Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 21
ISLA
Irecover in silence.
It’s not that I don’t know the answer that I want to give in response to Vincent’s proposal, but between the post-surgery pain and the hospital-issued narcotics, my head is spinning, and I can’t stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. I spend the next few days in and out of consciousness. Every time I open my eyes, I see Vincent there by my side or sitting in the chair at the corner of the room, keeping watch over me. I feel like I’m doing enough sleeping for the both of us, since it seems to be all that I’m doing as I recover, and Vincent seems to have gone back to staying hyper awake and vigilant.
When I’m finally well enough to be discharged and released from the hospital, Vincent is eager to take me back home to his house, where he will dote over me and watch over me like a hawk, I’m sure. I still haven’t given him an answer yet. Even though I’m getting better now, and we’ve spoken about a few other things of lesser importance, I’ve been waiting to answer him because I’ve been thinking about something deeply.
When we get back to the house, I continue to think about it silently in my head, and to my surprise, Vincent doesn’t mention the proposal again, even though I know him well enough to know that it’s driving him crazy not having an answer. He’s giving me space to recover, and probably to make sure that I know what I want before I answer such an important question and give such a permanent commitment.
I’m not trying to string him along or figure out ways that I want to change him if I’m going to marry this man. To the contrary, I’m trying to do some deep soul-searching and figure out how not to change him by marrying Vincent, because despite myself, I love every piece of him—even the damaged pieces.
“I want to dance,” I say to him on a morning several days after I’ve gotten back from the hospital.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” he warns. “You were seriously injured, and your body needs more time to heal. Dancing now might risk setting back your recovery.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I know what my body needs, and it needs to dance. I will take it slow, but I need to move in order to heal. Otherwise, I’ll never get back to being able to dance like I did before.”
I wait for him to argue with me, or to forbid it entirely. I wait for him to remind me I haven’t answered him and that there is a marriage proposal still hanging in the air between us. Instead, Vincent gets up and offers me his arm to walk me to the private theatre at the back of the house.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, handing me my pointe shoes from the floor.
“No, thank you.” I sit and tie the ribbons, then get to my feet and try to stretch. Everything feels stiff and sore, and he’s probably right about it being too soon and about the risks associated with pushing myself too hard.
“If it’s alright with you,” he says in an uncharacteristically non-demanding way. “I’d like to stay and watch, just in case you get hurt or need something.”
I nod because I know the chances of that happening are likely high.
Dancing has always been my therapy, both physical, mental, and even emotional, all wrapped up in one precious thing. In the toughest of times, I’ve turned to dance to heal, and now is no different. But my body has definitely taken a beating, and when I first try to perform even the smallest moves, I’m instantly filled with both pain and frustration.
Vincent can see it on my face.
“You’ll recover, Isla. Your body just needs time. Don’t get discouraged.”
“Easy for you to say,” I huff as I try to ignore my aching body and attempt some smaller, lighter steps.
Vincent and I haven’t spoken about what happened that night at the gala, not at any great length, anyway. We spoke briefly at the hospital before my discharge. I wanted to know about Marco’s funeral arrangements, and whether Vincent’s men had caught the sniper, which they did. I didn’t bother asking what they did to the assassin because I was secretly hoping they made him suffer and pay for Marco’s death. It was then, during those dark thoughts that filled me, that I realized maybe being part of this mafia family wasn’t that foreign of an idea to me at all, and being a mafia wife, didn’t at all sound as crazy as I once might have thought. Especially considering how much I love Vincent.
After those short conversations in the sterile hospital room, I didn’t want to talk about it or even think about that night anymore. There are still many things unresolved, loose ends that remain untied, and I’m sure that at some point, Vincent will deal with them. But for now, all that I want to focus on is dancing and giving my thoughtful answer to Vincent.