“As your husband I do,” he started, but she backed away from him, the tears streaming freely down her flushed cheeks. His heart ached that he made her cry.
“Stop with the macho act because I’m not doing or saying what you want me to.” She paused, seeming to struggle with what she was about to say next. “Our marriage doesn’t work. It doesn’t make sense. You’re in Italy most of the time and I’m…everywhere. We never see each other and when we do, we fight like we’re doing right now.”
Her every word stabbed him, shattering his heart piece by piece.
“I love you, but you want too much from me. Things I can’t give you, and that’s not fair to you, Vince. You deserve a woman who can be there for you no matter what. You’re a wonderful guy. Really you are. It’s my fault that we aren’t working out.”
“No.” He shook his head, his brain refusing to compute what she said. “I disagree.”
“You can disagree all you want,” she said gently. “But I’m determined to make you see that this isn’t working. I want a divorce.”
“Have you contacted a lawyer yet?” If she had, his heart would most definitely explode into a billion tiny bits, never to be put back together again. It would wreck him.
Completely.
“No. But I will.” She lifted her chin, that familiar gesture telling him she meant business.
“I’ll fight you every step of the way.” He glanced around, irritated that they were having this conversation in front of everyone passing by, no privacy whatsoever. Why couldn’t she have agreed to return to his apartment with him? He could’ve talked to her then. Convinced her. Touched her. Made love to her until she was delirious with pleasure and unable to argue with him. Every time he brought her to orgasm, which was quite often, she became agreeable. Beyond agreeable.
“Oh, Vince.” She sounded so sad, so lost. “Fine. Fight me. I’m doing it, though. I’ll contact a lawyer first thing tomorrow.”
She turned on her heel and started to walk away and for a moment, all he could do was watch her. He was in shock. How could she do this to him? Why did she want to end things between them when she never really gave them a chance? He felt like an ass, a failure, less than a man. His brothers would give him endless “we told you so” speeches and his mother and sister would go on and on about how Amber had been the wrong woman for him and they secretly knew it all along.
He couldn’t stand the thought.
Determination pushing him to move, he started to run, dodging the people walking along the sidewalk, his gaze locked on Amber’s familiar blonde head. Her hair was in a ponytail and it bounced with her every angry step. Any other moment and he would’ve smiled at the sight.
Now all he could think about was how she was running away from him, not running to him.
“Amber!” He roared her name and she didn’t so much as turn around. The streets were noisy. A bus sat idling, its rumbly diesel engine loud. Impatient drivers honked their horns, a man nearby had a megaphone he was yelling nonsense into. A typical New York late afternoon would surely drown out his voice.
So he hurried his steps, running toward her, irritation working him into a near frenzy. Ahead the crosswalk was green and she was close to crossing the street. He had to get to her before he lost sight of her. Lord knew she wouldn’t answer his phone calls if he tried to reach her.
This was his last chance.
He shoved by a group of people, ignoring their yelling as he sprinted away from them. The light turned yellow just as he shouted her name again and she paused, turning to look over her shoulder at him.
“Stay right where you are,” he commanded, pointing at her. She threw her arms up in the air in answer, turning to start toward the crosswalk just as the light turned yellow.
Damn it. He knew New Yorkers disregarded the light changes whether they were driving or walking, but his heart skipped a beat at the thought of her barging onto the street without paying attention.
Calling her name again, he watched helplessly as she didn’t slow down, her determined, long-legged stride leading her toward the street. She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze pinned directly on him as she yelled above the noise, “You can’t chase me around this city forever, Vince!”
Amber turned, running out onto the street, directly in the path of an oncoming car.
“Amber, no!” he screamed, but it was too late.
He could do nothing but stare in horrified disbelief as the car struck her, sending her flying up over the windshield to land on the ground. He got to her in a few long, heart-stopping seconds, kneeling beside her limp, lifeless body. Her arm was at a horrific angle, her face scratched and already bruising, a long, horrible gaping gash across her right cheek. He wanted to touch her but feared he could do her more harm than good.
A bystander was already on the phone, calling 911 as Vince bent over Amber, touching her face gently with a trembling hand. “Sweetheart, can you hear me? Amber?”
No response. She lay on the ground, lips parted, eyes closed, her clothes askew, her body limp and scratched and bleeding.
She looked…
“God, no! Someone, please, help my wife!”
Chapter Four
Vince leapt from his chair at first sight of the doctor, practically running toward him on watery legs. He’d remained in the waiting room alone for hours, refusing his sister’s offer for her to come down and sit with him.
He didn’t think he could stand her uncomfortable chitchat. She only wanted to give reassurance, but listening to Stasia drone on about nothing wasn’t his idea of comfort.
Being alone with his racing, guilty thoughts hadn’t been a real comfort either, but it was all he had.
“How is she?” he asked the doctor, his gaze snagging on the man’s name stitched in blue on his white jacket. “Dr. Gilmore, is my wife all right?”
The pure, overwhelming panic he’d felt when he first saw Amber crumpled on the street, blood streaming from her face, all came back to him in a rush. For one heart-stopping moment, he’d thought she was dead.
Thank Christ that hadn’t been true. He’d said about a thousand prayers since that moment, all of them of him wishing for one thing only.
Please God, make sure my wife is okay.
The grim look on Dr. Gilmore’s face didn’t ease Vince’s overactive worries. “Your wife has extensive damage to her head, face and shoulders. She broke her right arm so badly we had to operate on it immediately. We might have to perform another surgery before she’s released.”
Hearing the word “released” was such a relief Vince almost collapsed onto the ground. “Thank God. That I can handle.”
“But, Mr. Renaldi.” The doctor reached out and grabbed Vince around the elbow, steadying him. He hadn’t realized he’d been swaying on his feet. “Your wife…she is in a coma.”
Vince frowned, unable to understand what the doctor just said. “A coma?”
Gilmore nodded. “At first we believed her simply unconscious. We operated on her arm, which we put her under anesthesia for, but she hasn’t come to yet. All signs point at a coma. I’m sorry.”
He was sorry. Vince’s entire world exploded at those simple words and all the doctor could say was “I’m sorry”.
“Did the anesthesia do this to her?” Vince asked tightly.
“No.” The doctor shook his head. “Her head injuries are worse than we thought. Or so we believe they are. We’ll know more once she comes out of the coma. We’ll perform tests.”
“What if she…” Vince paused, choking on the words. “What if she—never comes out of the coma?”
Gilmore’s eyes dimmed. “That’s something we’ll have to discuss if it indeed happens.”
Vince’s mind spun. What if it happened? What if Amber never woke up? If he never saw her pretty, laughing face, never kissed those lips, never heard that sweet voice whispering she loved him ever again…
He didn’t know what he would do.
“Thank you, Doctor,” V
ince said, his voice wooden, his emotions in turmoil. He stepped back, letting the doctor escape, and he watched as Gilmore left, his soft-soled shoes squeaking against the shiny surface of the floor as he sped away. On to save another life, Vince supposed. Or devastate another family with horrific news.
He fell into a chair without thought, staring out the window at the night sky, the lights that still dotted the multitude of buildings spread out before him. His wife could end up in a coma for the rest of her life, and what then? What would he do then?
It was all his fault. He’d yelled at her, argued with her and made her angry. She’d run away from him. She’d been trying to escape him because of his stupid threats. Look where they had gotten him. Look where they had gotten her.
“Mr. Renaldi?”
He turned his head to find a petite nurse dressed in rose-colored scrubs standing before him, her short dark hair gleaming under the lights. “Yes?” he asked hoarsely.
“If you’d like to see your wife, she’s in the ICU.”
See his wife. Yes, he would very much like to see his wife. “Thank you.”
The nurse gave him quick directions and he walked slowly down the hallway, fear making his steps feel heavy. He wanted to see Amber. He needed to see her. But what if…
What if he didn’t like what he found?
And by that what if she looked terrible and had every tube possible stuck in her? And what if she looked damaged beyond repair? He knew the guilt would be worse. So much worse. He didn’t think he could handle that.
Amber probably can’t handle lying there in so much fucking pain her brain pushed her into a coma, so who are you to feel sorry for yourself?
Lifting his chin, Vince picked up his pace, the self-pep talk urging him on. He was being a pitiful, weak mess when right now, he was the one who needed to be strong. Not only for himself, but for Amber and for her family.
He’d called her mother practically the moment it happened, trying his best to be calm while Amber’s mom, Barbara, fell completely apart. They lived in Oregon, a world away from New York, and she’d been frantic, hysterical, as she asked if she should hop on a plane and come be with her daughter. Vince didn’t want to deal with a hysterical woman he barely knew and had reassured her it wasn’t necessary, but now…he wasn’t so sure. Shouldn’t her parents be by her side? He might’ve made the wrong choice.
Amber was close to them and had always felt this heavy sense of obligation toward them. She took care of the entire Hall family even though both of her parents worked—or at least tried to, considering her father’s stints in and out of rehab. There was no money there. None. He didn’t understand, considering that Amber sent the majority of her income to her mother, but she never divulged a real reason why the money went so quickly. He didn’t understand it.
One of the many secrets his wife kept from him that drove him crazy.
He entered the ICU and questioned the nurse behind the desk where Amber was and she gave him directions. When he came to the room, he stopped, peering into the open door. A nurse was there, moving about the room, so he crept carefully inside, the beeping of the monitor low in the otherwise silent room.
As soon as she was out of trouble, he would demand his wife have a private room. For now, this would have to do. The bed was against the center of the wall and Amber lay there, covered in a snow white blanket, her hair a blonde, still-matted-with-blood, halo around her head, spread all over the pillow. A bandage was wound around her forehead and stretched across her right cheek.
The gash, the one that had made her face so bloody. He hadn’t even asked the doctor about it, but he remembered it was deep.
Career-threatening deep, possibly.
Vince went to her, pausing at the side of the bed. He was on her left side, which was best because her right arm was casted from her knuckles to above her elbow. A tube was in her mouth, there were bruises on her face, and he grabbed hold of the chair that sat against the wall near him, pulling it close so he could topple into it before he collapsed.
God. He’d done this to her. She looked so small, so fragile and damaged. He hated this. What he’d done. His carelessness, the stupid fight they’d gotten into. He both loved and hated her independent spirit, the one that believed she needed to take care of everyone and no one could ever take care of her.
She needed to be taken care of right now, though. Oh, how she would hate this. Knowing that she lay in a hospital bed, in a coma and helpless, unable to do anything, not even move.
“You will come back to me,” he murmured, grabbing hold of her cool, dry hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You must, Amber. Your life is not finished yet. You have a lot of living to do. We have a lot of living to do. Don’t give up on me now.”
Not a word, not a sound came out of her in answer. She just lay there, cold and quiet and still.
Vince bent his head and wept.
Chapter Five
There was a brief time when Amber wanted nothing to do with men or relationships or even dating. After casually dating plenty of gorgeous—and emotionally unavailable—men she’d met while working, she finally swore no more. She’d been too busy working. Working, working, working. Traveling all over the world, trying to make it, trying to be somebody, and she had so desperately wanted someone to sit up and take notice of her. A fashion editor, a photographer, a makeup artist, a publisher—she wanted to be a muse like the modeling greats of the nineties. Those girls had it all. Style and covers and media attention and the most gorgeous men fighting over them, whereas models nowadays weren’t as much of a celebrity as they were then.
She’d wanted all of that and more. It’s why she gave up dating and decided she needed to focus on her career. In a short time, she drew serious notice. Gathered important contracts, was hired for top tier shoots. And then she met Vincenzo Renaldi.
It felt like a dream, her memories of that first meeting. All golden light and perfection, as if the clouds had parted and a direct beam of sunlight had shone upon Vince at a particular moment in time, helping her notice him standing there in a crowd at an industry party. Just another one like usual, she’d been to what felt like hundreds of them but that one, that night had been different.
Vince had stood there in the center of the crowd, drink clutched in his hand, a sensual curve to his full lips. He’d been so handsome, so dark and sexy. His magnetism had drawn her to him without a word. She’d simply walked up to him and stopped, holding out her hand like they were business associates introducing themselves to each other.
“I’m Amber,” she’d said and his smile had grown, slow and sure and making her entire body quake with need.
“Vince,” he’d said, taking her hand and not shaking it at all. No, he’d brought it to his lips and pressed the lightest, sweetest kiss to her knuckles. A simple kiss she’d felt all the way down to her core.
Stupid. Exhilarating. Exciting.
“Have we met before?” she’d asked, squinting at him. That could be the only answer she had for the undeniable pull she felt toward him.
“I would remember.” He hadn’t let go of her hand. In fact, he’d pulled her in like a fish on a hook, until she was so close to him, his mouth was at her ear. She felt his lips brush her skin as he spoke and she shivered. “And don’t you think you would remember me?”
His confidence had been her weakness. Yes, she would’ve remembered. And no, she knew she’d never met him before, but what else could she say? Her body felt like it was on fire just being in his presence. Her panties had grown wet when his lips were on her skin. She wanted more. She’d wanted him.
So she had him. That very night. Loud, passionate sex at his hotel room, his hard, sweaty body above hers as he pushed himself inside her again and again and again.
They hadn’t been apart. No, they were in the honeymoon stage. She had the most gorgeous, most loving, smartest husband in the whole wide world, and she couldn’t wait to see him.
So where was he?
Ch
apter Six
Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. Everything fuzzy and muffled, as if she was conscious but not…quite…yet.
She’d had the strangest dream. No, not quite a dream—it had felt so real. Like she’d gone back to when she and Vince first met. What a wonderful time that had been. She’d felt young and carefree and so madly, desperately in love.
Now she felt strange. Confused.
Amber heard voices. Voices that talked about her. Or at least she thought they were talking about her.
“Her vitals are stable. Though no one knows the extent of the damage to her head or brain…”
The man with the deep, soothing voice sounded like a doctor. Yes, and the beeping noises, the hushed quality of the room, maybe she was in a hospital? And they were talking about…
Her?
“I need to know exactly when my wife is going to wake up, Doctor. It’s been two days.” Vince’s voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. He sounded angry, frustrated, scared. Her heart ached at the sound and she wished she could say something to reassure him.
I’m all right. I’m fine. I can hear you. I love you.
She did. Her heart felt ready to burst with love for him. What happened to her? He sounded so worried. She couldn’t imagine how scared she would be if something horrible happened to him.
“Mrs. Renaldi is in a coma, sir. We don’t know how long it will last. You know this.” The doctor sounded just as frustrated as her husband. She could understand why. When Vince wanted something, he expected it to magically happen at his command. She loved that about him. His sheer determination, his belief that he could do whatever it took to make his wants and wishes—and hers—come true.
Trying her best to lift herself out of the fog, she strained against the binds that seemed to hold her back. Her lids felt like there were two-ton bricks resting on each of them, making it impossible to open her eyes. Her entire body ached, as did her head and she curled the fingers of her right hand, her fingertips brushing against…plaster?
Falling for Her Husband: The Renaldis, Book 3 Page 3