26. Chapter Twenty-Six

There aren't many times in my life I remember being embarrassed. I've never had a reason to. I've never put myself in positions or around people to be embarrassed by. I was home-schooled. Hung out with my father's friends' kids now and again, but I never got close with anyone. I'm not sure I know what true embarrassment feels like.

Not until now. Right at this moment.

As I lie in the shower, naked and bleeding heavily from my period, all in front of Enzo.

I don't need to look or feel to know he took my tampon out. I can tell by the amount of blood running through the water.

God, I am mortified!

I've always had heavy periods. I get exhausted, forget to eat, and sometimes pass out. The first time it happened, I was sent to the hospital. Second time too. Every time after that, maybe another two or three, I handled it myself. I made sure to eat enough, even if I didn't want to, used pads more than tampons, and always let Jeanette know so she could check on me. I'm not thinking clearly now that I'm here, which is how it got so bad.

I want to scream at Enzo, but I don't have the energy. He's standing outside the shower doors, staring at me like I'm a helpless little animal caught in the rain, starved and homeless. Staring down at me like he could take away all my pain if only I give in, but I'm not giving into him. Fuck him. Fuck him so damn hard.

"There's a doctor coming to see you."

"I don't need a doctor," I ground out.

"You were unconscious and bleeding more than you should."

"What do you know about how much I should be bleeding?"

"Enough," he answers, running a hand through his dripping wet hair.

His clothes are soaked, sticking to him like a second skin—everywhere. It's distracting. So distracting I find myself staring at the outline of his dick for far too long. There's a puddle forming beneath his socked feet, and I realize something. Something that has my stomach hurting in a different way.

Enzo panicked. He jumped into the shower with all his clothes on. The only things he had time to get off were his shoes, jacket, and tie. Enzo didn't care he would ruin his clothes. Because they're definitely ruined if the giant blood stain on his pants is any indication—and more of a reason for me to be embarrassed. He panicked because he thought I was dying?

No, he probably didn't want to wash his money down the drain. After all, he did pay for me. Still, the ache in the pit of my stomach has me wondering if that's true.

"I don't need a doctor. I need you to get out."

He doesn't answer me. Just stands there and keeps staring at me like I'm going to turn to ash and be swept away with the water.

Does he think I'm a helpless animal? Like I'm a little canary in a cage for him to gawk at when he's bored?

"Too bad. He's on his way, and you will let him see you."

"You can't make me."

"How much do you want to bet?" he asks, his tone much darker than before.

There's no question in my mind. He'll make me see this doctor. I wouldn't put it past him to chain me to the damn bed.

I shake my head, close my eyes, and focus on the warm water raining down on me. My stomach cramps again and I curl into myself. I swear I hear a growl from Enzo but can't be entirely sure over the spray of water and pain.

"Boss!" someone calls from the other room.

Enzo keeps his eyes on me for a moment longer, before stepping back enough he can look out the door. The voice says something else, but I can't make out what. Enzo nods.

"She'll be out in a moment," he calls back. "Doctor is here."

"Jesus, that was fast."

"He comes when he's called."

He pulls a towel from the cabinet and steps into the shower to shut the water off. He crouches in front of me and wraps the towel around me. It's uncomfortably intimate, and I hate that whatever anger and embarrassment I had is slowly fading, and instead turning into vulnerability.

I wish I was home, in my own room, bleeding in my own shower.

With my father.

The man who lied?

The man who sold you to save his own ass?

Yeah, my internal voice has been a real bitch since I got my period. It's like she has PMS times ten.

She isn't wrong though…

"Can you walk?" Enzo asks.

I hate how soft his words are. How kind and sweet they are. I hate how badly I want to say, yes, I can, but I'd rather you carry me. I hate that the thought of him holding me makes me feel better because this entire situation sucks, and I have no one. No one.

I don't answer, I just hold the towel to me and push myself to stand. He keeps a hand on me, and I want to push it off, but I don't. It's comforting, and I allow myself to have it. Just now. Just this once. He grabs another towel from the shelf, unfolds it, and dries my hair. I should dry myself off, clean up the mess. There's probably a puddle of bloody water at my feet, but I can't find it in me to care.

Turns out I don't have to because Enzo does it for me. I don't stop him. I think I've felt all the embarrassment I can feel for the day, so I let him do his thing, ignoring how careful and gentle he is. How thorough. How it seems like he cares about me.

When he's done, I make my way to the bedroom and halt at the scene. There is blood all over the bed. Bloody clothes on the floor and—Christ, that's my tampon.

"Sit," Enzo says, all of his kindness gone. Back in place is his dark mask.

So, that's how it's going to be, huh? Sweet in private. Ruthless in public. What a way to treat your wife-to-be.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter, standing beside the bed. I don't want to sit and make it worse.

He goes to my drawers, almost like he knows exactly where everything is, pulls out a t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and underwear. He places them on the edge of the bed, far away from the bloodstain—which he covers with the bath towel—goes into the bathroom, returning with a pad.

Okay, this is humiliating.

When he starts to open it, I snatch it from his hand. He stares at me like I've insulted him.

"I can do it," I growl.

"What is your issue with accepting help?" he asks, frowning.

"This is weird," I answer. "It's private."

"Your menstrual cycle, something most women on the planet handle each and every month, one of the most feminine things your body does, is weird and private?" he asks, and I don't miss his point. I get it. I understand it. But I stand by what I said.

"Yes," I snap.

He nods carefully. "I'll be talking to the doctor. You have two minutes to get ready."

Once he leaves, I get dressed and clean up the room. I gather my clothes from the floor and when I'm tossing them into the bathroom, I ignore the red all over the shower floor, grab a bunch of toilet paper to get the tampon and throw it away.

Enzo doesn't knock when he comes back in. He steps inside, makes sure I'm ready, and opens it all the way for the doctor to come in.

He's an old man. Somewhere in his seventies, if I had to guess. Horseshoe white hair, thick black-framed glasses, and a brown suit that looks like it's from the 70s. He carries a black leather bag and a frown that seems permanent.

"All right, Miss Delise. Tell me what happened."

I'm not surprised he knows my name. Bet he knows my entire history.

"I guess I passed out." It isn't hard to make the assumption about what happened. Enzo found me passed out. Called the doctor. Carried me in here.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"I don't know. Yesterday?"

He nods, opens his bag to pull out his stethoscope and puts the buds into his ears.

"When did your period start?"

"Also yesterday."

"Is it usually so heavy?"

"Most months, yes."

"You've fainted during your menstrual cycle before?"

"A few times, but mostly because I get awful cramps and so nauseous I don't want to eat."

"Do you take medication for it?"

"Nothing I've ever found helps."

"A doctor hasn't given you anything?"

I shake my head.

He nods, listening to my heart and lungs. He takes my temperature, checks my pulse, and asks a few more questions. Then he writes something on his prescription pad, tears it off, and instead of handing it to me, like he should, he gives it to Enzo, who hands it to whichever ass kisser is up his ass this hour.

I've seen this one around too, just not as often as the other one—Antoino. Who I hope is okay and doesn't have permanent damage to his eyes. Kinda feel bad about that as I sit here, calm.

"I've written you a prescription for some pain meds that will help with the cramps and also medication to help with the nausea and increase your appetite. Only take them during this time of the month, as needed."

"Thank you," I mutter.

He shares a few quiet words with Enzo, and a few minutes later, the ass-kisser is leading him out the door.

Enzo stares at me for a long moment before moving in front of me. I don't know how he isn't freezing in those wet clothes with the air conditioner blasting. Even in my clothes I'm cold.

"We're going to get something to eat while the room gets cleaned up, and it's in your best interest to not argue with me about it." He's demanding me again, but at least his words are nicer.

"Considering this was the worst experience of my life, I'll gladly get some food." I move toward the door.

"The worst?" he questions, a hint of humor in his voice.

"Don't start with me, Enzo. Women have gotten off for murdering someone during their period."

He chuckles. "I'd like to see you try, angel."