Page 67 of Seduced By the Enemy

The second she finished her tirade, she regretted it. His face was paler than it had been, his eyes more haunted.

“I’m sorry,” she said, spinning around, fumbling for the door. “I have to go.”

“Damn it, no, Emilia, please, don’t go,” he called after her, but she couldn’t stay. She wrenched the door handle inwards. “Please,” he called after her, and then cursed loudly. “I hate this goddamned cast. I can’t come after you, please, just?—,”

But she slipped out of the room, purely so she could press her back against the wall and slowly drop down to the floor, to rest her tear-stained face against her knees. She could hardly draw breath, she was so utterly spent, so emotionally drained. So devastated and agonizingly bereft. In that moment, it felt almost impossible to contemplate pulling herself to her feet again, let alone walking out of the hospital, so she just stayed where shewas a moment, not caring who saw her collapsed like that, so long as it wasn’t Salvatore.

There wasn’ta lot Salvatore was grateful for in that moment. Except, he supposed, that the opposite arm and leg were broken, meaning with a monumental effort and a fair amount of discomfort, he was able to leverage himself out of bed and steady his frame against the edge of the bed. In the back of his mind, he recognized that it was probably a futile effort. Emilia was likely in the parking lot by now. But how could he not try?

You broke my fucking heart.

You promised me the world, then changed your mind.

No, he should have shouted. I didn’t. He should have found a way to make her understand, but he’d been so moved by her obvious devastation, by how much he’d hurt the only woman he’d ever loved—loved so much he’d done what he thought was right for her, to absolutely his own detriment, he’d lost the ability to speak at all.

Inwardly, he cursed everything and everyone as he hobbled across the hospital room, towards the door. His body hurt, all over. He didn’t care. At the doorframe, he had to rest a moment. He pressed his unbroken hand against the timber and stood, catching his breath, glancing down.

And he saw her. So vulnerable and perfect, so broken, because of him. So completely and utterly his other half. “Emilia.”

Her head moved so fast, turning to glance up at him. Their eyes met and every cell in his body exploded.

“Oh my God,” she moved with the speed of lightning, standing and putting her hands on his forearm. The secondthey touched, he felt it. What had once been a lightning bolt of awareness, and had morphed into a certainty of ‘forever’. It was part of them. This chemistry, this love, this everything. “You need to get back in bed. What are you even thinking?” And then, her hands moved higher to his shoulders, and her eyes dropped to his chest. “Salvatore, what’s happened? You’ve lost so much weight. Are you sick?”

His laugh was a hollow, thin sound.

“Come back to bed.”

“On one condition.”

“No,” she shook her head, but he held his ground, and she didn’t force him. Though it would have been easy enough for her to push him to bed in his current state.

“On one condition,” he repeated, moving his good hand now to curve around her elbow. “Stay five more minutes, please.”

Her lips parted, gaping, as though she could barely fathom what he was asking of her.

“Five minutes,” he pleaded, betting everything he cared about on the fact she’d flown halfway across the world to see him, and that had to meansomething.

“You’ll get back in bed and stay there until a doctor tells you that you can move?”

He dipped his head once, though inwardly, he suspected he’d keep chasing after her, for just as long as it took to make her understand why he’d done what he had. It might not change her mind, and that he’d have to accept, but he at least needed to explain, until she knew the truth.

“Let me help you,” she murmured.

He wanted to refuse. His pride almost had him saying ‘no’. But Emilia’s idea of help was to sidle up against him, lift his good arm around her shoulders, and attempt to take his weight as they made their way back to the bed. He could manage—with difficulty—on his own, but it was so good to be close to herlike this, that he leaned into and held her right where she was. When they reached the bed, she helped him sit on the edge of it. Instead of laying back, he stayed right where he was, so she could stand right in front of him, at his eye height. It wasn’t how he wanted to have this conversation, but it was better than being basically prone on the damned bed.

“Five minutes,” she reminded him, so he had no choice but to quickly gather his thoughts.

What he wanted to say, immediately, was that he loved her. But he suspected she’d turn around and walk away, so he took a slightly more subtle approach.

“All I want is for you to be happy.”

She took a step back, wrapping her arms around her torso as though she needed the comfort, but at least she was staying where she was.

He knew the truth was best, but he suspected that in telling her about Leandro and Max’s insistence that he end things, he’d be throwing them under a bus. If there was a way to get what he wanted without burning all the bridges to her family, he wanted to secure that.

“I came to think you would never be happy without your family in your life. I know what we said. But with each day that passed, and the absence from your life, I felt it. I felt your pain. I just…wanted to make it better.”

The sound she made was barely human. “By leaving me? By telling me you didn’t love me anymore? By implying you were itching to go back to fucking anything in a skirt?”

---