Page 64 of Italian Weddings

I T WAS BOTH A WEAKNESS and inevitability that Emilia relented and allowed Dante and Georgia to take her back to the hospital.

At least she’d had a chance to sleep and shower, and dressed in a fresh outfit—a pale linen dress that fell to her ankles.

She’d swept her hair into a loose bun, and even applied a layer of lip gloss.

But all that had been in preparation for her flight home. Not this.

And yet, when Dante and Georgia had shown up at her hotel and begged her to come and see Salvatore before she’d left, she heard herself agreeing. In truth, she wanted to see him awake and conscious, to convince herself, once and for all, that he really was going to be okay.

The car trip to the hospital was silent, besides a few polite enquiries the Australian Georgia made, in an effort to ease any awkwardness.

Emilia found she couldn’t bring herself to answer more than a single word.

Not because she bore the other woman any ill will, but because she was far too much ‘in her head’ about what she was about to see and do.

Once at the hospital, they walked through the familiar corridors, towards his private room, and Emilia caught a glimpse of the other Santoro family members, in one of the lounge rooms. She didn’t say anything, beyond a small nod of acknowledgement.

It was only at the door to Salvatore’s room that she hesitated, turning to Dante and Georgia, who hovered a few feet back. “You’re not coming?”

Dante shook his head. “You’re the one he wants to see.”

Her stomach fluttered with butterflies, but she forced herself to be brave, twisting the doorknob and pushing it inwards.

The image he made was chalk and cheese to how he’d been the other day.

For one thing, the ghastly tubes had been removed, and he was now dressed, sitting up in the bed.

But he was still far, far too slim, his face gaunt, his jaw covered in too much stubble.

While she was worried about him, and the way he looked, she couldn’t help but recognize that if anything, it only made the beauty of his features more obvious—the depth of his eyes, the strength of his brows.

She fidgeted her hands as she crossed the room slowly towards him, but hovered a little distance from the bed.

Out of touching range, so she wouldn’t accidentally forget that he no longer loved her, or belonged to her in any way, and reach for him.

“Thank you for coming.” His voice was raspy and a little slow. Uncertain? She swallowed past a lump in her throat, hating how emotional she felt. Then again, it was only a matter of days ago that she’d thought he might not survive—or if he did, know what condition he’d be in.

“I needed to know,” she finally managed to say, unable to look away from his face. She saw the way his throat shifted as he swallowed, as though it physically pained him. She understood; her throat hurt too, but from the acid of tears rather than the grazing of a tube.

“To know what?”

She hesitated. “That you were okay.”

He nodded slowly. “The thing is, I don’t think I am.”

She glanced from him to the monitors, then started moving towards the doors. “I’ll get a doctor.”

“No, Emilia, that’s not what I meant.” His voice was firmer now, more like normal. So much so that she stopped walking and turned to face him. Her heart almost leaped out of her chest.

“Salvatore,” she whispered his name, but it was a plea. A desperate plea to let her go, because being here with him under these circumstances was an agony. She felt herself withering inside; it was excruciating. “Please…I can’t…”

He closed his eyes then, those thick, dark lashes fluttering down over his cheek bones so everything ached.

“Just tell me this.” His words rasped once more. “Are you okay?”

She bit into her lip. “How do you expect me to answer that?”

He opened his eyes and stared at her. No, stared through her, deep inside her soul, to every twisty, turning pain and hurt.

“With a yes, or a no.” Again, his throat shifted visibly as he swallowed.

“If you’re really okay—if you’re fine—then just tell me.

As much as I miss you—miss you so much I truly cannot bear it—I’ll be okay.

Just knowing you’re okay. But either way, please tell me. Please, I have to know.”

The desperation in his voice was what sold her, yet she stayed standing where she was for a long time, her mind and heart in conflict, her brain torn between what she wanted to say and what she knew was right to tell him.

In the end, the truth won out. They’d been through too much to lie.

Besides, for all he’d fallen out of love with her, having been through this trauma in the last few days, she couldn’t bear the fact of anything happening to him and his not knowing how deeply she still loved him—and always would.

If ever there was a moment for absolutely honesty, this was it.

“No.”

Silence crackled between them, static and powerful.

“No?” he finally responded.

She held one hand out, palm up to the ceiling.

“I mean, what do you think?” She tried to keep her voice calm.

He’d been through so much. She didn’t want to stress him, or do anything that might put him at risk.

But how the hell could she respond? How could she adequately explain?

“You broke my heart, Salvatore.” Her voice cracked, despite her best efforts to keep a level head.

“You broke my fucking heart. You tore it right out of my chest, you know? I loved you. I chose you. I chose you over everyone else I knew and loved. I chose you, our future, the life I thought we would live together. And you just…you just ended it. You actually told me monogamy wasn’t for you, so I’ve had to live, for the last however many weeks, with the idea of you sleeping with god knows how many other women, just like you used to.

” She wasn’t even aware of the tears that were slipping down her cheeks.

“You promised me the world, and then changed your mind. I mean…how do you think I am?”

The second she finished her tirade, she regretted it. His face was paler than it had been, his eyes more haunted.

“I’m sorry,” she said, spinning around, fumbling for the door. “I have to go.”

“Damn it, no, Emilia, please, don’t go,” he called after her, but she couldn’t stay. She wrenched the door handle inwards. “Please,” he called after her, and then cursed loudly. “I hate this goddamned cast. I can’t come after you, please, just?—,”

But she slipped out of the room, purely so she could press her back against the wall and slowly drop down to the floor, to rest her tear-stained face against her knees.

She could hardly draw breath, she was so utterly spent, so emotionally drained.

So devastated and agonizingly bereft. In that moment, it felt almost impossible to contemplate pulling herself to her feet again, let alone walking out of the hospital, so she just stayed where she was a moment, not caring who saw her collapsed like that, so long as it wasn’t Salvatore.

There wasn’t a lot Salvatore was grateful for in that moment.

Except, he supposed, that the opposite arm and leg were broken, meaning with a monumental effort and a fair amount of discomfort, he was able to leverage himself out of bed and steady his frame against the edge of the bed.

In the back of his mind, he recognized that it was probably a futile effort.

Emilia was likely in the parking lot by now. But how could he not try?

You broke my fucking heart.

You promised me the world, then changed your mind.

No, he should have shouted. I didn’t. He should have found a way to make her understand, but he’d been so moved by her obvious devastation, by how much he’d hurt the only woman he’d ever loved—loved so much he’d done what he thought was right for her, to absolutely his own detriment, he’d lost the ability to speak at all.

Inwardly, he cursed everything and everyone as he hobbled across the hospital room, towards the door. His body hurt, all over. He didn’t care. At the doorframe, he had to rest a moment. He pressed his unbroken hand against the timber and stood, catching his breath, glancing down.

And he saw her. So vulnerable and perfect, so broken, because of him. So completely and utterly his other half. “Emilia.”

Her head moved so fast, turning to glance up at him. Their eyes met and every cell in his body exploded.

“Oh my God,” she moved with the speed of lightning, standing and putting her hands on his forearm.

The second they touched, he felt it. What had once been a lightning bolt of awareness, and had morphed into a certainty of ‘forever’.

It was part of them. This chemistry, this love, this everything.

“You need to get back in bed. What are you even thinking?” And then, her hands moved higher to his shoulders, and her eyes dropped to his chest. “Salvatore, what’s happened?

You’ve lost so much weight. Are you sick? ”

His laugh was a hollow, thin sound.

“Come back to bed.”

“On one condition.”

“No,” she shook her head, but he held his ground, and she didn’t force him. Though it would have been easy enough for her to push him to bed in his current state.

“On one condition,” he repeated, moving his good hand now to curve around her elbow. “Stay five more minutes, please.”

Her lips parted, gaping, as though she could barely fathom what he was asking of her.

“Five minutes,” he pleaded, betting everything he cared about on the fact she’d flown halfway across the world to see him, and that had to mean something.

“You’ll get back in bed and stay there until a doctor tells you that you can move?”

He dipped his head once, though inwardly, he suspected he’d keep chasing after her, for just as long as it took to make her understand why he’d done what he had. It might not change her mind, and that he’d have to accept, but he at least needed to explain, until she knew the truth.