Page 205 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
I didn't watch him go. I turned toward Olivia.
She knelt on the ground, ropes still on her wrists, blood seeping from the cuts, dripping on the floor. A thin line of blood on her neck from the blade. Her lips trembled. Tears in her eyes. But she was smiling.
I knelt before her, used my left hand to work at the ropes on her wrists. The knots were tight. My right hand was useless. Left hand pulled at them slowly.
"You're bleeding," she said, voice shaking. "Your arm—"
"It's nothing."
"Liar. You always say it's nothing—"
Her tears fell. I lowered my head, caught the knot between my teeth, pulled hard. The rope loosened. I yanked it free. Her wrists showed deep red marks, flesh bruised purple.
I held her hands, looking at the marks.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
Her lips trembled. "Ezio—"
"Let's go home," I said, voice rough. "The kids are waiting."
She nodded, gripping my hand. Her hand was cold. But tight.
I stood, helped her up. My arm throbbed. Blood still flowing. Couldn't lift my right arm at all. But I could still stand.
We took two steps.
Then my legs gave out.
Darkness rushed in from all sides like a tide. I heard her screaming my name, voice shrill and unlike her.
"Ezio! Ezio!"
Her face was close, but I couldn't see clearly anymore. Darkness swallowed everything.
Chapter Thirty
Olivia
White ceiling. Disinfectant smell. The beeping of machines.
I woke up in a stiff chair, my neck aching like someone had wrung it. Sunlight squeezed through the gap in the curtains, a thin beam landing on the pale face in the bed.
Ezio lay with his eyes closed, arm wrapped in thick bandages, shallow scratches across his face. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling gently, but his face was ghost-white, like those handsome, bloodless sculptures I'd seen in French museums.
I reached out, my fingers touching his. Ice cold.
"You're awake." Carlo's voice came from behind me, low.
I didn't turn around. "How is he?"
"Lost a lot of blood. Last night was close. He almost..." He paused, didn't finish. "But he's stable now. He's strong. Should recover."
Should.
I hated that word.
