Page 48 of Twisted Vows

Several sets of masculine clothes hang next to mine on my clothing rack. A second charger sits beside mine on the bedside table. Four more pillows crowd the bed.

He moved in while I slept. I blink and turn as he saunters down the hall toward me. The tray in his hand—which I’ve never seen before—nearly overflows with pancakes, fresh fruit, sausage, and bacon.

“Did you cook?”

My voice sounds like I chain-smoked for a few decades, so I clear my throat and step out of his way.

“You slept for sixteen hours, but I figured you needed it, so I didn’t wake you. C’mon,mia caramellina, let me feed you before I send you off to work,” he says as he places the tray on the bedside table.

I check the time and date on my phone and sure enough, it’s eleven o’clock Tuesday morning, which means he pulled me into bed around six yesterday evening. I rub a hand over my face and make sure I didn’t miss a text from Katherine before he tugs me onto his lap on the bed.

Too discombobulated to push him away, I let him feed me and pamper me through a new morning routine, not even balking when he braids my hair with deft fingers and applies new moleskin on my feet. When he slips my shoes onto my feet and ties them while I sit on the bed, I sigh at his ridiculousness and accept my fate when he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the front door.

“Wait. I need to write a reply to my roommate,” I say.

He hesitates before lowering my feet to the floor. My fingers tremble as I write, but after a few sappy words, I add some doodles and sign off on the bottom with a much sweeter endearment than usual. Fiero’s eyes darken. My heart leaps into my throat, but when he grabs my nape and devours my mouth, I realize it’s from jealousy and not because he deciphered my hidden message to my sister.

He pulls away with a curse and ushers me out the door.

When he throws his arm over my shoulders and laces our fingers together, his wedding band clinks against mine.

He keeps me plastered to his side all the way to the glass doors of the emergency room, then after demanding I wait for him before heading home after my shift, he kisses me and walks away, leaving me breathless and needy.

I turn and walk into work like I have countless times, even though nothing in my life is the same.

If I’m jumpy throughout my shift, I tell myself it’s because I know the mafia man I treated plans to come back for me, not because Fiero isn’t by my side.

I don’t miss or crave my husband. At all.

I’m such a bad fucking liar.

Chapter 14

Fiero Capito

Guilt churns in my chest.Even as my woman dives into her work with impressive single-minded focus, I can’t stop replaying the way she looked at me last night before she made a mad dash to the door. The panic on her face was my fault. I backed her into a corner—again and again and again—until she broke.

I don’t want to put her through that kind of shit again, but I can’t guarantee I won’t. I want and need her.

She was right when she said I was the biggest threat to her, but I’ll erase all the other dangers so she can focus solely on me.

I choose a bistro I only spent a few minutes in the last time I staked out the ER and settle into the corner booth with a light meal and fancy coffee. My view through the front windows is limited, but I have clear visuals of the side doors, and every time Mia rushes a new patient to the back, I admire her braided hair.

She’s just as gorgeous in scrubs as she was in her wedding dress. Maybe more so with how artifice-free she is.

When she doesn’t return to the waiting room for a remarkably longer time than normal, worry heightens my senses. I buy a to-go coffee and toss a few extra bills on the table on my way out the door.

Just as I lift my foot to cross the road, she emerges from the break room hall wearing a different color set of scrubs andher hair in a ponytail. In the harsh lighting, she looks pale and withdrawn, but she checks her watch, glances at the reception desk, then calls the next patient.

I pivot, deciding not to cross the road, and instead join a few smokers a couple of stores down. The spot offers a better line of sight for the triage and reception area.

None of the men offer me a light. I lean on the brick wall, pull my lighter from my pocket, and suck down my first lungful of nicotine in several days and wonder how I went without for so long.

My wife returns, answering my question.

I didn’t need cigarettes because I had her. She’s my main addiction now.

She says something to the nurse behind the desk. They exchange nods as the other woman heads toward the break room. Mia scans the waiting room before plopping down in the chair and checking her watch.

---