Ruined Secrets: Part 2 – Chapter 13

I stand next to Damian in the hospital hallway, staring at the door as we wait for Luca to come out of his room.

Dear God, what the hell possessed me yesterday to tell him he was in love with me? I spent the whole night awake, trying to think of a way to correct that fuckup. What kind of person am I, lying to a man who’s lost his memory about something so important? I didn’t mean to say it. It just kind of burst out of me. I was so fucking scared this whole week, worrying that Luca’s condition may change for the worse, or that someone from the Family may make an appearance and find out about his memory loss, that I wasn’t thinking straight and just blurted out that nonsense. So, now what? Should I come clean right away? Or wait until we get home?

The door opens, pulling me from my internal turmoil, and Luca comes out, dressed in a dark gray shirt and black pants. I think he’s lost a couple of pounds during his stay, but it’s barely noticeable. He still looks the same—larger than life. After a few words with Dr. Jacobs, Luca nods at Damian, and then his eyes land on me. I offer him a small smile and turn toward the exit when I feel his arm around my waist.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No. I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be.” He bends and whispers in my ear, “You’ve taught me well.”

He kisses me on the top of my head, and I close my eyes, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill. This lie will probably make me burn in hell, and Luca will most certainly hate me when he finally remembers everything. But walking down the hallway with his arm around my back feels so right, and the heart in my chest literally makes a leap. That kiss. The way he watches me with affection instead of reluctance. His warmth next to my side. I’ve wanted this for so so long. I don’t want to go back to the cold treatment. Not now, when I almost lost him. As we leave the hospital and walk toward the car, I make my decision.

I’m not telling him the truth.

* * *

As we pull up to the house, and Damian parks the car, I nod toward the man standing at the front door. “Emilio.” I tell Luca. “The one at the gate was Tony.”

“Emilio. Tony.” He repeats.

“Rosa’s waiting for us inside.”

Luca grinds his teeth and nods. “How . . . how do I call her? Do I have a pet name for her?”

Something squeezes in my chest upon hearing his question. “You call her ‘piccola,’” I choke out and take his hand in mine.

“And you?”

I blink in confusion. “Me?”

“Yes,” he says and passes his free hand through my hair. “Do I have a pet name for you as well?”

I bite my lip, and stare into his eyes, then whisper. “You sometimes called me ‘tesoro.’”

Luca nods and leans forward. “Thank you, tesoro.”

“You’re welcome.” I choke out, barely able to keep my emotions at bay.

When we enter the house, I face Luca and force a smile. “Welcome home.” I place my palm on his chest, raise onto my tiptoes, and place a quick kiss on his chin. “Viola by the stairs. Martha on the left,” I whisper. “Ask Viola how her son, Fabio, is doing.”

We move toward the stairs, the maids watching us approach. They dip their heads slightly, a welcome home to Luca.

“Mr. Rossi, it’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you, Viola. How’s Fabio?” he asks.

“Better, Mr. Rossi. His leg is healing fine. Thank you for asking.”

Luca nods and places one hand on the stair railing when the sound of running feet reaches us.

“Dad! Daddy!” Rosa shouts, running toward us across the foyer.

Luca turns just in time to catch her as she throws herself into his arms, and I watch Luca’s face, holding my breath. My hope that seeing Rosa would trigger something in his brain and help him remember quickly fades when Luca turns to me with a haunted look in his eyes. I hold utterly still, carefully schooling my features. He still doesn’t remember his daughter.

“They wouldn’t let me visit you in the hospital!” Rosa weeps, clinging to his neck. “I was so scared.”

“Hospitals are not places for kids, piccola,” Luca whispers, gently holding the back of her head with his bandaged hand.

“Did they really open your head? Uncle Damian said they did and had to patch it back together with iron nails because your head was too thick for them to sew it.”

“Well, you know your uncle is an idiot. Don’t listen to him.”

“I knew it.” She laughs. “Can I see?”

Luca turns his head to show her, and Rosa makes a disgusted face. “Yuck, Dad. That’s nasty. And what’s with the hipster haircut? You’re too old for that. Isa, did you see this?”

“Yup,” I say and notice Luca watching me. “I love it.”

“I have to go. Clara will be here in fifteen, and Grace is making us a cake.” Rosa kisses Luca’s cheek. “Love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Rosa.”

She dashes off to the kitchen. Luca stares after her with a somewhat shuttered look in his eye, and my heart squeezes. How do you deal with the fact you don’t have any recollection of your own kid?

* * *

I open the door between our rooms and peek inside. “Luca?”

For a second, panic rises in my stomach. What if something’s happened? The doctor said they did a thorough evaluation, and with the exception of his memory loss, every other test came back with positive results. Still, I’m constantly on edge. The sound of running water in the bathroom reaches me, and I exhale in relief.

“Luca?” I cross the room to the en suite. “Is everything . . .? What the fuck are you doing?”

His head is under the tap and he’s reaching for the shampoo bottle on the counter. “Washing my hair,” he states the obvious.

I grab the shampoo. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You have second-degree burns on your arm. Dr. Jacobs said you can’t let the bandages get wet.”

“You curse quite a lot when you’re mad.”

I curse again, squeeze a bit of shampoo onto my hand and start lathering his hair, making sure I don’t let the water reach the back of his head. Rinsing takes quite some time because he has a lot of hair, even with a fair bit of it shaved off.

“Don’t move.” I open the cupboard to grab a clean towel, then proceed with drying his hair. Luca doesn’t say anything through the whole ordeal, just regards me with a strange look in his eyes. When I’m done, I comb through his hair and turn around to look for a hair tie, but there isn’t one in sight. I take off mine and gather Luca’s hair, securing it at the top of his head. “All done.”

He straightens, caging me with his arms against the counter, and slowly bends until we’re at the same eye level.

“Do you sleep here? In this room?” he asks, and I tense.

“Yes.”

Luca smirks and cocks his head to one side. “Then tell me, Isabella, why aren’t any of your clothes in the closet?”

Shit. I should have thought of that. The way he watches me, with his eyes staring right into mine like he can uncover all my secrets with one look, is highly unnerving. “Because I have a lot of stuff.” I blurt out “I’m using the wardrobe in the room next door.”

“Hmm.” He lifts his hand and places it under my chin. “Tomorrow morning, I’m having Martha and Viola move your clothes in here.”

What? Why? “Sure. Anything else?”

“Yes.” He tilts my head up a bit more. “I prefer your hair like that.”

“Down?” I ask and he nods. “Thank you. Consider your preference noted.”

He narrows his eyes at my comment. Did I miss some meaning there? I’m not sure how to act around this new Luca because he’s not behaving like he used to.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says. “Are you coming?”

My breath catches. God help me, but I like this new version of him so much better. “Yes.”

My wife is hiding something. What it is, exactly, is a mystery, but it has something to do with our relationship. I went through every part of the bedroom and each piece of furniture when I came in here, and I didn’t find a single thing of hers.

Isabella removes her dress, then her bra and panties, and my breathing stills. She’s an amazingly beautiful little thing. I let my gaze travel down her firm little breasts and narrow ribcage, then from her tiny waist to her generous hips and shapely legs. She has the body of a fucking goddess. “Turn around,” I rasp and barely manage to keep my hands to myself when she does. Even though I don’t remember shit, I’m sure my eyes have never landed on a more perfect ass.

“Now you.” She turns to face me and starts unbuttoning my shirt. When she’s done, I remove the shirt and throw it next to her dress on the floor. The rest of my clothes follow soon after.

“You lost some weight,” she says, placing her hand on my chest.

“How much?”

“A few pounds.” Her palm slides down my stomach and then moves to my hip. “Five, maybe six.”

I checked the chart at the hospital. I lost six pounds since being admitted. She knows my body well, and still, something feels off. Based on how comfortable she is with being naked around me, I’m fairly certain we’ve had sex before, so it can’t be that. What are you hiding from me, Isabella?

Her touch leaves me as she gets into the stall. For a few moments, she fumbles with the shower head, adjusting its position, then turns on the water and looks up. “Keep your arm out of the spray.”

I join her inside. Isabella watches me, but keeps her eyes focused on my face instead of my hard cock, pretending she doesn’t notice it. We both know where this is leading. It’s been inevitable from the moment she started removing her clothes, but we keep dancing around it. She lathers her hands with soap and presses her palms to my chest, massaging, and it takes tremendous self-control to keep myself from reaching out and grabbing her. Somehow, I manage and close my eyes instead, enjoying the sweet torture as her hands travel across my chest and then down, but when I feel her fingers brushing my cock . . . well, my patience hits its limit.

“Enough.” I turn off the water, reach out and press my palm to her pussy. Slowly, I slide a finger inside. Isabella gasps but doesn’t pull away, her huge eyes glued to mine. Smiling, I slightly curl my finger inside her.

“Hands on my wrist, Isabella,” I say, “and don’t you dare let my finger slip out.”

I wait until her hands wrap around my wrist. With my palm cupping her pussy and finger still buried inside of her, I take a step back, pulling her with me. It takes us a couple of minutes to leave the bathroom and reach the bed, step-by-tiny-step, and by the time we do, Isabella is panting, but she doesn’t let go of my hand.

I move to stand behind her, press my chest to her back and bend my head to whisper in her ear.

“On the bed,” I say and slide another finger inside her. “Slowly.”

Isabella lets go of my wrist and starts crawling toward the middle of the bed. I follow, hunched over her, keeping my fingers buried in her.

“Stop.” I wrap my left arm around her waist, ignoring the pain the strain inflicts on my burned skin. “I’m going to remove my fingers now,” I say next to her ear.

“Please, don’t.” She presses her legs together and moans.

“Don’t worry.” I place a kiss on her shoulder. “I’ll be only a second, and then I’ll make it better.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” I kiss her neck next. “Front? Or from behind?”

“Front.”

Isabella whimpers when I slowly slide out my fingers, then turns onto her back and hooks her legs around my hips. I just watch her for a few moments. Her hair is tangled, her mouth slightly open, and her chest rises as she pants.

“Please, Luca.”

I want to take her in one hard thrust, but I felt how tight she is. So, instead, I place the tip of my cock at her entrance and slide in just a bit.

Isabella growls in displeasure and digs her nails into my back, pulling me closer. My little wife—always so composed and calm—just growled at me. Our eyes lock, and I crush my mouth to her lips, thrusting all the way inside. She gasps but doesn’t close her eyes, watching me.

“You like the feel of my cock filling you up, don’t you, Isabella?”

“Yes.” She breathes out, then squeezes her legs around me.

I slide out, then drive into her again, hard. “How much?”

Isabella doesn’t reply, just moves her hands up my back and pulls the hair tie from the knot at the top of my head. My hair falls, framing my face, and she threads her fingers through it as her body arches up. I pull my cock out, press my fingers over her pussy, and start teasing her clit. Her hands in my hair grip the strands, pulling, and it takes a lot of control not to bury myself inside her again.

“I asked how much, Isabella?”

“So, so much.” She gulps air with a hiss. “I wish it could stay inside me all the time.”

An answering growl rumbles from my throat as I slide back inside her. When I bury myself to the hilt, a sigh of relief leaves her lips. My God, I can definitely get behind the idea of having my cock buried in this woman. Permanently. The bed squeaks under us as I pound into her, soaking up her every grunt and sigh.

The need to take her from behind is growing too strong to ignore. “Turn around,” I say and slide out.

Isabella turns and rises onto all fours, perching her ass. Holy Mother of God, I almost come from just seeing that perfection. I grab her around the waist and bite her right butt cheek. Then I slap that sweet ass twice in quick succession. A yelp escapes her, then another one when I bury my teeth in her other ass cheek. Moving my hands around her hips to her front, I find her clit and tease it as I thrust my cock inside. I feel her walls gripping my length. Moaning, she lowers her head to the pillow, raising her ass even higher, and I lose it completely. I begin to thrust faster into her sweet pussy, then smack her ass cheek again and watch as my handprint appears, marking her. Gripping her hips, I continue my punishing pace. A muffled scream leaves her when I slam into her and her inner walls grip my cock, the sensation causing my orgasm to hit me before I’m ready to be done with her. Still, I can’t help but relish the feel of my seed pouring inside, branding her.

Isabella’s body is still shaking when I pull out and lie down next to her. With my hand around her waist, I bring her against me, pressing her back to my chest, then slide my hand across her front until I cup her pussy with my palm.

“Don’t even think about moving.” I whisper into her ear and keep my hand covering her pussy. “I want my cum in you the whole night.”

Slowly, I slide one finger inside and Isabella sucks in a breath.

“I don’t know how we’ve slept before,” I say, “but this is how we’ll sleep from now on. Is that clear?”

She nods and glides her palm down my forearm and lower until she covers my hand and presses it, pushing my finger deeper.

“If your hand is anywhere else when I wake up,” she says, “I’ll be very displeased, Luca.”

When I open my eyes next morning, Luca is sitting at the edge of the bed, unwrapping the bandage from his left arm.

“The doctor said you should go to the hospital to have your bandages changed,” I say.

“No time. I’m going to the office with Damian. We need to be there in an hour.”

“You were discharged less than twenty-four hours ago. Maybe you should take a few days off.”

“I don’t remember shit, Isabella. I need to get up to speed on my own life. There’s no time to waste.”

“You say that as if you don’t believe your memory will return.”

“Dr. Jacobs said it might happen in months. Or years. Or never. I don’t plan on sitting at home and hoping for a miracle that may never happen,” he says.

“That’s a very . . . pragmatic way of looking at the things.”

He tilts his head and looks at me sideways. “Do I have a choice?”

“No. I don’t think you do.” I crawl over the bed until I’m sitting behind his back and place my chin on his shoulder. “Is it bad?” I nod at his arm.

“Not so much,” he says and looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Don’t faint.”

“I never faint,” I say as he unwraps the last of the bandage and removes the dressing.

“Dear God, Luca.” I suck in a breath and quickly bury my face in his neck. The skin on his arm, from just below the shoulder all the way to his wrist is mottled red, and looks like it was scrubbed raw. “Do you need help?” I mumble into his neck.

“No, I’ll manage.”

He starts putting some kind of balm over the burns on his arm, but his movements seem too sharp, and he’s rubbing the sensitive skin way too much.

I slide to the edge of the bed next to him and take the jar. “Let me do it.”

I’m not good with blood or wounds of any kind, but the rough way he’s going about it will only make it worse. Taking a deep breath, I scoop a good amount of the balm with my fingers and carefully start applying it to his wounds, first focusing on the less damaged parts. Then, I move up his arm, leaving the worst of the burns to be treated last. Not a very wise decision. When I come to his bicep, my hand is shaking so much that I have to pull away for a moment to calm myself. I don’t want to risk hurting him more. Luca’s hand wraps around mine, and he moves it back to his wounded skin.

“You’re doing great,” he says.

I nod and resume applying the balm, trying my best to be as gentle as possible. When I’m done, I place a thin piece of sterile gauze over his damaged skin and bandage his arm. Only then do I let myself sag.

“I’m sorry,” I say and close my eyes. “I don’t deal well with this kind of stuff.”

His hand cups my face and a kiss lands on my lips. “I think you deal quite well with anything that gets thrown at you, Isabella,” he says against my mouth. “Unexpectedly well, I might add.”

“Not really.” I kiss him back. “I’m just good at pretending.”

“Are you pretending now?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t want you pretending with me.” His lips move across my cheek, toward my ear. “But I know you’re hiding something from me, Isabella,” he whispers.

My eyes snap open. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Yes, you are.” He bites my ear slightly and stands up. As he walks toward the wardrobe I enjoy the view of his powerful body moving with grace. Watching Luca move around has always been one of my favorite things, but I usually had to do it in secret. Being able to do so freely feels strange. I still can’t believe he’s finally mine. Well, at least until he remembers he doesn’t like me. Then, he’ll probably hate me for lying to him. But I don’t care. It will be worth it.