Page 89 of This Thing of Ours

“That fucker had a mean right hook.” Marco’s eyes opened into slits and one side of his lips curled up.

“What?” Gabby’s eyes filled with tears.

“That car accident was my fist against his face. Couldn’t have the school douche taking out my girl.”

“But I wasn’t your girl.”

“To me you were.”

Gabby blinked rapidly but lost the fight, the tears falling down her cheeks.

“Hey, come here.”

Gabby leaned farther over the rail and Marco pulled his hand from hers to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheek, smearing the wetness. “A Conti doesn’t cry, remember?”

“We’re allowed to cry happy tears.”

“You’re happy I beat that fucker up?”

“No, well, maybe, it did prevent me from going out with him, but I’m happier you’re awake. You scared me. I thought I was going to lose you just when I finally had you.”

His eyes opened farther. They were bloodshot but, to Gabby, they’d never looked more beautiful. “I knew everything would be okay.”

“How could you have possibly known that?”

“Because you made me promise it would be, and I never go back on a promise.”

“Then promise me something now.”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll love me forever.”

“Ah, streghetta, I already made that promise the day I made you mine.”

She shook her head and smiled. “I need the words, amore mio.”

Marco grinned. “I like that.”

“What? Me calling you, my love?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you’d be an endearment kind of guy. Thought you’d be too badass for it.”

“I would have thought that, too, but I really like the sound of it in that sexy voice of yours.”

“You think I have a sexy voice?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He closed his eyes and tipped his lips up. “I could listen to you talk all day.” He cracked open one eye and somehow—even lying in a hospital bed fresh from surgery—managed to glare at her with it. “But not stories about dates with asshole football captains that you planned to have sex with.”

Gabby felt her cheeks heat and said defensively, “I’ve heard somewhere that if you talk to an unconscious person, they respond to your voice.”

“And that’s the story you picked? Besides, I think that’s for people in comas.”

“I said, people respond to voices, not words. I didn’t think you’d actually hear the story.”

“Then why tell it? Why not pick a different story? Unless it was to ease your conscious, in case it ever came up, you could say you told me about it.”

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