Page 29

SIXTEEN

AUDREY

I curl deeper into the window seat of the library, tucking my feet beneath me as I try to focus on the book in my hands. The words blur together, and my mind drifts despite my best efforts.

It’s been a week since Gio was released from the hospital and moved into our guest suite. A week of carefully orchestrated meals, of asking about his pain levels, of Lucille hovering with barely concealed satisfaction at having him under our roof.

The sound of uneven footsteps in the hallway makes me pause. I know that gait now. The slight drag of the left foot, the compensating heavier step with the right.

The rhythm of approaching danger.

I force my eyes back to the page and pretend to be absorbed in my book when all my senses are attuned to the doorway. The footsteps pause, and I feel his presence before I see him, like a change in atmospheric pressure.

“There you are,” Gio drawls. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I look up and arrange my features into what I hope passes for a pleasant smile. “You found me.”

He stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.

The bruising on his face has faded to yellowish-green, the stitches above his eyebrow now removed.

His left arm remains in a sling, and he moves with the careful precision of someone managing multiple healing fractures.

Still, there’s nothing weak about his presence.

If anything, the injuries have made him more dangerous.

More entitled to attention, more expectant of care, more insistent on gratitude.

“Always with your nose in a book.” He smiles and moves into the room with deliberate steps. “Lucille said I’d find you hiding in here.”

“Not hiding. Just enjoying some quiet time.”

He crosses to where I sit, bypassing three perfectly comfortable armchairs and the entire length of a leather sofa to sit beside me on the window seat.

I shift slightly, creating an inch of space that he immediately reclaims by adjusting his position. “How are you feeling today?” I ask.

“Better now.” His hand finds my knee and his fingers curl possessively around the curve. “The doctor says I’m healing ahead of schedule. Strong constitution.”

His thumb traces small circles against the fabric of my jeans. I resist the urge to pull away, knowing from experience that obvious rejection only makes him more persistent.

“That’s great news.” I place my book between us as a barrier. “Lucille will be pleased to hear it.”

“Lucille has been incredibly supportive.” His hand slides slightly higher on my thigh. “I couldn’t ask for a better future wife or mother-in-law”

I manage a smile that feels brittle on my face. “We’re just glad you’re recovering well.”

“Speaking of recovery. I think I’m well enough now to start resuming more normal activities.” His voice drops lower. “Or maybe even try some new ones.”

My stomach clenches. I’ve been dreading this moment since he moved into the guest suite down the hall from my bedroom. For a week, I’ve used his injuries as a shield, careful to show appropriate concern without encouraging anything physical. That shield is crumbling now, along with my excuses.

“The doctor said you should avoid exertion.” I try to keep my tone light. “At least for a few more weeks.”

“There are many ways to be close that wouldn’t strain my injuries.” His fingers tighten slightly on my thigh. “I’ve missed you, Audrey. You’ve seemed distant since the accident.”

“I’ve been worried about you,” I say, which isn’t entirely a lie. I’ve been worried about what his presence in my home means for my plans, for my freedom, for my future. “Recovery is your priority right now.”

“My priority is always you.” He reaches up with his good hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Though I’ve noticed you’ve been quite busy lately. Lucille mentioned you’ve been going into town almost daily.”

My pulse quickens. “Just errands. Wedding details, mostly.”

“Without your phone?” His eyebrows rise slightly. “I tried calling you yesterday afternoon. It went straight to voicemail.”

The question seems casual, but there’s nothing casual about the way he watches my reaction. I keep my expression neutral, though my heart hammers against my ribs.

“The battery must have died while I was out.” I shrug, and the movement dislodges his hand from my face. “I didn’t notice until I got home.”

“You should be more careful. I worry when I can’t reach you.”

Before I can respond, he shifts closer and slides his arm around my shoulders. The movement brings his face inches from mine. I fight the instinct to pull away.

“I’ve been thinking about the wedding,” he continues. His fingers trace patterns on my upper arm. “With my recovery progressing so well, there’s no reason to delay. In fact, I think we should consider moving the date forward.”

“Forward?” My voice rises an octave. “But we’ve already booked the venue for October. What about the deposits?”

“Money is no object.” He waves away my concern with his good hand. “Lucille agrees that a summer wedding would be lovely. July, perhaps.”

July. Less than a month away. Panic rises in my throat, threatening to choke me.

“Gio, that seems very rushed,” I manage. “There’s so much planning still to do.”

“Lucille assures me she can handle the accelerated timeline. I don’t want to wait any longer to make you mine, cara . Not after coming so close to death.”

The dramatic statement would be more convincing if I hadn’t overheard the doctor telling my mother his injuries, while painful, were never life-threatening. But Gio has been milking the near-death narrative since he arrived, using it to secure both sympathy and compliance.

“We should discuss this with the wedding planner,” I say, trying to create some breathing room. “There are contracts, vendors?—”

“Already being handled.” He tugs gently on my hair and tilts my face toward his. Lucille is making calls today.”

Of course, she is. The realization that they’ve been planning this without consulting me sends a wave of cold anger through my body. My future, being arranged like furniture in a room I’m not allowed to enter.

“Gio, I really think?—”

“You think too much, cara .” His lips brush against my temple, then move toward my mouth. “Always in that beautiful head of yours.”

I turn my face slightly, causing his kiss to land on my cheek instead of my lips. His body tenses against mine.

“Still shy?” His voice carries a hint of steel beneath the teasing tone. “After all this time?”

“Just mindful of your injuries,” I deflect, placing a hand against his chest to maintain distance. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Your concern is touching. But unnecessary.”

He captures my hand and presses it harder against his chest before sliding it down toward his stomach. Bile rises in my throat.

“Gio, please.” I try to extract my hand. “Not here. Anyone could walk in and see us.”

“So what if they do?” His grip tightens, preventing my escape. “You’re my fiancée. There’s nothing inappropriate about showing affection.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat saves me. I look over my shoulder, and Lucille is standing in the doorway. Her eyes take in our position on the window seat, and approval warms her expression.

“There you are, darling.” She directs the endearment to Gio, not me. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with the Belmont. They can accommodate us for the last weekend in July.”

“Wonderful news.” Gio releases my hand but keeps his arm around my shoulders. “Isn’t it, cara ?”

I look between them, these two people calmly rearranging my life without my input.

“Lucille, don’t you think this is moving too quickly? The invitations haven’t even gone out for the original date.”

“Digital invitations can be sent immediately,” she dismisses. “And the important guests will rearrange their schedules. The Vega-Worthington wedding is the social event of the season.”

“But, my dress—” I begin.

“Can be rushed,” she interrupts. “I’ve already called Vera. She understands the situation.”

Of course, she does. Everyone understands except me. Everyone agrees except me. Everyone decides except me.

“It seems you’ve thought of everything,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Lucille’s smile tightens. “That’s my job, darling. To handle the details so you can focus on being a beautiful bride.” Her gaze shifts to Gio. “And on taking care of your fiancé during his recovery.”

“Audrey has been a devoted nurse,” Gio says, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. “Though I’ve hardly seen her these past few days. Always out running errands.”

The pointed comment doesn’t escape Lucille. Her eyebrows rise slightly. “Is that so?”

The trap closes around me, neat and precise. I feel color rising to my cheeks. “I’ve just been out running errands. Wedding things, mostly.”

“How conscientious.” Lucille’s tone is pleasant, but her eyes are sharp. “Though perhaps you should include Gio in those outings when possible. Fresh air would do him good, and you shouldn’t be making decisions without him.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Gio agrees. “In fact, I was just telling Audrey that I’m feeling strong enough to resume more normal activities.”

Lucille nods approvingly. “Excellent progress. The doctor will be pleased to hear it.”

She checks her watch. “I’m meeting with the florist in twenty minutes to discuss the revised arrangements. Gio, did you have any thoughts about the color scheme?”

“I trust your judgment completely, Lucille.” His fingers trace my collarbone. “Though I’m partial to white and gold. Pure, classic.”

“Perfect choice.” She beams at him. “Audrey, you should come along. The florist will need your input.”

Before I can respond, Gio’s hand tightens on my shoulder.

“Actually, Lucille, would you mind if Audrey stayed with me this afternoon? The pain medication makes me drowsy, and I’d appreciate her company.”

“Of course.” Lucille’s smile doesn’t falter. “I can handle the florist. You two enjoy some quiet time together.”