Page 61 of Stolen Vows
I stalk into the bathroom and raise my voice so she can hear me as I retrieve the first aid kit.
“You’re on the floor.Did you fall and hit your head?”
“No.”
I squat beside her and open the kit.
“Are you allergic to any medicines?”
“No.”
I pop open the ibuprofen bottle, pour three onto my palm, open a sterile packet of gauze to use as a plate, and place them on the floor near her hand before cracking the seal on a sterile water bottle meant for flushing wounds.
“I’ll be right back,paperotta.Capisci?”
When she nods, I rush down to the kitchen and find a paper-wrapped straw from a local delivery place and take the stairs three at a time.
She hasn’t moved.I unwrap the straw, stick it in the water bottle, and angle it so she can drink.Water splashes onto the floor, but I ignore it and urge Valentina to take the medicine.With agonizing effort, she puts the pills in her mouth, closes her lips around the straw, and manages a few swallows.
Watching her in pain is agony, so I snatch the acetaminophen from the first aid kit and give her a dose in the same way before taking her phone from the bedside table, opening our chat screen, and placing it within her reach.
“I’ll be downstairs for a few minutes, but I’m not leaving.Call, call out, or text if you need anything,si?”
“’K,” she whispers.
Her eyes drift closed as though her lashes are too heavy.
I leave the door open and stalk down to the kitchen.
My hatred for Pietro Denaro grows with every second.I thought I couldn’t despise him more after he stabbed me in the back and left me for dead, but knowing he abused Valentina while she was at her most vulnerable increases my fury exponentially.
My stomach twists as the possibilities run through my mind.He could have hurt her in so many ways.Hell, just refusing her medical treatment is torture.
I end the train of thought before I either spontaneously combust or rampage through the city and kill her father slowly and painfully with my bare hands.
After breaking the seal on two water bottles and sipping a bit of the liquid out, I place them in the microwave for makeshift heating pads.As I wait for them to warm, I grab an insulated grocery bag and fill it with ice packs, cold water bottles, snacks, candy, and other odds and ends.
I check the microwave and decide to make the bottles warmer, so I start it up again and rack my brain for other ways to help her.
Softer washcloths from the laundry room, scented candles from the guest room, pain patches from the office where I keep them in easy reach while I’m working, a silky throw pillow from the couch—I stalk through the house gathering anything that might make her more comfortable.
When I return to the bedroom, she breathes easier than when I left but still lies curled in a ball of pain.I set my armful of things on the floor at the foot of the bed, drop the insulated bag, and sit where I knelt before so she can see me.The moment she recognizes me, the blind panic fades from her eyes.I show her the hot water bottles wrapped in hand towels.
“Heating pads for your stomach.I’m going to lift the blanket,si?”
I wait for her to nod before slipping it under the cover and resting it against her side, waiting for her reaction to make sure it isn’t too hot before wedging it between her thighs and her torso.The blade scrapes the floor as she shifts.
“Too much?”I ask.
She shakes her head.
I prop the other against her lower back and tuck the blanket around it to hold it in place.Her soft moan gives me hope.
She accepts a few more sips of water before closing her eyes.I pull a cloth ice pack from the insulated bag and drape it over her temple.
When she fills her lungs for the first time in what feels like millennia, I do the same and lean back in hopes of disarming her further.
While still suffering, she no longer looks on the brink of death.Not wanting to disturb her as she slips into a doze, I ignore the rest of the items I brought and scoot closer to her.
