Page 65 of Stolen Vows
He stares at me as though my words prove his point about visiting the doctor, but when I don’t budge, he sighs, strips down to his underwear, and drapes a warm, dry towel over me before turning and stalking from the room.
I blink in amusement when he returns with a stack of weatherproof cushions from outdoor furniture.There must be a deck or patio somewhere, but all I’ve seen is what I glimpsed while he carried me from the front door to the bedroom.The place seems like a maze.
As he creates a makeshift mattress beside the soaking tub, the scars on his back gleam an angry red.Swollen all over from the hot water, his entire back is the picture of pain.
Guilt and an odd sense of wonder flows through me.
My big, bad mafia man put his needs and comfort aside to care for me.It’s a surreal thought.Seeing it in the flesh is even more bizarre.
He double stacks the cushions, alternating their directions so they interlock together, making the most elaborate temporary bed I’ve ever seen.
When he builds a simpler version with the sheets from the bed beside the first, tears scratch the back of my eyes.
He steps into the bedroom for a moment and returns with three black plastic grocery bags.He sets them down by the door of the shower and kneels beside me to offer his elbow.I take it and groan as I sit up.With unwavering patience, he lets me use his shoulder for balance as I pivot and lean back against the bench.
“I wasn’t sure what you needed, so I had someone bring some things by earlier,” he explains with a gesture to the bags.
Shock flows through me when he lifts packet after packet of different styles of feminine pads out of the first bag.
“Don’t tell me you had the kid shop for all this,” I say.
The thought fills me with mortification, but when he begins displaying the items from the second bag, I know without a doubt a man did not do the shopping.These were chosen with insight only a woman would have.
Delight swims in my husband’s amber eyes.I bite back a smile.
He’s so easy to please.Even though his consigliere looks about the same age as I am, I’ll happily call Noahthe kidif it means enjoying Mario’s response.
But I won’t be the one to cause strife between him and his right-hand man.My husband deserves all the support in the world, so I’ll happily humor him.
“Noah dropped them off, but no, he didn’t buy them.Donna did,” he says.
“My bodyguard?”
He grunts his confirmation.
I point to the products I want.Mario places them into a neat row on the shower threshold and stuffs the rest into the sacks and pushes them aside.
He pulls several towels out of the closet and sets them on the bench behind me.
When I struggle with my wet clothes, he helps tug the fabric off without touching me.
Half an hour later, I cling to Mario’s arm as I stumble over the shower threshold in an oversized t-shirt, comfortable panties, and an overnight pad.Too tired to brush my hair, I settle onto the cushions and drop into darkness.Mario rouses me throughout the night to take medicine and sip water, and I wake him three times for help to the toilet, but it’s the best sleep I’ve had during my menses since my first terrible one.
Time blurs together.Pain ebbs and flows but never fully leaves despite the steady supply of medicine.
When my flow finally slows enough for me to feel comfortable sleeping in the bed instead of on the bathroom floor, Mario changes the sheet and helps me switch locations.
For another untraceable length of time, he upholds his promise and stays by my side without touching me.
Several times I wake in a cold sweat to his voice coaxing me from a nightmare.He becomes the first one I seek when I open my eyes.He’s the last one I want to see when I go to bed.I don’t know how I survived without him, and I never want to be apart from him again.
When I wake alone for the first time in what feels like months but is surely only a handful of days, sadness wells up in me.
But not loneliness.Even without him by my side, I know I’ll never be truly alone ever again.No matter what happens, he’ll always find me.
Footsteps sound on the stairs.I slip my hand under my pillow and hold my breath, but my weak body rebels, so I inhale and exhale as normally as I can.
Pure terror threatens to consume me even though I’m not asleep as the heavy footfalls walk down the hall toward me.Mario appears in the doorframe.
