“You can’t help me.”
He was already crouched down in front of her, his hands hooking into the waistband of her panties. His eyes met hers and once again, her stomach did a peculiar flip. “Someone has to, and I’m all you’ve got. I like helping you, Grace. It’s a privilege. This is just part of life. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.”
“It isn’t very sexy,” she groused before she could stop herself. If she’d had any choice at all she would have insisted on doing it herself, but she knew she’d fall on her face. She had to lie down as soon as possible and she just wanted this over.
He slid her panties down, and then stood to help her sit. “There isn’t much about you that isn’t sexy, bella, but I understand what you’re saying.” He walked away from her, leaving her in the room with the toilet, but with the door open. The rest of the bathroom was enormous, so much so that she was fairly certain her entire apartment could fit into it. She’d glimpsed a double sink, all gleaming marble with gold faucets.
She didn’t have any choice. If she’d been thinking about it, she would have protested coming to his home, but she was just so grateful someone else had taken over and she didn’t have to think too much about anything. This was a huge lesson. She tried not to cry, because she knew it had been a long, terrible day with the revelations about Haydon and the things he’d done. The fact that he was crawling around in the hospital vents, which she knew might happen, made her uneasy for Vittorio’s family. If Haydon could get into the hospital, why couldn’t he get into their homes?
She managed to stand unsteadily, swaying, feeling as if she might fall over at any moment, but wiping was disastrous until she figured out how to tuck her skirt under her arm while she took care of business. How did people do this when they didn’t have help? If she’d gone home to her apartment, she would have been in a real mess. She needed to be grateful, not worried about her dignity.
“You ready, il mia gattina?”
“Yes. I just have to wash my hands. Hand. Whatever.”
“You look exhausted. I’m sorry it was such a long drive. I was afraid if I took you in the helicopter it would be too jarring when it set down.”
“You have a helicopter?”
“Yes, of course. I have to get places fast at times. We all have one close for transport.” He lifted her and carried her through to the twin sinks, so she could wash her hand. The other was cuffed out of the way, holding her arm stable. She knew he couldn’t fail to feel her body trembling. Every movement was jarring now, no matter how careful and smooth he was. She clenched her teeth together to keep from making a sound.
“Don’t do that, Grace. When you’re hurting, you need to tell me. I’d like you to make an effort to share what you’re feeling, good or bad, with me. I’ll do the same. If we’re honest with each other in our communication this will work for us.” He set her on the bed and went down on one knee to remove her shoes.
“I’d be the biggest whiner in the history of mankind.”
“To tell me the honest truth about what you need?” His eyes met hers. “I don’t think so. I think that’s called communication. I’m asking you to try. For me. That’s what I need from you. Honesty.”
“I thought you’d have staff, a housekeeper, someone who would do this while you worked.” Tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead and trickled down her chest. She wanted to close her eyes and just go to sleep, but the pain was swamping her to the point there was a roaring in her ears and chaos beginning in her mind.
“Would you prefer them to me?”
There it was was again, that hurt in his eyes. Maybe hurt. Something. Sadness. That was it. She detested that look. He shouldn’t ever feel unhappy. It was more than unhappy. Desolate, as if he was completely alone and she’d taken his last joy from him. It wasn’t the truth anyway. Of course she would prefer him to help her. If it meant so much to him, who cared about her dignity? What was she thinking? That he’d find her sexy and want to spend the rest of his life with her? Now she was believing the fiancé lie.
She took a breath and shook her head. “No, Vittorio. I just hate to be a bother to you. I’m certain you have more important things to do than to carry me to the bathroom.” She tried to make her statement sound a little humorous, but her voice was too strained.