Page 54 of Thin Lives

Calisto wouldn’t allow her one.

She had all the answers. Somehow, he just knew she did. God knew he was owed an explanation. Whatever he had been up to—whatever they had been up to before his accident and amnesia—Emma had the answers he craved.

He intended to get them from her.

Every last one of them.

Calisto found that much of the rest of the Donati home was in the same condition as the front hall. Empty, dark, and lonely. It was almost like he could hear the loneliness ringing through the halls and bouncing off the walls. Or maybe … just maybe … that was his own mood reflecting the darkness surrounding him.

He wasn’t really sure.

Upstairs, Calisto found a single door open down the hallway that housed the master bedroom, other rooms for guests, and several bathrooms. The door belonged to the master bedroom. A small stream of color filtered out through the opened doorway, but it wasn’t enough to say the bedroom light was on.

It was only strange because there was no noise. Given it was ten o’clock at night, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think Emma was sleeping. Calisto didn’t know many people who slept with lights on, no matter how dim the light was.

If she was sleeping, he hoped she wouldn’t be too pissed off at his presence. He was aware of the fact she was supposed to be on bedrest, and that stress wasn’t good for her pregnancy.

Emma hadn’t given him a choice.

Her, not him.

Yeah, that’s what Calisto was going to keep telling himself. He refused to feed into the strange curiosity he had about Emma Donati. It had been building from the moment he’d first seen her face after he’d awakened. He wouldn’t admit that for longer than he cared to admit, he thought there was more behind her false smile, polite words, and the distance she put between her and him—that there might be more to them.

He couldn’t.

Except … he was feeding into it.

Calisto just wasn’t sure what it was.

But tonight he was going to find out.

Whether she wanted to tell him or not.

Calisto stood in the doorway of the master bedroom and looked around. The bed was made—sheets pulled perfectly flat and looking untouched. The large chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling was in fact turned off, but a stream of light came from the small crack of an opening in the door across the room leading to what he knew was one of two walk-in closets. The one that belonged to Emma.

The lump of clothing in the middle of the bedroom floor caught his eye as he took a few steps into the room. He recognized the article immediately as the dress Emma had been wearing at the funeral. The bloodstained, silk dress looked as though it had practically been ripped off, what with the way the silk was crumpled and snagged.

Calisto stepped over the dress, concern compounding in his heart. Maybe he had made the wrong choice by sending Emma home alone. She hadn’t seemed all too distressed at the hospital, but it was possible that she was better at hiding her inner turmoil than Calisto really knew.

Crossing the rest of the space, Calisto hesitated at the slightly open door to the walk-in closet. He wasn’t exactly sure what had made him pause, but his hand froze around the doorknob just before he pushed the door open.

Then, he heard the softest murmur inside the small room.

“It’s okay, bambino,” he heard murmured.

Emma.

Calisto pushed the door open just enough to get a view inside. He found Emma sitting in the middle of the walk-in closet on a round, white leather bench seat. Bare foot and wearing nothing but a short, silk chemise, her head was tilted down and her attention was on her rounded stomach. Her hands slid over the swell in a rhythmic fashion as she sighed. At her feet, her little dog slept.

Emma shifted on the seat, wincing slightly.

Calisto wondered if she was uncomfortable, or worse, in some kind of pain.

Her next words explained her discomfort a bit.

“I know, you’re running out of room, huh?” she asked the unborn baby softly. “Mamma’s sorry, sweet boy. Just a little while longer.”

Calisto knew he was intruding on a private moment that he had no right to witness. This wasn’t his place, or his space. This woman wasn’t his wife, and she wasn’t carrying his child.