She looks... fuck.
She looks incredible.
"Bruno?" Her smile fades. "Is something wrong?"
I force my gaze back to her face. Force my expression into something neutral.
"We need to talk before we go down."
She tilts her head. "About what?"
"The guests." I grip my armrests, grounding myself. "They're going to ask questions. About us. How we met, how long we've been together."
"Ah." She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. The movement pushes her breasts up slightly. I look away. "And what should I tell them?"
"Eighteen months." The number comes out rough. "We've been together eighteen months."
"Eighteen months." She repeats it slowly, testing the words. "Why eighteen months?"
"Because you're too young for anything longer." I meet her eyes. "And I was too busy being in a coma for the six months before that."
The words hang in the air between us.
Antonella's expression shifts. The playful smile disappears.
"A coma," she says quietly. "I didn't know."
"No one told you that either?"
"No." She shakes her head. "They told me nothing. Just that you were... that you had an accident."
An accident. That's one way to describe being shot.
I don't say any of this.
"Eighteen months," I repeat instead. "That's the story. We met through family connections. Started seeing each other quietly. Decided to make it official."
Antonella is quiet for a moment. Her green eyes study my face with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Then she tilts her head.
"A coma," she says again. "For six months."
"Yes."
"Did it feel like sleeping?" She kneels her head, thinking. A small crease forms between her brows. "Like you rested for your entire life?"
The question catches me off guard.
I stare at her.
No one has ever asked me that.
A sound escapes my throat.
It takes me a moment to realize I'm laughing.
The sound is rusty, unfamiliar. I haven't laughed in... I don't know how long. Months. Maybe years. The muscles in my face feel strange, like they've forgotten how to form this expression.