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I wipe my brow as a trickle of sweat makes its way down my temple. Hiking around the expansive floor plan is a lot more challenging on crutches. Worrying my lip, I debate where I might look next. I’ve already explored our bedroom from top to bottom with no success.
I wish I could talk it through more with my sister. Maria’s support feels like my lifeline. During her last visit, we hatched a plan. Or at least we agreed that I would collect what information I can so we can figure out how best to hit Leo where it hurts.
But we agreed it wouldn’t be safe to discuss sensitive matters over the phone, not when the walls have ears. So her visits are how we’ll make our clandestine meetings. If we spend our time in the garden and keep a close eye out for eavesdroppers, we should be able to share information without risking our family’s safety.
Still, that won’t help me now.
I debate how reckless it might be to try exploring Don Moretti’s office. I doubt I could get near it without a very valid reason for being there. But when no other places to look come to mind, I start to wander in that direction, trying to come up with some excuse to be in that part of the house.
“Tia, what are you doing out of bed?” Leo’s tone is disapproving as it chases me down the hallway, and it makes my stomach lurch.
Slowly, I turn, wiping the anxiety from my face as I prepare to lie through my teeth.
Worry lines etch my husband’s forehead as he strides toward me, leaving me surprisingly unstable.
And I stammer, searching for an excuse. “I was just… I needed some fresh air. What are you doing home so early?”
Leo’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and ignoring my question completely, he closes the distance between us. He takes my crutches from beneath my arms and leans them against the wall. Then he effortlessly scoops me up in his arms. The unexpected gentleness contrasts sharply with his stern expression.
“What are you doing?” I demand, exasperation tinging my voice even as my arm wraps around his shoulders. And though I refuse to admit it, my body is immediately grateful that I’m off my feet. My ankle’s throbbing miserably, and my armpits feel raw and chafed from the foreign mode of transportation.
“You’re supposed to be taking it easy. Remember? Putting unnecessary strain on your ankle could prolong your recovery or endanger the baby.”
The mention of the baby makes my stomach tighten. Maybe I did push myself a bit harder than I should have. As driven as I am to find how I might bring the Morettis down, I don’t want to hurt our child in the process.
Obviously, I can’t admit why I overexerted myself. I take a deep breath to release an exasperated growl. But in such close proximity to Leo and his intoxicatingly masculine cologne, I’m suddenly intensely aware of how sweaty I must smell.
“I can’t lie around all day,” I insist to distract myself. “I did that for the last two days, and I’m going to go crazy just staying in bed. Besides, the exercise helps with the stiffness.”
Leo sighs as he carries me effortlessly back toward our room. And it reminds me distinctly of the impressive distance he carried me home the other day. The feeling of his arms around me makes my pulse flutter involuntarily.
“I understand, but your health and the baby’s well-being are my priority. If you’re stiff, we can schedule you for a massage or something.”
“I’m a big girl, Leo. I know how to take care of myself,” I insist.
“Tia, your ankle’s swollen. You pushed yourself too far,” he states flatly, closing the discussion.
Heat pools in my cheeks as I look toward my feet and realize he’s right. My right ankle is nearly twice the size of my left, and it’s an angry shade of red around the edges of my bandage.
“You need to stay in bed and ice it until our guests arrive for dinner,” he commands, brooking no argument.
The mention of guests catches my attention. “Guests? Who’s coming?”
Leo hesitates for a moment, the strain in his voice revealing more than he intends. “Mayor Romney and his family. I met with him today, and he was concerned when he heard you got hurt. I invited them to join us for dinner to put them at ease.”
The realization hits me that this dinner must be important to him. I don’t know what his business with the mayor might be, but the mayor’s approval seems to hold some significance to Leo. I just can’t quite put my finger on what it is. My mind races, trying to connect the dots, but the pieces of the puzzle remain elusive.
I force a smile, feigning enthusiasm. “That’s thoughtful of you, Leo. I’ll do my best to be presentable.”
Placing me gently on the bed, Leo straightens, his eyes softening as he looks down at me. “Rest, Tia. I don’t want you to strain yourself. They won’t be here for a few more hours.”
He turns and heads back toward the door, and my stomach knots inexplicably at the thought of him leaving.
“Where are you going?” I ask, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
He turns back to look at me, his gray-green eyes lighting with surprise, and I wonder if he can’t hear the anxiety in my voice. “I was going to get you some ice. And your crutches.”
Fresh heat blossoms in my cheeks. “Oh. Right. Thank you.”
