Page 48

I only had Francesca to thank for that. She'd been here for me every minute. Morning and night. Watching over me. Making sure I was comfortable. Sleeping beside me—one hand on my arm at all times. It was fuckin' adorable.
The smell of cooking hamburgers soon filled the air. She'd opened a couple of windows, letting the breeze blow through the tiny space.
Everything was so—peaceful.
That concerned look that had lived on Francesca's face finally left. It was replaced with a much happier one. Her relief was palpable.
I loved watching her cook. And clean. And look after me.
I pretty much just—loved—her.
Francesca.
I was absolutely in love with that woman.
She hadn't called an ambulance when she one hundred percent wanted to.
She also hadn't called Nick or my asshole brother to come and help.
No.
She'd dealt with everything herself.
A while later, she brought over two plates and handed me one. She picked up the remote and turned to that show she always watched. It looked like one of the women and her family were in Hawaii.
“Oh, wow, look how beautiful that water is.” Francesca pointed at the TV while she sat on the bed beside me. She smiled at the screen and sighed. “I bet that sand is so soft.”
I nodded and grabbed my hamburger. “It is. I'll take you there when I'm better.” And I fuckin' would. “After I buy you a dozen tiny bikinis.” I smirked over at her, and she rolled her eyes. I imagined her in a small, white bikini, only covering the absolutely necessary parts. “Or would you rather go to the Bahamas?” I asked and took a huge bite of my burger. Fuck, Francesca was right. Bernie made damn good burgers. It was thick and juicy. She'd broiled it perfectly.
Francesca bit into her burger, too. Christ, I loved watching her eat. And this burger was the first real quality thing she'd brought into the apartment since I'd been here.
Once she moved in with me, quality was the only thing she'd ever eat again. No more limp lettuce and cucumbers for her.
“I'm serious,” I said after I swallowed. “Hawaii or the Bahamas? Or somewhere else? It's up to you. I owe you for everything you've done for me.”
She glanced at me and looked back at the TV. “You don't owe me anything, Stefan. Except some silence so I can watch my show.” The woman on the TV had on a bikini. She looked—okay. But nothing at all compared to how fucking fantastic Francesca would look in that bikini. The family's four kids were walking with the woman and her husband. And I had a vision of me and Francesca walking along the beach with our kids.
Yeah.
As soon as I could hold myself up, I was going to plant my baby inside of her. I couldn’t wait to start our life together.
Just her—and me. And the babies we'd make.
“I'm serious. Where do you want me to take you?” I reached over and squeezed her thigh.
“I don't know, honey. We'll check the flights when you're better, okay?” she said, keeping her eyes on the TV the whole time. It felt a little like a pat on the head. And I didn't appreciate it.
“I have my own plane, Chesca. We don't need to check anything. I tell my pilots where we want to go and they'll take us.”
Francesca immediately started choking. She set her plate on the bed and grabbed her water. “You have your own plane? As in airplane?” She looked over at me, still coughing.
I'd shocked her. And that pleased the fuck out of me.
“Yes, my airplane flies in the air,” I said, feeling my chest puff out a little more than usual. Francesca's life was going to completely change when I was all healed up. She should start to get used to the idea of having money. Because from now on, she would.
“That's bananas, Stefan. Nobody has their own plane.” She shook her head and put her glass of water down on the crate beside her. Then she started eating again.
“You'll have to quit your hospital job. If we're going away, then I'm not bringing you back home for months,” I told her the God's honest truth. Well, half of the truth, anyway. I wasn't bringing this woman back home until she was pregnant.