m terrified I’m going to forget you, forget the kids, the grandkids,” I admit the fear that’s taken hold of me these last couple of weeks.
“Dolcezza, I’m never going to leave your side, even if you don’t know who I am. I will be there every day, reminding you how fucking loved you are, making you fall in love with me all over again,” he tells me, and I have no doubt he means every word.
“How did I get you?” I ask, trying to hold back the tears. The only thing worse than the pain I feel in my chest is the agony I see on my husband’s face whenever he witnesses me cry.
“You sat in my chair, at Helena’s café,” he reminds me.
I laugh. Because, God, that seems like a lifetime ago.
“I called Rye and invited them to Italy too. She said she’d get back to me,” I say.
“Neo and Angelica are going to be there, and Izzy and Mikhail are coming for a week.”
“Did you speak to your father?” I ask.
