Page 15 of Die for You
Lupo comes charging in, jumping up on me and licking my face happily.
Nico smiles and enters.
I don’t know what it is about him, but I don’t feel he’s a threat. He just seems like a…normal young man. Nothing like Lenny.
My heart does a tiny flip-flop just thinking of his name.
Angrily, I toss the carrots into the fridge because thoughts like that will only get me hurt.
Or more hurt, if that’s even possible.
Once I turn, Nico slides an envelope across the white marble counter. My name is written on the front.
I swallow past the lump in my throat.
The day has come.
I eye him and the envelope.
Have I mistaken him for a friend when he is in fact a foe?
He reads my suspicion and quickly reaches for something in his brown leather satchel.
On instinct, I lunge for the knife block, but soon stop in my tracks when he retrieves a small book. He rifles through it and turns to a page, staring at it intently.
He licks his lips before saying with a thick accent, “Postman.”
I’m impressed that Nico went out and purchased a translation book. He could have used his phone, but perhaps he likes living off-grid too.
That one word puts my mind at ease because he isn’t the one who wrote the letter. He is simply the deliveryman.
I stare at the envelope like it will detonate at any moment because, without a doubt, this is from Gianna. It’s time to do what I came here for. But the thought turns my stomach.
And I don’t mean in the figurative sense.
I mean that literally as I run to the sink and throw up.
Nausea so brutal suddenly overcomes me, I waver on my feet and would have fallen if not for Nico catching me.
Usually, I would shrug any help away, but I literally cannot stand, so I allow Nico to lead me into the living room where I lie down on the velvet couch. Nico places a knitted blanket over me.
How fucking embarrassing.
I don’t need a man looking after me, but as Nico returns from the kitchen with a juice in hand, I push aside my pride and accept his help. I slowly gulp down the juice in fear it’ll come back up.
So far, so good.
Nico crouches by me and places a hand to my clammy forehead. “Ospedale.”
But I frantically shake my head.
I understand that word, and that word is hospital. There’s no way I’m going there.
“No, I’m okay. Just tired.”
Nico looks at me confused, so I reach for the book he left on the coffee table and scan through it until I find the word for tired.
“Stanca.”
