Page 13 of Unworthy Ties
Gabriella would definitely hate it, though. I needed to get myself out of her grasp before she woke up and found me in such close proximity.
Slowly, I began to slide out from under her, careful not to disturb her slumber. Her grip immediately tightened around me, a groan slipping past her lips in protest. She shifted closer, unintentionally pushing her face into my chest even more.
“Merda,” I muttered in Italian, cursing the situation aloud.
A few moments passed, and I tried again, ever so gently, to disentangle myself from her. I wasn’t as gentle as I thought I was being. As I moved my torso, Gabriella’s eyes fluttered open and her sleepy gaze landed directly on mine. In the dim morning light, she seemed momentarily disoriented, her hazel eyes widening in confusion as they met mine. Then realization dawned on her and she jerked away from me as if she’d been scalded.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, picking up a pillow and hurling it in my general direction, an act of defiance in retaliation for the awkward situation she had woken up to. She then scrambled as far as she could on her side of the bed, her cheeks flaring with a blush that was quite visible even in the morning semi-darkness.
“What amIdoing?” I couldn’t help but scoff at her accusation, my grip firm on the pillow I had caught when she had hurled it in my direction. “You’re the one who turned me into your personal teddy bear.”
She scowled at me, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “I did not,” she protested, but her face was too flushed to give her words any credibility.
“You were stuck to me like glue,” I said. “I’m surprised I didn’t suffocate.”
“Why, you!”
Gabriella threw another pillow at me again, and I was ready for it, snatching it out of the air with my left hand. I held up both caught pillows in triumph, a smug smirk forming on my face. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
If there was one thing I had learned about Gabriella so far, it was that she would not give up a fight. So, it was no surprise to me when she reached backwards for a decorative pillow. But, instead of grabbing the pillow, she lost her balance and fell off the bed with a loud crack, disappearing from my view.
“Gabriella?” I said, dropping the pillows and hopping off the bed. “Are you okay?”
She groaned from the hardwood floor, not able to hide the pain echoing through her voice. I rushed to her side, kneeling down to assess the situation. Her dark curls were splayed out around her head like a halo, one hand clutching her ankle in pain while the other flailed in an attempt to get up.
“I’m fine,” she grumbled through clenched teeth.
“No, you’re not,” I said, looking at her rapidly swelling ankle. I ran my fingers lightly over the injured area, trying to gauge the severity of the injury. She hissed sharply, her caramel-colored eyes darkening in pain.
I sighed, picking up off the floor bridal style. She squealed in surprise, her arms flailing around before finding purchase around my neck.
“Hey! I can do it myself,” she said defiantly, her cheeks reddening again.
“I’m sure you can,” I responded, lowering her gently onto the soft comforter. “But that ankle needs some rest and ice.”
She huffed in semi-agreement, her pout growing with every passing second as she watched me disappear into the kitchen. I returned with a first aid kit and a bag filled with ice.
“Here,” I said, gently placing the ice pack against her swollen ankle, and she sharply inhaled.
The two of us sat in silence as I tended to her injury, the only sounds in the room being the ticking of an old clock on the wall and our shared breathing.
“Will you stop?” she said, breaking the silence.
“No? Your ankle needs to be wrapped.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said, a very familiar scowl on her face. “Stop pretending to be nice.”
I paused, my hands hovering over the bandage I had been about to wrap around her ankle. “Pretending? You are my wife, Gabriella. Whether you like it or not, I will always take care of you.”
I would always provide for her, but there were many other things I couldn’t promise her. I would never be a doting husband constantly showering her with affection and warm words.
Most of all, I could never promise her love. People like me weren’t capable of that.
Chapter 7
Gabriella
Igrabbed one of the posts of our bed, using it as a crutch while I stood on my good foot. Then, I hopped on one foot towards the closet, doing my best to maintain my balance. I should be resting in bed. But I had a million thoughts running through my head, and Giuseppe was still packed away in a box. I needed to find my stuffed cat and part-time therapist.
