Racing the Sun(101)

“Mia leonessa,” he whispers gently, bringing my hand up to his lips where he places a delicate kiss. “You don’t have to say anything. I said things I did not mean. I lost my temper. I am guilty, very guilty, for putting you aside. I took you for granted but it still pulled on me, every day, that my racing was taking me away from you. I just assumed that you were okay and I should have seen you were not. I should have asked about you more. I should have been there. I was so caught up with proving to myself that I had my life back, I forgot about the very thing that makes this life so sweet. You.” He squeezes my hand, his eyes tired but sad. “Amber, tu sei il grande amore della mia vita. Senza di te, la vita non ha più senso.”

“That sounds beautiful,” I tell him. “But I have no idea what you said.”

He gives me a soft smile. “You are the love of my life. Without you, life has no meaning.” He breathes in deeply, seeming to get choked up. “And it is true. You are my life, my love, my everything. I thank God for bringing you to me, into our lives, and for showing us the way. I was a fool to forget that, even for a second. Amber, I love you far more than I can even say.”

It’s the honesty and sincerity in his words that undoes me. The tears spill down my cheeks. I am unable to contain them and I don’t care. I want him to see them, see how he affects me. My heart beats loudly, alive and happy and free.

“Don’t cry,” he says, coughing, his eyes wet. “Or you will make me cry. I should have to tell the doctor I am in pain if he asks.”

“These are good tears,” I tell him. “Felisa and Lorenzo, her man friend, are here, too. I sent them to their hotel for the night. She’s going to make sure you’re okay. I’m going to make sure the twins are okay.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says adamantly. “The twins are with Signora DiFabbia. They are okay.”

“I know, Felisa spoke to them. They know what happened but they’re being well taken care of. Even so, that’s not her job. It’s my job. I’m going to Capri tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he repeats. “You aren’t going home?”

I gently brush his hair off his face. “How could I go home when I never really wanted to in the first place? You are my home, Derio. And I will go back to Capri and take care of your brother and sister until you are well enough to return to me.”

“And then what?”

“And then we’ll figure it out. But we will do it together.”

He blinks at me, rubbing his dry lips together. “I don’t want you to leave me.” He holds my hand tighter.

“I don’t want to leave you either. But this, finally this, is the right thing to do.” I lean over and kiss him on his forehead, and through all the sterile smells of the hospital, I smell him. Lemons, musk, and his natural woodsy scent. It’s like Capri. It’s like home.

“I want you to know,” he says, his eyes drooping a little, “that I did not do anything reckless. I was very careful while racing. It just . . . happened.”

“I know,” I say. “They said the other racer took the corner too fast and crashed into you. Your extra gear is what saved you, and probably the fact that you weren’t racing erratically. I know you weren’t being reckless.”

He blinks slowly. “But now I don’t know what is best for me, for my future, for our future. Do I give it up again and risk it all?”

“I can’t answer that, Derio. This is your life. Things happen even when you plan well ahead, even when you take all the precautions. Life is dangerous, even without being on a motorbike. Follow your heart and I will support you, no matter what. Your dreams are no less important than anyone else’s.”

He closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to let you rest,” I tell him. “And I’ll be back tomorrow before I leave.”

“Don’t go,” he says as I pull away.

I give him a look. “You know I’m not going anywhere.” I’m about to leave when I remember something.

“Oh,” I say quickly, reaching into my purse and pulling out the cigarette I bummed. “I forgot, I got this for you.” I hand it to him. He takes it from me, examines it, and then snaps it in half between his fingers.

“No, thank you,” he says with a quiet smile. “I think I am going to quit. I hear they are bad for your health.”

“That doesn’t sound very Italian,” I tease him, though of course I’m relieved.

“No,” he admits. “But it does sound like a man who wants to live as long as he can, with the woman he loves by his side.”