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"I guess that's true."After all, I had learned that it only took Amedea to break down the walls around my heart and evoke the first tender stirrings of emotion in quite a few years.
I was worried about them. And at the same time, subconsciously, the reproaches I felt for my own failings were eating me up.
"You know, I saw her. Rina. Twice since Amedea got here. Never before. She approves. Approves of her. Kicks me in the ass for not being stupid enough to push her away completely. And yet I find it hard to see what she's supposed to get out of it. What can I possibly offer her? I'm broken. Broken. I hurt her whenever I get the chance, and most of the time, I don't even realize it. She takes it and doesn't let it deter her. What did I do to deserve this? The goodness of heart behind it."
Emilio looked at me with dark eyes without giving me an answer. He remained silent for quite a while before changing position without breaking eye contact with me. "You brought her here. That's the answer to your question."
With that, he pushed himself off the wall and left, leaving me alone with the cryptic words and my confusion.
The doctor had left some time ago with precise instructions, in which cases we were better off going to an emergency room rather than waiting for him to make it back here.
I hoped none of the scenarios came to pass.
Quietly, I stepped into the room, closed the door, and leaned against it. Carlotta had taken care of getting Dea out of the bloody, filthy clothes earlier.
Amedea's arm was bandaged, and the cut on her forehead was covered with staples. There was a massive bruise on her thigh, and the doctor had inserted an IV to stabilize her circulation and relieve the pain.
Her gaze rested on me. She said nothing. Neither did I. Nor did I move from my post at the door.
"What I meant earlier wasn't a lie, Enzo," she said softly. Her voice was weak.
What did she mean? She had not…
"I repressed that," I admitted. After she had practically lost consciousness in my arms, everything else had become inconsequential.
"I don't. I remember every word we've spoken since you got me out of the car."
To my surprise – and concern – she somehow managed to get herself into a half-sitting position. She pointed to the empty bed next to her, so I hesitantly approached her.
Narrowing the gap was not a good idea.
"I know we're not exactly ideal for each other. You're stubborn. And I'm quick-tempered. But I can forgive. And most of all, I can overlook that most of your reactions result from the years of avoidance and restraint you've put yourself through."
"I don't like how everyone is offering me smart advice and answers."
"Maybe you should think about it when everyone is saying roughly the same thing," she replied in a mumble, a barely noticeable smile on her face.
Did it amuse her that everyone told me what they thought was best?
"Fiero and Natale will accompany me to Tramonti later. If everything is all right there, I'll take you home," I said.
And then, I would try my hand at giving her back some of what she had given me over the past weeks.
26
Amedea
Somewhere inside me I should have found the potential for anger. Anger because Vincenzo had killed my father. Anger because he had put me in danger with our argument and his stubbornness.
But I found none of that in myself. Instead, there was a sense of freedom because my father was no longer with us, and there was no longer anyone to threaten me directly. I was grateful that he had made this mistake and that Enzo had taken it as justification for simply breaking his neck.
I was not angry with him, although I would have had every right to be for other reasons. I much preferred to forgive him and take pleasure in the fact that he had come to his senses. Somehow. How was a complete mystery to me.
That still didn't change the injuries I had sustained in the accident. I don't know which guardian angel was watching over me that second, but he had done a damn good job. I knew what the Sián looked like after it was peeled from the tree. Just assuming that it was almost impossible that I was sitting in Enzo's bed today. Alive. Healthy. With a few scrapes and bruises, but otherwise fit and unharmed.
Equally surprising was how he had cared for me the last few days. He cared – just as much as he allowed the guilt over the accident to eat at him and keep him awake at night.
It was a scenario he had experienced before, and I didn't know if I could give him the peace of mind he obviously needed to get over it.
