Page 15

15

Stella

S oaked with sweat that runs down my temple and spine, my arms so heavy I can barely lift them, I eventually get the job done, tossing one half of the mattress with bedding and all to the floor.

“Just so you know,” Andre starts, “I’m not sleeping on the floor half.”

The asshole stood and watched me the entire final hour or two or however long it took for me to get through the thick-ass mattress.

“Yes, you are.” I stretch out on the half still on the frame and throw my arms over my head.

“That’s my bed. I’m not the one who destroyed it. So, if you’re so damn adamant about the sleeping situation, I’m going to order a replacement mattress for myself, and you are going to sleep on the floor.”

I lift my left arm to flip him off, since it’s not as sore as the right one, and watch as Andre’s eyes darken.

“I do like seeing my rings on your finger,” he remarks, making me lower the heavy appendage. I had forgotten the rings were even there. I reach for the pair, spinning the band and diamond around, before he growls, “Don’t you fucking dare! Destroying my mattress is one thing, but you’re not going to remove those rings less than a day after we got married.”

Want to fucking bet , is on my lips to reply when he adds, “Not unless you want me to have your brother return Creed’s money.”

With that threat, I flip him off with both my middle fingers, even though the muscles in my right arm strongly protests.

“I have a feeling the double fuck you will be the foundation of our marriage.”

“Probably so,” I agree before he turns and walks out the bedroom.

* * *

Somehow, maybe from all the physical exertion caused by the night before or this morning, I rolled over on my side and actually fell asleep, taking a morning nap in Andre’s bed, which smells clean and masculine like him.

Sitting up, it takes me a moment to realize what exactly woke me up. Then I hear the vibration coming from the floor where I put my purse earlier. I should’ve thought to smuggle out a dildo, but since I didn’t know my husband would forbid them, I know it must be my phone.

There’s nothing but the box springs on that side of the bed, so I roll off, walk around, and grab the buzzing device from inside.

When I see my brother’s name on the phone’s screen, I answer it with a crisp, sarcastic, “I survived the night, so sweet of you to finally check on me.”

“Stella,” Saint says. Based on the direct tone of my twin’s voice, I know something’s wrong. “I had to take mom to the emergency room early this morning.”

“What?” I toss my purse on my shoulder, and then my feet are heading for the bedroom door, even though I know my hair is still a sweaty mess and I look like shit. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“No. They’re admitting her.”

“Why? How long have you been at the hospital?” I ask, knowing it must have been a while if she’s already been seen by the doctor in the emergency room and is getting admitted.

“For about…seven or eight hours.”

“You should’ve called me!” I grit out, trying not to think about what I was doing seven or eight hours ago with my new husband. I was most likely high on endorphins while my mom was suffering.

“I didn’t want to bother you until I knew if they were going to keep her. If they’d sent her home, then I would’ve worried you for nothing on your wedding night.”

“You know it’s not like that between me and Andre.”

“It should be,” he says. “But that’s not a conversation for now. I’m going to stay here until lunchtime. Cami will take over then. If you want to stop by this afternoon, it’s the Methodist Hospital on Sixth Street.”

“I’m coming now,” I tell him, walking toward the apartment door without a word to Andre. If I’d seen him on the way out, I would’ve told him, but I don’t have time to find him. “How bad is it?”

“She’s got a cough she can’t shake, so she can’t catch her breath. It’s a little better with the oxygen, but she hasn’t been able to rest much. She was also dehydrated and weak.”

“It’s my fault,” I whisper. “The wedding, being outside, she pushed herself too hard yesterday and picked up the cough.”

“There’s no reason to blame yourself, Stella. Mom wanted to come to the wedding. I had to drag her from the reception because she was having such a good time. She needed yesterday.”

“Even if she’s paying for it in the hospital today, unable to fucking breathe?”

“The doctors are hopeful she’ll be able to go home in a few days once her lungs clear up…” he trails off, and I know what’s being left unsaid. They’ll keep her alive long enough for her to return home with hospice easing her through the end. It’s what she wants, what she’s been adamant about since she decided to stop chemo and radiation months ago. Tired of fighting, she only asked that she be allowed to spend her final days in her warm bed, in her house, with her family instead of the cold, sterile hospital.

“I bet she’s pissed she had to go to the ER,” I remark while fumbling with the apartment door locks while holding my phone to my ear.

“You have no idea. She’s already threatened to sign the AMA paperwork to discharge herself against doctor’s orders. Only thing stopping her is she’s too weak to push herself in a wheelchair. I think she probably needed to go to the hospital last night when we were on the way home and she had a coughing fit, but she was too stubborn to tell me how bad she felt.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” I tell him. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

With the last lock undone, I toss my phone in my purse, then twist the doorknob. That’s when I hear his footsteps behind me. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you were supposed to run off before the ceremony, mia dolce vipera .”

Glancing over my shoulder, I lower my hand from the door to face my husband. Somehow, while I was having a nap, he got showered and dressed in dark grey pants and a tucked, purple button-down. No doubt, a matching suit jacket is lurking around nearby.

“I was going to come find you and tell you,” I lie. “Even if I don’t owe you an explanation for when I want to leave your apartment.”

“It’s our apartment now, and you’re free to leave whenever you want. I’m just interested in knowing whether you’ll be returning,” he says simply. “Since you don’t have any luggage, I’ll assume you will.”

“My mom’s in the hospital.”

“Oh shit. Sorry.” He winces. “Do you…do you want me to come with you?”

“I’m sure you have more important things to do than sit around a hospital for hours.”

“It’s Sunday. As long as there’s cell service so I can watch the games later, I’ll sit around however long you want.”

Well, I wasn’t expecting him to actually tag along. And I don’t know if I even want him there. After all, it’s his fault my mom spent yesterday running around for our wedding.

It’s his and Saint’s fault. A little of mine. I should’ve refused or postponed the damn wedding. But if I had, well, my mom may have not been here to attend.

“I don’t have time to wait…”

While I’m struggling with the guilt, Andre disappears and returns in the blink of an eye, sliding his arms into a suit jacket and stuffing his phone into his pocket before reaching for an overcoat and keys on hooks just inside the front door. “I’m ready.”

“Great,” I huff.

“You need a coat. It’s freezing out.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Rather than argue, the man grabs another long black overcoat from the rack and throws it over his arm. “In case you change your mind. How’s your headache?”

I start to ask what headache before remembering the mild one I had this morning when I woke up. “I’m fine. Sleep helped.”

“Good.” He sounds genuinely relieved.

We trek out and slip into his sports car parked a block away. By the time I reach for the seatbelt, I’m trembling, either from the chill in the air or worry.

Andre tosses me the spare coat before he cranks up the car without giving me shit about how he told me so. I reluctantly slip it on since he’s being…nice. No doubt because he wants more sex.

I thought after I destroyed his mattress he’d be furious. And he was, for half a second or so. Then he offered to help while informing me he wasn’t going to sleep on the floor.

It’s fine. I’ll sleep on the damn floor since that’s better than the alternative.

I just wish the mobster would be an asshole again like he was this morning, so it‘d be easier for me to keep hating him.