She’s My Queen

33. Woof-Woof

33

WOOF-WOOF

CRISTINA

L ifting my heavy eyelids feels like a chore I can’t seem to accomplish no matter how hard I try. And I’ve been trying for the past few minutes, ever since I swam out of whatever groggy fog I was under. I try to move the fingers of my left hand, but can’t do that either.

Groaning, I try to peel back my eyelids again. Can’t.

There’s pressure on my right hand. A squeeze.

I squeeze back.

The bed dips, and before I hear him, I smell his cologne. I inhale deeply. Knowing Severio’s with me brings me peace even before I hear his deep voice say my name. “Cristina?”

I answer, but I don’t think I spoke aloud. My mouth feels parched. I lick my lips and mumble a yes .

“Call Dr. Bautista and tell him she woke up.” I feel the press of Severio’s lips on my temple. “You pulled through.”

Even though my brain is foggy, it works, so I sort through the last thing I remember. Severio and me parting, me teasing him about another man in Sicily, and his face falling as he got all jealous from a distance.

Me entering the church.

Daddy. Oh, but he wasn’t my daddy. His face was foreign. I only recognized his voice and hands. He tried to put me in a van. I elbowed him in the gut, and that’s all I remember.

I open my mouth to say something, but end up grunting, “W…w…” Water. Forget it.

The door opens and closes. “He went home,” a man says. “They’re calling him.”

I recognize that voice. Corrado Mancini. I squeeze Severio’s hand. Don’t leave me.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to take care of you, and…everyone else.”

“Thank you,” I mumble.

Again, the door opens and closes. A woman’s voice this time. “Good evening. You said she is awake?”

Cold fingers pry open my eyelid. A flash of light. The other eyelid. Light. I wish she kept them open.

“Cristina,” Nedda says, “don’t move your head, but squeeze my hand if you can.” Her fingers are cold on my left hand. I squeeze.

“Very good,” she says. “Can you open your eyes, or do you want to sleep some more?”

I try to open my eyelids again. They part, and through my lashes, I spot Severio sitting at my bedside on my right, jet-black hair looking unkept, a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. He looks worn out, but his blue eyes are wide and alert, anticipatory.

I squeeze his hand again, quietly thanking him for being here. If he wasn’t, I’m not sure I’d feel safe. I have so much to tell him, and I’m so glad he’s alive and breathing.

I want to rub my eyes to open them. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, Nedda’s face comes into view before a warm cloth gently swipes over my eyes. “There we go,” she says. “Better?”

I try to nod, but pain shoots into my head. I wince.

“What? What? What happened?” Severio asks, looking at the nurse.

“Cristina, try not to move.” She taps my neck brace.

She did tell me not to nod.

“Okay,” I manage to say without nodding. The willpower it takes to avoid nodding when agreeing is pretty substantial.

“Do you know your date of birth?”

I answer, but it’s more like I’m seeking confirmation from her. “That’s correct. Who is the current prime minister?”

Severio grits his teeth. “Ask another question.”

“Do you know who this man is?” Nedda points at Severio.

As he watches me form words, he swallows hard, his posture straightening, the armor a military general would wear shielding him as quickly as he can mentally summon it. He thinks I won’t remember. “My general,” I say.

His eyes widen.

Nedda asks again.

“Severio Mancini,” I confirm, and his shoulders drop. He rubs his face and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed.

“I think I heard Corrado,” I say.

“I’m here.” Severino’s brother pushes off the wall and comes out from the shadows. His hands are in his pockets, and he also looks unkempt. Seeing how these two are with each other makes me wish I had a sibling. If I ever have kids, I’ll have more than one. Five, maybe, though I doubt Severio would want that many.

Nedda examines me and tests my reflexes, asking me more questions and telling me I suffered a concussion and an injury that required surgery from which I’m expected to fully recover. But I’ve been under for two days instead of only a few hours after surgery, so my attending will examine me more when he gets in tomorrow morning.

Severio informs Nedda that he expects the attending to appear tonight. God bless my fierce man who won’t take no or tomorrow for an answer.

“I’m on it,” Corrado says. Yeah, the attending is coming, or getting dragged in here. It’s how we do things in the Order. We want our people taken care of now, not later.

Once Nedda leaves, Severio scoots closer. He takes my hand into both of his and kisses it. “You’ll be okay,” he tells me.

Again, I want to nod.

“Don’t nod,” he says.

He knows me so well, even if we’ve been together for only a short time. Since his black button-up shirt is open and looks wrinkled, the seashell necklace hangs from his neck along with the wedding band. I stretch for it, but can’t touch it.

Severio reaches behind his neck, and as he’s unclasping the chain, I get to watch his biceps flex. He lets the chain fall into my palm, closes my fist around it, and kisses my fingers. “Here you go, but don’t cut yourself on the shell.”

I bend my arm at the elbow, proud that I can let the necklace dangle from my fingers. My dexterity is returning. I’m hopeful for my recovery.

“Remember the story Frenchy told you about me carrying you into the restaurant when you cut your foot?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Severio scrunches up his nose, looking a little uncomfortable. Last time he looked uncomfortable, he almost proposed. I want him to be uncomfortable until expressing his gentler side becomes comfortable for him. I want him to show me this side of him whenever, however, he wants, and as often as he wants without restraint, without concealing how he feels.

“I kept the seashell,” he says.

I blink. “Oh. That’s…” I swallow.

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. I was ten. I put it in my pocket, and when we left the island, which I considered our summer vacation, and returned home, I put it in my safekeeping box. It stayed there for another decade, and when I found it, I had someone preserve it, punch a hole in it, and I’ve worn it ever since.”

“Now I feel bad I don’t remember.”

Severio shrugs.

“But I remember a blue-eyed, dark-haired older boy punching Father Thomas in the face.”

“Guilty.”

I try to smile. It works. Not a lot, but I feel the corners of my mouth turn up.

“I saw you at the Gits Hotel in Hungary,” he says. “A coincidence, I assure you. You were with a man.”

“Nothing happened with him,” I rush to say.

“Oh, believe me, Cristina, I know nothing happened.”

I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”

“I took care of it.” Severio stretches, then plucks something from his pocket. He slips it onto my finger. I lift my hand and see a ring. It’s the serpentine one that matches the ring on the necklace. I drop the necklace on the bed and take the big ring from it, holding it between my thumb and forefinger.

“Say yes,” he orders, and lets me slide his ring onto his finger.

I answer with as much of a bark as I can summon. “Woof.”