Page 6 of Finding Love

LUCA

“Remember what I said.” I’m more than a little wary as I eye my sister, standing by my side in the hospital elevator. “Do not overwhelm her. She’s in a fragile state.”

“Sometimes I think you forget I’m eighteen and not a baby anymore,” Guilia retorts, rolling eyes as dark as mine. “I get it. Don’t you think I want her to get better too?”

“But you can be a little… excitable.” My sister is one of the few people in the world I care enough about to go out of my way to speak kindly to. It’s a short list that includes Emilia and my mother. “No throwing your arms around her, no acting upset when you see the way she looks now. That, more than anything. She’s healing and will look like her old self in no time. We have to let her know she has nothing to worry about.” Considering how quickly the two of them became friends, I’m hoping like hell that warm feeling will return, and Emilia will take to her again, feeling less intimidated with an ally at her side.

“I swear to God, you treat me like a child. I know how to handle myself.” The way Guilia bites her lip when a soft chime tells us we’ve reached our floor reveals the nerves she’s trying hard to hide. She’s not the only one feeling a little nervous.

A long time ago, I heard something about relationships teaching us lessons. I figured it was some hippy bullshit and didn’t pay much attention. Now I’m starting to wonder. Emilia has done nothing but shed light on parts of myself I would rather deny.

She’s forced me to be better.

Kinder.

More patient.

Walking my sister down the hall so we can bring Emilia home tonight, I once again wrestle with doubts I’d rather pretend don’t exist—about myself. how any of this will turn out, and whether I can teach her to love me again.

While I’d gladly do just about anything to be rid of the soul-crippling doubt I’m suffering, the simplest answer of walking away, washing my hands of her, is unthinkable.

I’m not giving up.

Not on us.

Rather than go straight into her room, I lead Guilia into the waiting room that’s practically been my home for the past eight days. According to the doctors, it could be weeks before Emilia’s symptoms fully resolve. As of my last status meeting with her team this morning, she continues to suffer occasional blurred vision and headaches that can range from irritating to debilitating. Not that she would share any of that with me.

It doesn’t seem there’s been much improvement in her memory of the past in the few days since she first learned who I am, and I’m not sure I should feel so relieved by that. I should only want what’s best for her. But dammit, I am what’s best for her.

There’s no reason for her to be here any longer, though, and I can’t pretend I’m not glad to be bringing her home at last, where she belongs. Having her in familiar surroundings can only help get the past back.

Emilia is sitting on her bed with a bag beside her. I brought it with me earlier today, filled with clothes for her to wear home. She waits with her hands folded in her lap, her feet slightly swinging until she sees me and instantly stills—a scared rabbit poised for flight.

Guilia releases a strained whimper when she first sees what has only been described until now, but her smile widens as we slowly approach the door between the rooms. Emilia’s gaze lands on her, with nothing in her expression to give away her thoughts or whether she remembers my sister.

When I open the door, Guilia takes the lead. For once, I’m ready to stand back and let her do it rather than force my way closer to the woman I love. “You probably don’t remember me,” she says so softly, it’s almost a whisper.

Emilia’s brow furrows in concentration, and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize you,” she replies in a soft, sorrowful voice.

“It’s okay. I’m Guilia. Luca’s sister… unfortunately,” she adds with a roll of her eyes that stirs Emilia’s lips into a smile. “And, like, I figured you might need a little female energy in your life. We came to bring you home.”

“Home? To Brooklyn?” Emilia won’t look at me. The entirety of her attention is focused on Guilia, staring with an intensity that could break my heart if it wasn’t already shredded after seeing her this way.

Guilia gestures toward the foot of the bed, and when Emilia nods, she perches gently on the corner. “No, not to Brooklyn.”

“You live with us,” I remind her from a safe distance. “I told you that already, remember?”

She remembers. She was hoping I was lying, is all. Now that Guilia is here, so sweet and sincere, she has reason to think otherwise.

Guilia reaches out to impulsively pat Emilia’s leg. I can’t pretend it doesn’t irk the shit out of me, the fact that Emilia will allow Guilia to touch her, but not me. “I wouldn’t be super happy if somebody told me I shared a house with him either,” she whispers loud enough I’m sure Bruce hears her out in the hall. “But you’ve been with us for a while now. Maybe you’ll recognize it when we get there, and we can take our walks around the compound again.” There’s a wistfulness in Guilia’s voice that gives away her true feelings.

She’s doing her damnedest to be strong and upbeat, but she misses her friend. At a time like this, when security is tighter than ever, there aren’t many opportunities for distraction, which was one of the reasons why we were in the Hamptons in the first place—to give Emilia something to do and a sense of normalcy.

“I don’t understand why I can’t go home to my apartment,” she insists, her chin trembling along with her voice.

“Because you live with me now,” I tell her, though she was speaking to Guilia. “If you’re ever going to get better, you have to go back to your regular life.”

“Why do I have to return to someplace I don’t remember? Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to go someplace I do remember?” she asks, no, pleads.

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