Page 63 of Italian Weddings

“He was hit by a drunk driver,” Dante Santoro spoke first, coming to stand beside Emilia, putting a hand lightly on her back.

As with Sofia, Emilia suspected it was because he could see how close she was to passing out.

As if to reinforce that, a moment later, Marco Santoro had brought a chair into the room and put it beside the bed, for her to sit down at.

She collapsed into it and stared at Salvatore, willing him to wake up and look at her.

Willing him to be himself again. To become the man she loved with all her heart.

“It was early in the morning, Salvatore was driving towards the sun. It was a quiet road, perhaps he didn’t expect to encounter another car.

Whatever the reason, he didn’t get a chance to swerve to avoid it, and this is the result. ”

“Is he—is he going to be okay?” It took all her courage to ask the question.

Silence fell. She looked around the room properly for the first time, her eyes sweeping across the various brothers and sisters in laws, cousins and cousins’ wives, and finally on Salvatore’s parents, who looked to have aged about a decade in the months since she’d last seen them, that awful weekend in Italy.

“The doctors are optimistic,” Dante said. But he was so like Salvatore that she understood what he was doing: speaking with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“Is he asleep?”

“He’s in an induced coma,” Marco said, from across the bed now, his eyes meeting and holding Emilia’s.

She sobbed, pressing a hand to her mouth, eyes falling back to Salvatore’s bruised face. Uncaring for her audience, she leaned forward and ran her fingers over his stubbled cheek and jaw, feeling his warmth, knowing it intimately.

Marco continued, “He had a moderate cerebral contusion and some mild intracranial pressure elevation. Basically, he hit his head really hard. His brain got swollen and bruised, and the coma is giving him time to recover.”

Dante took over, “The hope is that once the swelling is under control, he’ll fully recover.”

Her heart lifted at those words. “How long will he be like this?”

This time, the sobbing sound came form Maria Santoro, across the room. Emilia flicked a glance at her then returned her attention to Salvatore.

“They thought around a week,” Dante admitted. “So it should be any time now.”

“But he’s still in a coma.”

“His brain continues to show signs of swelling.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned.

When she started to cry properly, heavily, Dante looked around the room. “Let’s give them some time alone.”

She didn’t even register as the entire Santoro family filed out, one by one, leaving her devastated and crestfallen beside the broken body of the love of her life.

To Emilia’s surprise, the Santoro family continued to tolerate her presence.

In fact, they were more than civil to her.

The brothers and cousins brought her coffees, and food—though she couldn’t possibly think of eating—and made sure she was updated on the medical condition.

After the initial shock had worn off, Emilia found she could be in the same room with Salvatore without bursting into tears, though she sat rigidly still at the side of the bed and stared at him the entire time, looking for any sign of life. Willing him to get well. To be well.

It wouldn’t change anything. They’d broken up and they’d broken up for a reason, but she just needed to know he would be well again. She needed to know he was okay.

On the third day after her arrival, they got the news they’d been waiting for.

A scan confirmed that his brain swelling was down; they were going to bring him out of the coma.

The entire family erupted at the news—tears, laughs of relief, and Emilia stood to the sidelines, staring at Salvatore and now, saying a final, quiet goodbye.

It was what she’d been waiting for. She knew that with the swelling going down, his prognosis was the best it could be.

There was no point in her staying. No point seeing him, and risking that her presence might upset him in some way.

She grabbed her bag while the family was busy talking and making plans about who would stay and who would sit in the room for when he woke up.

By the time they’d agreed Emilia should be there, she was already out the front of the hospital.

“Emilia, wait!” It was Sofia’s voice that reached her across the carpark. She was tempted to keep moving to the waiting cab in the rank. But this woman had taken pity on Emilia in the biggest moment of need in her life. “Where are you going? Didn’t you hear the news?”

She turned around, not bothering to check the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. These people were so familiar with the sight of her crying, they probably thought it was normal for her.

“I heard,” she said, trying to smile despite the heaviness of her thoughts.

“Then…where are you going?”

“Home,” she whispered, glancing over at the cabs. “I only came to make sure he was okay. I just needed to know.”

“But…surely you want to be there when he wakes up?”

Her stomach lurched and grief bubbled through her. “I don’t think he’d want that,” she whispered, unable to keep the forlorn hurt from her voice. “We’re not together, Sofia. He’s just…someone I once loved.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s probably best if he doesn’t even know I was here.”

Sofia’s brows knitted together. “Oh, Emilia,” she sighed. “Be careful.”

Emilia blinked at the other woman. “Of what?”

“Of not fighting for what you want. Of letting something special go, just because it’s scary.”

Her heart splintered. “Thank you, your highness,” she said, glancing back towards the cabs. “But that’s really not what’s happening here.” She felt a sob growing in her chest. “I have to go. Thank you for letting me be here with him. I – needed to see him. I really did.”

She turned and walked away, slipping into the backseat of the cab and giving the address for the hotel she’d had her suitcase stashed at. She wanted to get home, away from this, but first? She needed to sleep for a week.

Every part of him hurt, his throat most of all.

That was the tube, the nurses had told him.

It was to be expected. Confusion dogged his thoughts, as he stared around the room at his family, wondering, firstly, what they were all doing.

Then, where he was? And finally, why? The questions that pounded around and around in the back of his mind though was: Emilia.

Where was she? Was she okay? Those questions he was familiar with.

They were his first waking thoughts, each day, and his final thoughts at night.

He had no choice but to lay there as Dante explained everything to him.

The car accident, the driver, and as his brother spoke, flashes of memory came back to him.

It had been wet, and he’d been tired. Not drunk, thank god—he would never get behind the wheel of the car after drinking.

Even he, in his recent state, wouldn’t be that stupid.

But he had been exhausted after more than a month of barely sleeping, not eating, and imbibing scotch like water, so his reflexes had undoubtedly suffered.

“The other driver,” Salvatore managed to croak out. “Is he?—,”

“She,” Marco corrected. “Is fine. She broke one arm, was in hospital for a night, before being taken to the prison and charged.”

“Thank god,” he said, hating the thought of having killed a person.

“It was her fault,” Dante stressed. “She was beyond drunk and driving like a maniac. You had no chance to avoid her.”

Salvatore’s head hurt too much to answer. He lifted his fingers and pressed them there, wincing a little as they connected with a bruise.

“So, what’s the prognosis?” he asked, looking down at his body, seeing the wires, the casts.

“You were lucky,” Raf said, so Maria scoffed, tears running down her cheeks at the sight of her boy like this. “You have a broken arm, and leg, but both will recover quickly enough.”

“And you all came to Singapore?” he said, shaking his head.

Maria sobbed, and Gianni wrapped his arm around her. “We’ve missed you,” she said. But it was the wrong sentiment.

It reminded Salvatore instantly of everything that had come before.

Of the way his family had pushed him into the worst decision of his life.

If only they’d loved and welcomed Emilia as part of the family, he could have made his peace with her family’s rejection.

But to have her left with no family beyond him, all because he loved her?

He closed his eyes on a wave of bitterness. Grief quickly usurped every other feeling of pain in his body.

“Let’s give him some time,” Dante suggested, gesturing towards the door. Salvatore didn’t open his eyes as they walked from the room.

“We’ll come back in a couple of hours,” Maria promised.

Salvatore didn’t acknowledge that.

He expelled a breath—it hurt. His chest felt as though it had been cracked open, too.

“You should know something,” Dante said, so Salvatore opened his eyes, frowning, to look at his brother.

“How lucky I am?” because he sure as hell didn’t feel it.

Dante’s lips twisted to the side, showing he understood.

“Emilia came to see you.”

Salvatore moved to sit up, his entire body fighting that. But damn it, he didn’t want to be in such a recline as his brother told him this.

“What? When?”

“A few days ago. Salvatore—,” Dante’s voice trailed off and his lips formed a deep frown. “You are aware of the grief I’ve faced. The wrenching pain I’ve had to grapple with, and recover from.”

Salvatore nodded gingerly.

“I cannot say that I’ve ever seen someone so completely destroyed as Emilia was by the sight of you. It was…heartbreaking.”

Salvatore’s brain felt like it was swelling all over again.

He angled his face away to stare out of the windows, looking at the view from the Singaporean hospital, without seeing it.

How could he hear that without responding?

How could he hear it without aching to wrap her in his arms and hold her against his chest?

But what had changed? What difference did it make?

“It was good of her to come,” he said, finally.

“I don’t think she felt she had a choice. She looked ruined, bro.”

Exasperation fired through him. “What are you doing, bro ?” he layered the word with sarcasm.

“You trying to play matchmaker now? We both know why that can’t happen.

” He closed his eyes. “And in case you’re wondering, this doesn’t change anything.

I appreciate the concern, but as far as I’m concerned, we stopped being family the minute you all decided not to support my choices. ”

“I know.” Dante’s voice was thick with anguish. “We messed up, Salvatore. I don’t know how we can ever, ever fix that. I don’t know how you could ever bring yourself to forgive us. Let alone Emilia. From the moment she got here, we saw…saw what you were to each other. I’m so sorry.”

Salvatore hadn’t cried in his entire life, that he could remember.

Perhaps as a child, when he’d fallen and hurt himself badly.

But damn it if he didn’t feel his eyes stinging then.

The futility of it all, the ruination that had been wrought, because they’d held to their ancient prejudice.

And yet, through all of that bitterness and anger, he clung to the apology—and the meaning beyond it.

“I don’t know if you can fix it either, but if you’re willing to try, I can tell you one thing you can do.”

“Name it. Anything.”

Salvatore fixed his brother with a direct stare. “Bring her back to me. Bring her here just as soon as you can. My God, I need to see her, more than I can ever come close to explaining.”