“He’s bleeding,” she told the paramedics as soon as they crouched down in front of them.
“And she’s pregnant,” Dante informed them, as one of the men applied pressure to the bleeding wound above his right eyebrow, where a shard of the shattered window had narrowly missed his eye.
Her hand went to her bump at the mention of her pregnancy-of course it would be the first thing Dante thought about in a situation like this. No wonder he’d been so worried about her. There’d be no baby without a healthy Cleo.
It hadn’t even occurred to Cleo to be concerned about the baby. Her baby was fine. She’d know if it wasn’t. Still, it would be wise to check. She gave the bump a reassuring pat and stood up with the overeager assistance of two paramedics and one apprehensive-looking Spaniard. One of the paramedics attempted to steer her toward the waiting ambulance, but Dante stepped between them and took her elbow, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world.
“I’ll do it,” he said firmly, and the paramedics exchanged glances before shrugging and smoothly moving to flank the hobbling couple as they slowly made their way toward the ambulance.
A second ambulance was just arriving, and so were the police. James left the other driver with the emergency responders and strode toward them.
“You both okay?” he asked, his sharp gaze taking in their injuries, or lack thereof, in a single glance.
“Fine,” Dante replied, while the paramedics were checking their vital signs. “What about that guy?”
James made a disgusted sound.
“Drunk. And feeling confrontational even though he can barely stand upright. He actually wanted to get back into his wrecked car and drive off. I had to take his keys. The fool thought this was an intersection and blasted through the red light. If you hadn’t been driving by at that exact moment, he would have wound up in this field.”
“We’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” Cleo whispered, her hand going to her abdomen as she considered the awful possibilities. It was bad enough that Dante was injured.
“You’re both going to have to come to the hospital with us,” one of the paramedics said sternly. “Sir, we have to rule out concussion, and we need to make sure that everything is in order with your wife’s pregnancy.”
“I’m not . . . ,” she began.
But Dante cut her short with a terse, “Fine.”
He helped her into the ambulance and climbed in after her.
“The cops are going to want to speak with you both,” James said as the paramedics shut the doors. “I’ll let them know which hospital they’re taking you to, and I’ll pick you up from there.”
Dante merely nodded, and his efficient bodyguard took control of the situation.
Endless hours later, Dante was given the all-clear. No concussion, but it was still a nasty bump to the head, and he needed to call a doctor immediately if he suffered headaches, nausea, or blurred vision. He had five stitches above his eyebrow and a bruise forming on his cheek. Cleo had a tender chest from the impact of the airbag but no damage to her ribs or sternum and was treated for shock. The baby seemed fine, but they warned her to rest for the next few days and to contact her OB/GYN as soon as possible if there was any unusual cramping or bleeding.
They’d both made statements to the police and were assured that the driver of the other car would be arrested on drunk-driving charges, and since it wasn’t his first offense, he would likely be stripped of his license. Happy with that outcome, the exhausted couple gratefully followed James to Dante’s second car, which he’d picked up after dropping off Cleo’s hatchback. Cleo eyed the gleaming navy-blue car in amusement and arched a look at James.
“Didn’t you think my beat-up old Volkswagen was good enough for His Majesty over here?”
James grinned. “I thought you’d both be a lot more comfortable in the Mercedes.”
“Good call,” Dante said, his voice leaden with exhaustion and pain.
It was close to one in the morning by the time they finally got home. After saying good night to James, they wearily made their way up to the penthouse. Once there, Dante stumbled up to his room. Cleo trailed after him, wanting to be sure he made it to bed okay. She’d never seen him this sluggish, and it concerned her. She still worried about his head injury, even though the doctor assured them it was minor, and she knew it was probably the painkillers making him groggy. He dragged off his clothes, keeping on his black boxer briefs and black socks, and threw himself facedown on the bed without saying a word. Cleo didn’t even think he was aware of her presence in his room. She tried to convince herself that he would be fine if she left and reluctantly turned to exit the room.
He said something, his voice muffled by the pillow, and she stopped, turning to look at him. He didn’t appear to have moved a muscle.
“Did you say something?” she whispered, in case she’d imagined the sound. He turned to look at her. The bruise was taking on a livid, purplish hue, and his eye was swollen almost shut.
“Stay,” he said gruffly, and she wavered before admitting to herself that she didn’t want to leave him anyway.
“Just for a while,” she conceded. She took off her jacket and pulled one of the decorative chairs over to the bed. She curled up in it, pulling her bare feet up and tucking them beneath her butt.
With only his bedside lamp providing light, the room felt cozier than it actually was. She could see him clearly in the warm, yellow glow but knew that she was sitting just outside the little circle of light and was not as easily visible to him, which allowed her to study his features hungrily. Even with the swelling, the gauzy patch above his eye, and the bruises, he was still a remarkably good-looking man. But that wasn’t what riveted her-instead, it was the naked vulnerability she could see on his face that held her captive. She doubted that he was even aware of the expression; he was on the verge of falling asleep, every muscle in his body and face going limp as his exhaustion overtook him.
Cleo stayed awhile longer, watching him, enjoying the silence and knowing that despite the closeness they’d experienced tonight, tomorrow would see them back in their respective corners, facing off in the endless battlefield that was their relationship.
She waited until she was certain he was asleep, then stumbled to her own room and crawled into bed after taking off the least amount of clothes necessary for her to be comfortable. And then she fell into a thankfully dreamless slumber.
“You look awful,” Cleo said with a wince when Dante joined her for breakfast the following morning. “Jeez, does that hurt?”
“Like a sonofabitch,” he grunted, gingerly probing at his swollen eye with his fingers.
“Don’t touch it,” she admonished. “You’ll make it worse.”
“How are you this morning?” he asked, peering at her through his one good eye.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.