Page 93 of Precious Hazard

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, biting my thumbnail.

“Pneumonia. Most likely viral, but we’ll know for sure once I get the results of the lab tests. I am detecting symptomatic wheezing in his breathing. That’s a good indication of inflammation in his lungs.”

“Is that… bad?”

“Less bad than bacterial pneumonia. How long has he been coughing?”

“Um… about a week. Maybe two.”

“The antipyretic I injected him with will bring down his fever. I’ll send someone over in the morning with antiviral meds. They’ll help speed up his recovery.”

“Alright… What else?”

“Typically, with this type of pneumonia, the flu-like symptoms resolve on their own. He just needs rest, plenty of fluids, and good nutrition. Give him warm tea with lemon and honey for his throat. Homemade soup. And keep him in bed for the rest of the week, minimum. Don’t let him do any work.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“He got himself into this because he was irresponsible. He ignored his symptoms, then stuffed himself with over-the-counter drugs that did nothing but mask his condition until the infection escalated.” She shuts her medical bag with more force than she probably intended. “Men are idiots,” she adds.

I snort, then slam my palm over my mouth. It’s hard to believe that someone so… normal… mothered a merciless bastard like Salvatore Ajello.

“So, that’s it?” I ask. “He’ll be fine? What if his fever spikes again?”

“He can continue with ibuprofen for his aches and fever, if it returns. Have him take it every four to six hours. Cold shower, but only if absolutely necessary. Also, you should distance yourself for a few days. Staff, too. With viral pneumonia, Arturo will still be contagious until he starts feeling better and is fever-free.”

Yeah. Considering our carnal encounters, it’s far too late for me to play it safe. “Well, if I haven’t gotten sick by now, I’m probably okay.”

“If you do start experiencing symptoms, call me immediately.” Ilaria rises and collects her cashmere coat from the recliner. “I’ll see myself out.” On the other side of the room, she pauses at the door. “You know, when I got the call just after two in the morning, I was certain I’d be digging a bullet out of someone. Pneumonia, though… I’d take that over a gunshot wound any day.”

The moment she leaves, I climb onto the bed next to Arturo. He looks much better than he did an hour ago. Which means I could probably get some sleep. Lying down next to him, I press my lips to his forehead. Still hot. But not as bad. Snuggling into his side, I sigh.

Keva once told me that secrets whispered into the darkness stayed there forever. Locked away where no one could get to them. Dawn is still a couple of hours away, yet soon enough, the first rays of the morning sun will be breaking. Their light will spill through the window into the room. Now, though, now it’s still dark. And based on Arturo’s even breaths, he’s deep in the land of slumber. Too far away to hear my confessions.

“Would it make me a bad person if I admit that I wish you’d stay delirious?” I whisper next to his ear. “Or maybe I could pretend you weren’t when you said you’d walk through fire and tread icy water for me? Would that make me too pathetic?” A lock of his hair has fallen over his face, so I reach out to sweep it away. “Yeah, I think so, too. But that’s okay, you know? I’m known for doing stupid stuff like that. So, I’ll let myself pretend. Just until morning. And then, we’ll both go back to hating each other. What do you think?”

Silence and rhythmic breaths are my only answer.

“I curse the day I met you, Arturo DeVille,” I whisper. Then, drop a kiss on his shoulder and close my eyes.

In a few hours, the sunrise will scatter the stillness of the night. Will burn away my secrets—the truth—that I can’t face in the light of day. Chase away my silly dreams, and usher me back into the grim reality. Wiping out his sweet words from my memory. Once I wake up, I’ll go back to keeping Arturo DeVille at arm’s length. Because that’s the only way I can save myself.

From heartbreak.

From wanting something that I know could never be.

From craving forever with my husband.

Chapter 19

I lean my hip on the breakfast bar and watch my wife as she tries to disassemble the coffee machine. At least, I assume that’s what she’s trying to do. In her efforts, instead of using one of the screwdrivers I keep in the drawer just to the left of her, she’s wielding a butter knife, attempting to unfasten the tiny screw.

“Damn you, you little fucker,” she grumbles. “I will not be bested by a piece of aluminum.”

“That’s stainless steel, actually,” I say.

Tara spins around so fast she knocks the bag of coffee beans off the counter. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my house.” I nod at the coffee maker. “And that thing you’re trying to kill is my favorite kitchen appliance.”

---