My head was pounding, and every time I turned it on the pillow, I wanted to puke and cry at the same time. My skin was on fire, and my eyelids scraped against my eyeballs when I tried to blink.
“It’s not fair,” I mumbled to myself. “If I was going to feel this fucking horrible, I should’ve at least gotten to have some fun first.”
The room was spinning, so I screwed my eyes shut again and tried not to moan. The sound made my head hurt even more, if that was possible. I’d forgotten to close the blinds in my bedroom, and now the sun was streaming in over me, exacerbating the dull thudding inside my brain.
Somehow, I either drifted off to a fitful sleep or passed out. An hour or a day or two weeks passed, and then there was a horrid sound filling my bedroom. I groaned and pulled another pillow over my head. After a minute, the sound stopped . . . only to start up again a few seconds later.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Fuck it.” With my eyes still shut, I groped through the covers until my fingers closed around my ringing, vibrating cell phone. I managed to hit a button to make the sound stop. Dropping the phone next to my pillow, I rolled to my side and prayed for the sweet relief of death.
But apparently, I wasn’t going to get that lucky. The ringing had stopped, but now there was a voice.
“Babe? Amanda? Amanda! Are you there? Can you hear me?”
I opened my eyes a slit, and a sob ripped from my throat. “What? What, what, what?” My voice was a croak.
“Babe, are you okay? You sound . . . funny. Bad funny, not ha ha funny.”
A hot tear leaked from my eye. “No, I’m not okay. I think I’m dying. Let me die, Vincent.”
“Amanda, honey, what’s wrong?” Now there was obvious alarm in his voice.
“I’m sick.” More tears joined the first. “I hurt, and I’m hot and I think I might have to throw up. Also, my throat’s sore and my chest feels tight. I want to die. I want to sleep.”
“Baby.” Vincent sounded slightly distraught. “You’re at home, right? You’re alone?”
I sniffled. “Where else would I be? And of course, I’m alone. I don’t even know what time it is. Or the day of the week.”
“It’s Saturday, babe. That’s why I was calling. You were supposed to come down here today, remember? We were going to spend the day together. I was just calling to see if you left yet.”
“No, I didn’t.” Another wave of tears shook my body. “I’m still here.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He sighed. “Listen, Amanda—don’t do anything, okay? Just stay there in bed. You are in bed, aren’t you?”
“Mmmmmhmmmm.” My eyes were incredibly heavy again, but my stomach was roiling. “I gotta go, Vincent. I think I’m going to hurl, and I have to try to get to the bathroom.”
“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. All right. I’ll try—”
He might have said more, but I couldn’t wait around to hear it. The phone bounced on the bed as I kicked away the covers and half-ran, half-crawled toward the bathroom, where my gut turned itself inside out. When I couldn’t do anything else but gag, I fell onto the cold tile floor and shook until exhaustion took me over yet again.
“Uncle Vince, what’s wrong?” Frankie, my eight-year old niece, stood next to me, one hand on her small hip. “Is your friend coming down here? Are we going to the boardwalk?”
“Ah, sorry, sweetheart. My, um, friend is sick, so she can’t drive all the way down here.” I stared down at the screen of my phone, frowning. Amanda had sounded worse than just a little sick—she’d sounded like shit. The thought of her alone in her big apartment, possibly seriously ill, made my own stomach clench with worry.
When had this happened? When had my life spiraled so that I cared so deeply about whether some woman I’d slept with was down with the flu? But I’d known for a while that Amanda was more to me than just some woman. We’d been—whatever we were—for several months now. In spite of the obvious obstacles like distance and differences, I’d been surprised to realize how much I liked being with her and how easy our relationship was. She wasn’t demanding or petty. She was funny and sexy, and as time went on, I craved our time together a little more every day.
And now, thinking about how weak and helpless she had sounded on the phone, I had to admit that I had more than just the passing concern of a friend. I was anxious to get to her side, to do whatever I could to fix whatever was wrong. I needed to be there to make it better.
I briefly considered trying to call Amanda’s mother, to let her know so that she could get to the city and check on her daughter. But aside from our brief meeting at Ava’s wedding, I didn’t know Mrs. Simmons, and I wasn’t even sure I could get her number unless I somehow got in touch with Giff, who I would assume would be able to help.
On the other hand, the Simmons lived in Trenton, which was nearly as far from the city as I was right now. Rubbing my hand over my jaw, I glanced at Frankie.
“So, sport . . . what do you think about a little road trip?”
I’d been to Amanda’s apartment enough now that the valet and the doorman recognized my car and knew me by name. When I pulled up in front of the large building, Phil the valet was there to open my door.
“Hey there, Mr. DiMartino. How’re you doing? We don’t usually see you this time of day.”
“Hey, Phil. Please, call me Vince.” It was a request I made every time I visited Amanda. “And yeah, this wasn’t exactly a planned visit. Have you seen Amanda today? I think she’s sick. I talked to her earlier, and I was pretty worried. That’s why we drove over.” I pointed into the backseat of my car. “My niece, Frankie, is with me.”
“Awww, nice to meet you, Miss Frankie.” Phil leaned through my door and offered his hand, and Frankie, ever the well-mannered child trained by a strict Italian grandmother, smiled politely.
“I don’t think Ms. Simmons has been out today. Last time I saw her was yesterday afternoon, when she came in from class. Come to think of it, she was dragging a little even then. I hope she’s okay.”
“Yeah.” I opened the door to the backseat to help Frankie climb out and to retrieve a couple of paper grocery bags. “I’m sure she will be.”
“Hey, listen, you need anything—medicine or whatever—you just call down, and we’ll take care of you, okay? I can run to the drugstore, no problem at all.”
I smiled. For a long time, I’d looked on the people who worked in Amanda’s building as shameless suck-ups, and privately, I’d scoffed at the idea of having hired help. But the longer I knew all of them and the more often I visited, I realized that Phil and Rocky genuinely liked Amanda. Along with the rest of the men and women who worked at her building, they were almost like a family. I had to respect that.
Rocky greeted us, and when I explained why we’d come, he expressed the same concern Phil had.
“You know, when she came in yesterday, I thought maybe she looked a little peaked. But then again, on Fridays, she usually tends to be more tired.” He shook his head. “She works too hard, that one.”
“We’ll take care of her.” I gave Rocky a little wave and pointed to the elevator. “Want to hit the button, sport? We need to go up pretty high in this building to check on Amanda.”
The doors slid shut behind us, and I showed Frankie where to push the button for Amanda’s floor. Her eyes went wide as the car whooshed upwards.
“It goes so fast!” She clutched at the polished wooden rail. “It’s much faster than the one at the mall.”
I chuckled. “The elevator at Macy’s only goes up two floors, sport. Amanda lives up on the thirty-fifth level.”
“That’s really, really high up.”
“Yeah, wait’ll you see the view.”
The doors opened, and we stepped out onto the plush carpet of the wide hall. I led Frankie to Amanda’s apartment door.
“Do we knock? Or does she have a doorbell?” Frankie looked around the doorjamb, and I grinned, realizing my niece had never been in this kind of apartment building. She was strictly a small-town kid.
“We don’t have to do either. I have a key.” I dug in my pocket and pulled out my keyring, shaking it until I found the right one.
“Uncle Vince?” Frankie glanced up at me. “Is Amanda—your friend—is she your girlfriend, too?”
“Uh . . . why’re you asking me that?” I unlocked the deadbolt and then slid the key into the knob.
“Because you looked really upset when you were talking to her on the phone, and you have a key to her apartment.” She took on a canny expression, and she looked so much like my mom that I almost shivered.
“You know what, sport? That’s really not your business.” I flicked her on the nose. “Now, be quiet when we go inside. If Amanda’s asleep, we don’t want to wake her up.”
The living room was empty and silent, though I spied a pair of Amanda’s shoes under the coffee table. Seeing the heels there made me smile a little; she was always barefoot inside, and the first thing she did when she got home was to kick off whatever footwear she had on.
“Stay right here, and don’t touch anything.” I pointed to the sofa. “Sit down. I’m going to check on Amanda, and then . . . we’ll see what happens next.”
Frankie nodded, and I saw her gaze sweep around the room, taking it all in. Frankie wasn’t exactly a sheltered kid; she’d been hanging out at Cucina Felice since she was an infant, so she’d heard it all. But her experience was solely within the confines of our small hometown and our extended family. She could chatter in the familiar half-Italian, half-English that we all spoke, but I wasn’t sure she’d ever been to Philadelphia.
Leaving her in the living room, I made my way down the hall toward Amanda’s bedroom, smiling wryly as I remembered the first time I’d been here with her, carrying her to her bed, both of us naked. That was a particularly sweet memory, even notwithstanding the part where I’d tripped over her shoes and almost broken her neck and my dick.
Her bedroom door was partially open, and the room beyond was dark. Having learned my lesson, I picked my way in cautiously. She’d actually gotten a little better about putting things away lately, at least when I came over. I wasn’t sure if that was because she wanted to impress me or I was actually a good influence. I also wasn’t certain which possibility made me more comfortable.
My eyes adjusted to the lack of light slowly. The covers on Amanda’s bed were rumpled, but she wasn’t in them. I pulled them back and smoothed one hand over the pillow, frowning as I looked around the room.
The bathroom door was ajar, and there was a dim light on in there. As I wandered in that direction, I spied one bare foot on the floor, and my heart began to pound.
Amanda was sprawled on the bathroom floor, her eyes closed, one hand extended over her head. For an agonizing, soul-rending moment, I thought she wasn’t breathing . . . and then I saw the slight rise of her chest, and my blood began to flow again.
Thank God. It was all I could think as I dropped to my knees next to her and pressed a hand to her forehead.
She was hot to the touch, her face radiating heat that told me her temperature had to be pretty high. As I stroked her cheek, her eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on me.
“Vincent?” Her voice was low and raspy, and wincing, she tried to cough.
“Shhhh.” I brushed a lock of hair from her face. “You’re burning up, baby. I think you’ve got a fever.”
She blinked. “I’m sick, Vincent. I feel really, seriously horrible.”
“Oh, baby, I know you do.” I glanced down her body. She was wearing yoga pants and a threadbare tank top. I was enough of a perv that I didn’t miss how awesome her boobs looked even now, when the rest of her looked like death warmed over, as my nonna often said.
“Let’s get you into something clean and comfortable, okay?” I snaked one hand under her neck and the other beneath her knees and then stood, cradling Amanda against my chest.
“The pants hurt my stomach. And I threw up so much. My throat hurts and I think I smell bad.”
“I figured you’d be happier with just a big T-shirt or something.” Laying her carefully on the bed, I turned to the huge oak dresser and began opening drawers.
“Second on the left,” Amanda mumbled. “There’s a drawer full of nightgowns. I’ll wear one of those.”
When I found the drawer she was talking about, I gaped down into it. Amanda hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it was full of nighties; there were piles of them, each folded neatly, unworn, with the tags still attached.
“My grandma in England.” She sounded groggy. “Every year, she sends one for Christmas. They’re some kind of specialty cotton, I guess. I don’t wear them, though. Usually I like to just sleep . . . you know. Tees and stuff.”
“Yeah, but I think you’re right. One of these will be perfect for now.” I shook one of them out. “It won’t hit your stomach, and it’ll keep you cool. We need to bring that temp down, and I’m not sure you can handle ibuprofen with the nausea.” I bent to take hold of the hem of her tank. “Arms up.”
“Is this a cheap way to get a look at my boobs?” A brief flash of humor danced through her eyes.
“If that was the case, it would make me a sad, desperate man, honey. Besides, I don’t have to be desperate. You let me see your pretty tits whenever I ask.”
“True.” She was quiet as I dropped the fine white cotton over her head and helped her pull her arms through. I knelt in front of her and rolled off the yoga pants. Balling up both the shirt and pants, I took them into the bathroom and tossed both into her laundry hamper.
“Now you lie down.” I lifted her legs up onto the mattress and tucked the sheet over them. “I’m going to get you something to drink and grab the thermometer so we can see how high that temp is.”
“I don’t have a thermometer.”
“I brought one. Lay still. I’ll be right back.”
When I returned to the living room, Frankie was standing by the window, staring out. “It’s a really long way down there, Uncle Vince.”
“It is, so don’t fall through the window, or Nonna will kill me.” I hoisted the grocery bags. “Come on in the kitchen with me. We’re going to get this chicken soup started, and you can watch it while I take Amanda some ginger ale.”
“Okay.” She followed me into the kitchen, and we began working together in companionable silence. Most kids her age would’ve been a mess in the kitchen, but Frankie knew what she was doing. While I unwrapped the chicken and washed it off, she scrubbed a couple of carrots and snapped them into pieces and then peeled an onion and chopped it into chunks.
“How come we brought your knives? Why can’t we just use Amanda’s?” Her forehead creased into a frown as she snapped off several stalks of celery.
I snorted. “Amanda doesn’t own knives, sport. She doesn’t cook.”
If I’d just told my niece that Amanda had wings and could fly around the globe, she couldn’t have looked more shocked. In Frankie’s experience, everyone cooked. It didn’t matter if you were a man or a woman or what age you were—everyone in our family, everyone we knew, cooked.
“She’s just different than us, sport. She was brought up in a different place, and her mom has an important job. So they ate out a lot.”
“Huh.” Once again, Frankie sounded suspiciously like her namesake, my mom.
I filled the stock pot with water, watching it cascade over the chicken, and set it on the stove top. “Toss those veggies in there, and some salt and pepper, too. I’ll be right back.”
Armed with a tall glass and the brand-new thermometer I’d picked up on our way here, I returned to the bedroom. Amanda hadn’t moved, but she opened her eyes as I approached the bed.
“Thanks. I’m so thirsty.” She raised her hand to take the glass, but I held it out of reach.
“First we take your temperature. If you drink this cold ginger ale, the thermometer won’t give us an accurate reading.”
She sighed. “Fine.” Opening her mouth wide, she stuck out her tongue, and I slid the thermometer beneath it.
Since she couldn’t talk, I tried to talk to fill the silence. “If you hear me talking to someone in the kitchen, don’t worry. I’m not losing my mind. I brought Frankie with me.”
Amanda’s forehead knit together, confusion in her eyes.
“See, that was one reason I was calling you this morning. Ma called me this morning and asked me if Frankie could stay with me this weekend. My uncle is having emergency gallbladder surgery, and that means my mother went to the hospital to sit with his wife—her sister. Since it’s my weekend off, Carl is pulling double duty at the restaurant, and Ange took the baby to see her mother down in Delaware.”
Amanda nodded, wincing a little. I figured her head must’ve been hurting her pretty bad.
“I was going to see if you still wanted to come down. I thought we could take Frankie to the boardwalk, walk around, play the arcade games . . . you know, just hang out. So when I came up here instead, I just brought her along with me. She’s helping me make you some chicken soup.” Checking the time, I reached for the thermometer. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.”
“Can I have a drink now?” She gazed longingly at the glass in my hand.
“Uh huh. Take it slow, though. You don’t want it coming back up.” Squinting at the glass rod in my hand, I frowned. “Yeah, you’ve got a fever, all right. A hundred and two. You’re really sick, honey.”
She sipped the ginger ale. “I know. I feel a little better now that you’re here, but when I first woke up, I just wanted to die.”
“Hmmm. Well, work on keep that ginger ale down. It’ll help you to stay hydrated. And it’s the actual real deal—Ma bottles her own ginger ale, because she swears the stuff you buy in the grocery store will kill you.”
“It’s delicious.” Amanda dropped her head back against the pillows. Her face was pale, and even her lips were nearly colorless.
“Do you think you need to see a doctor?” I was concerned about her temperature. I knew it was burning off the bad stuff, but a fever that high was scary.
“No. There’s a virus going around at school, and three people in my study group had it last week. I guess it’s my turn. But because it’s viral, there’s nothing to do but wait it out.” She looked absolutely miserable as she said it.
“That’s all right.” I patted her hand. “We’re going to take care of you. My chicken soup is better than any medicine a doctor could give you, anyway.”
“Okay.” She handed me back the glass, and I set it on her nightstand before I went into the bathroom and found a clean washcloth. After I ran it under cold water, I wrung it out and folded it, laying it over Amanda’s forehead.
“That should help with the fever and your headache. Now you close your eyes. Try to sleep. I’ll be back in to check on you in a little bit.”
“’kay.” She sighed, and then as I made my way out of her bedroom, she called out. “Vincent.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Thank you. Thank you for coming and for taking care of me and for not letting me die alone here.”
I smiled. “You’re not going to die, baby. Not on my watch. But you’re welcome, anyway. Now get some sleep.”
When I woke up, it was because Vincent was replacing the washcloth on my head with a new, cooler one. I blinked, groggy, trying to figure out what was going on. He smoothed my hair away from my face.
“You’re all right, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m just checking on you.” He pressed his lips to my cheek. “You might be a little cooler, but you’re still feverish.” Sliding one arm beneath my back, he helped me to sit up. “I brought you more ginger ale. Fresh, not watery. Have some of this.”
I sipped it, grateful for the cool liquid sliding down my burning throat. I wanted to gulp it down, but mindful of the last horrendous vomiting session, I took it slow.
“I’d like to give you some ibuprofen and see if you can keep that down. We need something to help your poor head.”
I lay still for a moment, taking inventory. “My stomach doesn’t feel as bad as it did. I think I could handle the meds now.”
“Great. Be right back.”
Since he’d left the drink with me, I continue to sip it, wondering idly how one went about bottling her own ginger ale. I couldn’t begin to guess. I’d known Mrs. DiMartino as Ava’s mom for the last few years, and I’d always considered her a powerhouse woman, a virtual force of nature. She didn’t do anything by half measures. She’d raised four children and was even now bringing up her granddaughter. She worked full-time at the family restaurant, cooked for her family every Sunday and canned her own vegetables, though to be honest, I had no idea what that really involved.
“Hi.” A small dark-haired head peeked around the corner of my bedroom door. “Are you Amanda?”
I tried to muster up a smile, but I was afraid it probably looked more like a grimace. “Yep. And you’re Frankie. I saw you at your aunt Ava’s wedding.”
She nodded. “Uncle Vince said to tell you he’ll be right there with the pills. He was checking on the soup.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure I’d know how to interact with a kid her age on a good day, but when I was already battling just to keep from weeping from feeling so bad? I had nothing.
“I asked my uncle if you were his girlfriend,” she announced abruptly.
“Oh, really?” I closed my eyes. “And what did Uncle Vince have to say about that?”
“He told me to mind my own business.”
If I could’ve managed a laugh, I would’ve, but instead, I just huffed. “That’s one of his favorite things to tell people.”
“But I think you are his girlfriend, because when he was talking to you on the phone and he found out you were sick, he got really upset. Like, worried. Like how Nonna gets when I don’t feel good. And then he said we had to get here quick, and he stopped at the grocery store to get all kinds of stuff for you. So . . . I think he likes you.” She shared this last bit in a lowered voice, as though she was confiding a big secret.
“Ah.” A warm feeling that had nothing to do with my fever flooded my chest, and once again, I wanted to cry. I knew Vincent cared about me, in his way. The more we’d gotten to know each other, the more I’d realized that his gruffness and occasional assholeryness was really a cover for a guy who didn’t like to be caught with his feelings hanging out. I’d listened to him talk about his family, and in unguarded moments, it was clear that while he loved them all fiercely, he also struggled with their expectations for him and what he saw as their inflexibility.
But he didn’t express to me how he felt beyond some mumbled words of affection during sex or teasing me that I was an all right girl now and then. I’d noticed, though, that he held my hand now. He kissed me hello and goodbye, and it was more than just a perfunctory habit. He stroked my hair, touched me often even outside sex and called or texted frequently.
It wasn’t like I was any different. I hadn’t blurted out to Vincent that I was pretty sure I was falling in love with him, probably because I hadn’t let myself think it yet. Now, though, worn down by rampant fever and the throbbing in my head, tears filled my eyes at the thought of Vincent’s worry for me. If his niece was telling me the truth—and why would she not?—he’d been freaked out with concern for my sick self.
“Hey. I told you to deliver the message and scram, sport. If you end up catching whatever crud Amanda has, Nonna will have my head on a platter.” Vincent rounded the doorway, carrying a bottle of ibuprofen. “Go on back and watch the soup. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Okayyyy.” Frankie gave an exaggerated sigh. “Can I start the bread, though? I remember what you told me, and I want to try it. I won’t make a mess.”
Vincent paused and glanced my way. “You trust this hooligan in your kitchen, babe? She’s generally trustworthy.”
I waved my hand. “Have at it. That kitchen’s never seen any action, so it’s good that someone will be cooking in there.”
Frankie grinned. “Can I, then?”
“May I, not can I, and yes, you may. Think about what you’re doing before you do it, and I’ll be right there to check your progress.”
“Thanks!” Frankie disappeared, and I heard her footfalls as she sprinted away.
“She’s adorable.” I tracked Vincent’s progress, walking toward me. “But maybe you’re right—I don’t want her to get sick from me. Or you either. I’m in bed, I’ve got liquids and meds—you should probably go. I’ll be all right now.” Even as I said it, I could hear the wobble in my voice.
“Nah, she’s fine, and so am I. As long as she stays out of the bedroom, she’ll be safe from germs. And I don’t get sick. I’ve got an iron constitution.” He pounded on his chest. “Here, take these pain killers. They’ll help bring down your temp and make your head feel better.”
“All right.” I held out my hand and took the ibuprofen, tossing them into my mouth and swallowing with a small wince of pain.
“Now we need to talk about something much more serious than you being sick.” Vincent sat down on the edge of the mattress and studied me. Trepidation gripped me. What was he going to say?
“What’s that?” I tried to sound pathetic, so he wouldn’t bring up anything I didn’t want to discuss just now.
“What you said to Frankie about your kitchen. It’s never seen any action? Are you serious? Your kitchen rocks, baby. The counters—all that granite—they’re just the right height.”
I frowned. “For what?”
“For you to sit on while I fuck you senseless.” He murmured the words, smirking. “I can’t believe you were telling the truth. Have you never had sex in your kitchen?”
I coughed, covering the fact that I was choking on my ginger ale. “You’re incorrigible, Vincent. Here I am, practically on my death bed, and you’re talking about sex in the kitchen. And your niece is in the other room.”
“First, you’re sick, you’re not on your death bed, baby. But I have to say that even if you were, I’m into you so much that even then, I’d probably want to do you.”
The smile I’d been trying to work up before was now curling my lips. “The things you say, Vincent. You’re positively a poet.”
“That’s me. Also, Frankie is way down in the kitchen. She can’t hear me. And you’re the one who brought up action in the kitchen and cooking in there and all that. So it’s really on you.” He ruffled my hair and stood up. “Try to go back to sleep now. I’ll check on you in a little bit.”
Amanda slept for a few hours. I snuck into her bedroom every twenty minutes or so to make sure she was all right, and about two hours after I’d given her the ibuprofen, I noticed that her hair was sweaty and her face was flushed. When I touched her forehead, she felt a little cooler.
Back in the living room, I took out my phone and called my mother.
“What’s the matter, Vincent? Is it Frankie?”
This was Ma’s normal way of answering any call from her children, so it didn’t even give me pause. “Everyone’s fine, Ma. Frankie’s great. I just wanted to let you know that I’m in Philly. Both of us are.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. “Why are you in the city, Vincent?”
I took a deep breath and plunged in. “Amanda’s sick. Some kind of virus has been going around her study group or whatever, and she’s got it. Fever, vomiting, cough, sore throat, headache . . . anyway, she was here alone, and so I came over to take care of her.” And then I waited.
As much as I often blustered that my parents were predictable, the truth was that they were not. Not always. I knew that there was as much a chance that my mother would go one way as the other. She had a big heart, and her care for people extended beyond her own beloved family.
“Is she all right?” Ma’s voice was quiet. “Amanda. Is she going to be okay? Do you need me to come over there and help?”
I leaned against the wall of the kitchen and sagged a little, more relieved than I’d expected to be. “I think she’s okay. Pretty sure her fever broke just now. I gave her some of your ginger ale and some pain meds, and I’m making her chicken soup. Oh, and Frankie and I are making bread, too.”
“All right. Good.” She paused. “You’re keeping Frankie away from the germs, right?”
“Yeah, I told her to stay in the living room, and she has. Plus, I’m making her wash her hands every time she touches anything.”
“With soap?”
“Of course, with soap, Ma. I’m not an idiot.” I rolled my eyes, safe in the knowledge that my mother was sixty miles away and couldn’t smack the back of my head.
“Didn’t say you were, son. But you’re not used to having a child around all the time, either. So when are you heading back home?”
This was going to be the sticky point. “The thing is, Ma, I don’t think Amanda should be alone overnight. I called her mother, and she’s in New York. She can’t get down here to be with her.”
This time, the pause was longer. “You want to stay there alone? All night?”
“Yeah, I’m going to stay. We are.”
And now she began to fuss. “Vincent, your niece is a child. She’s young and impressionable—”
Irritation bubbled up inside me. “Don’t worry, Ma. When Amanda and I are having all the kinky sex I have planned for tonight, we’ll close the bedroom door and make Frankie wear ear plugs. She’ll never know what’s going on.”
“Vincent Joseph DiMartino—”
“Ma, I’m kidding. What do you think of me? First off, Amanda’s sick. Like, really sick. All she’s going to do is sleep, and all I’m going to do is keep my eye on her. Second, I’m not stupid. I’d never do anything to put Frankie in danger or to expose her to . . . anything that made you uncomfortable. Jesus, Ma. Give me some credit.”
“You stop taking the Lord’s name in vain, and we’ll talk about credit,” she snapped back. “And cut out the smart talk. I know you’re not stupid. It’s just that Frankie is impressionable. I don’t want her thinking it’s okay for a man and woman to sleep in the same bedroom when they’re not married.”
This was not news to me. I knew Ava had been hurt that before she and Liam got married, Ma wouldn’t let Frankie stay at their house with them, no matter how often Ava offered. I wasn’t going to win this battle today.
“I understand. And I’m telling you that Frankie hasn’t seen anything today that would upset you. She’s baked bread. She helped me make soup. And now she’s watching a movie—rated G. She and I will both sleep out in the living room, while Amanda’s in her bedroom. What more could you want?”
The sigh I heard told me that while she wasn’t exactly pleased, Ma wasn’t going to fight me anymore on this. “Fine. You do exactly as you told me, and it’s fine with me. You can’t leave the girl alone when she’s sick.”
“Thanks, Ma. I appreciate it.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Is there anything else I should do to make Amanda feel better? She’s really sick. Her temperature was a hundred and two.”
“You’re making sure she’s drinking a lot? You’re giving her my homemade ginger ale? And you’ve got chicken soup almost ready? Then I’d say you’re doing everything you can. Sleep, liquids, pain killers . . . and time. These things have to run their course.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I felt a little bit better, having my mother validate my methods of care.
“And Vincent, don’t think we’re not going to talk about this when you get home. I knew you had a girl somewhere . . . and I won’t lie, I suspected it might be Amanda. I saw you with her at the wedding. Is this serious?”
My chest tightened as the trap closed around me. “Uh . . . well . . .”
“She’s a nice girl, Vincent. She’s pretty and respectful and friendly. I like her.”
I swallowed. “But?”
“What but? Who’s saying but? I said I like her.”
“Okay, Ma. Whatever. I gotta go. The soup’s almost ready.” I headed for the kitchen.
“Fine. We’ll talk about this more when you get home. You can drop Frankie off on your way—I’ll be home. Uncle Dom is doing well, not that you asked.”
Guilt. Yeah, that was what I needed now. “Sorry. Glad he’s okay. I’ll call you when we head out tomorrow.”
“You do that.” She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her tone was softer. “I love you, son. Be careful.”
“Will do. Love you, too, Ma.”
By that evening, Amanda’s head was feeling somewhat better, and her temperature had dropped to a hundred degrees. She’d kept down some chicken soup, too. I was vigilant about making her take the pain killers every four hours, and she’d drunk endless glasses of ginger ale.
“Is Frankie okay?” She lifted her head from the pillows as I entered her bedroom. “Did you find the extra sheets and pillows?”
I dropped onto the bed and stretched out next to Amanda. “Yep. I made up a bed for her on the sofa, and she’s already asleep. All the cooking and excitement knocked her out, I guess.”
“Mmmm.” She reached over to touch the side of my face. “Did you make up a bed for you, too?”
I shook my head. “No. Not yet. I was thinking maybe I should stay in here with you, in case you need me in the middle of the night.”
Amanda was quiet for a second. “I would love that, but what would your mother say? I don’t want to piss her off. When she knows about . . . us, I mean. Frankie will tell her when she gets home, and your mother might ask where Uncle Vincent spent the night. I care about what your mother thinks of me, Vincent. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with her. I don’t want her to think I’m a big ‘ho.”
I smiled and rolled to my side, resting my head on my hand as I studied the beautiful woman lying next to me. “Ma knows where we are. I called to let her know. She was worried about you, but she said I was doing all the right things.”
Amanda’s eyes widened. “She knows you’re staying over here?”
“She does.” I tapped her nose. “And don’t worry. I’ll be awake and up before Frankie opens her eyes in the morning. But she’s not going to care either way. We’re not in here getting down and dirty. I’m sleeping close to make sure you’re okay. And because . . .” I shrugged. “I want to sleep with you next to me. We don’t get weekends like this often enough for me to throw away the chance to have you close.”
To my astonishment, tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She swiped madly at the drops. “I cry when I’m sick. It’s stupid. But I do. And I really . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I’m so grateful you’re here, Vincent. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come to my rescue. I was kind of scared. I don’t get sick much. But when I do, it freaks me out.”
“Where else would I be?” I gathered her close to me and tucked her face into the crook of my neck, rubbing her back. “I was worried, babe. I couldn’t get here fast enough.”
She snuggled against me, and I noted that although she was still undeniably warm and slightly feverish, she was no longer radiating heat the way she had when I’d first arrived.
“But still . . .” She sighed. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I stilled, waiting for the inevitable wave of panic to sweep over me. Those words would usually send me running in the opposite direction of any woman who dared to speak them. But instead, I felt a sense of rightness, of knowing I was where I was meant to be, holding the woman who had somehow become essential to my life. Tangling my fingers in her hair, I pressed a kiss against her ear.
“There’s no place else I would rather be, babe. And you’re never going to have to find out what you’d do without me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”