Page 74 of Little Hidden Fears

He didn’t seem to know what to say. Or maybe he did, and he’d decided it was better to keep quiet, give her time to calm down.

Either way, my head was throbbing, and I was in no mood to deal with her theatrics.

“Mom,” I said. “Let’s not talk about this right now, okay?”

My mother whipped around, shuffling my way, then collapsing over my body, throwing her arms around me.

“Oh, my dear, you gave us such a scare,” she said.

“Everything’s going to be all right. I’m fine.”

I told myself I was fine, at least.

I attempted to smile at Giovanni, but given the numbing sensation I was feeling on the right side of my face, I imagined the expression I made was more clownlike than cheery.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back in Cambria until tomorrow,” I said.

“It is tomorrow,cara mia. The moment I received word about what happened to you last night, I flew straight home.”

What did he mean, it was tomorrow?

It seemed like hours had gone by, not a whole day.

I turned toward the window and noticed the sunlight’s attempt to dance its way through the cracks and crevices of the shuttered window blinds.

Given what I was wearing and the sterileness of the room, I was in the hospital, though I had no recollection of how I came to be there.

“How long have I been out,” I asked, “or asleep ... or whatever?”

“You had minor surgery,” my mother said. “On your head.”

“I did?”

“You sure did, and then one of the nurses gave you something for the pain, and something else to help you sleep, and you’ve been out ever since. No doubt you needed the rest. Maybe it will help you get your head on straight and rethink your career choice.”

“Mom ... not now, okay?”

“If not now, when? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“Everyone else ... like who?”

“Now, let’s see ... in the waiting room is your stepfather, of course, your Aunt Laura, your sister, and Foley and Whitlock.” She tapped a foot to the floor. “Who am I missing? Ahh, yes. Simone and Hunter are there too.”

“It’s just a little bump on the head,” I said. “I don’t know what everyone is getting so worked up about.”

My mother huffed an irritated sigh, looked at me, and said, “A little bump on the head? I should think not. Here, sit up if you can. I want to show you something.”

I propped myself up a bit more, which didn’t make much difference, watching as my mother fiddled inside her purse. A moment later she pulled out a compact mirror, opened it, andturned it in my direction. At the same time, Giovanni reached out as if trying to intercept the mirror before I had the chance to see my reflection, but she was determined—and, therefore, a lot faster.

As my reflection came into view, I leaned closer to the mirror, assessing the damage, and there was plenty of it. The side of my head where I’d been struck had been shaved, and a five-inch gash remained. It had been stitched up, making it look even worse.

“Does that look like a little bump on the head to you?” my mother asked.

“I ... I don’t know what to say. I remember being attacked, but I had no idea I was hurt this bad.”

Giovanni stepped in front of my mother. “You can put the mirror away now, Darlene. I believe Georgiana’s seen enough.”

“I ... well, I just wanted to make sure she understands the extent of her injuries.”

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