The Sicilian Way
By Donna and ABS

Crystal stirred in her sleep and moved her hand onto Sal's belly, making Sal 
flinch. He was sore. Very sore. The dark haired beauty that was sharing his 
bed was sleeping soundly, her head pillowed on his shoulder, but he had not 
closed his eyes all night. 

He had been delighted when she had agreed to stay at La Torretta with him, at least for that night, but that delight soon turned into mortification when 
they went to bed. The horseback ride had made him good and sore already, and it had taken him awhile to *respond* to her charms. And when he had tried to make love to her, the sharp stab of pain that had radiated through his gut had caused his erection to immediately wilt. He had lain beside her for a while, almost doubled over with pain, but too stubborn and proud to ask her to fetch him one of the pills the doctors had given him. Eventually he got enough control to cuddle with her, if nothing else, until she drifted off to sleep. 

Of course, to a Sicilian this was the ultimate sin! Not to perform in bed? 
While she was not actually hostile about it, Sal would not have blamed her if 
she had been. She hadn't been overly maternal, either. She did not suggest 
the pills at all, but instead was confused and a little hurt by the 
*failure*. Was it her fault? No one had ever had that problem before! 
Granted, he seemed to be trying his best, but it hadn't been enough.

She had taken a long time to go off to sleep. She pretended well enough to 
convince him she had gone off, but really she was just lying there thinking. 
What could she do here? Raise horses? Not unless they got up and sang! And 
if she could not make love to him . . . what could she do? 

Eventually they had to answer nature's call. Crystal bounced up right away, 
making a dash for the beautiful marble and tile bathroom that was attached to the bedroom Sal had chosen as his own. Sal tried to rise, but found he could barely move. It felt like he had a knife in his belly. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand, and then to slowly walk across the room. 

Crystal eyed him on her way back. "Maybe you left the hospital too soon, 
Torrie," she said. 

He growled at her and said, "Get me a glass of wine, it's all I need, and 
I'll be fine!" 

She raised an eyebrow, but bit back a reply. Sicilian men did not take 
sickness or injury well. She knew that. So, with a shrug, she went and poured 
him a glass of wine, setting it on the table while she got some bread and 
cheese out for their breakfast. 

She was a surprisingly good housekeeper/cook. Her mother had left the family when Crystal was eleven, and from then on she was lady of the house. But of course, she detested having her childhood taken from her that way, and when she had to be a homemaker she did it as quickly as possible. 

Sal made his way into the bright, sunny kitchen and eased himself down onto a chair, a serious look on his face. "You aren't going to stay, are you, 
Bella?" 

She shrugged, not looking at him as she cut the cheese into large hunks. The 
motion of her swipes told its own story, however. The cuts were swift but 
deep. "I don't think I could do barefoot and pregnant, Tesoro," she 
admitted. 

He nodded and studied the tile floor. "You will always be welcome here," he 
finally said, his voice a little more gruff than normal as he sought to 
control the raging emotions running through his mind. 

"Even when you find a woman to replace me?" she asked. Turning, he could see tears in her eyes. But since she was not actually WEEPING, he could not go to comfort her. "One who knows which end of a horse from another." 

"You are my Bella," he said simply. "There is none other on this whole world 
like you." 

"Well, I won't argue with you there," she sniffed. "I have always been 
unique." She looked at him and sighed as she took a seat at the table. 
"Least I can do is help you get the place livable, then I'll go back to town. 
You want to come with me to get supplies or should I send them back for 
you?" 

"I would love to see your face as often as I can," he said, reaching out and 
placing his hand on top of hers. "Maybe someday I can make up for last 
night." 

"Wasn't your fault," she said sourly. "Hell . . . I shouldn't have pushed 
you." She moved out of his reach, and then stood so it wouldn't be so 
obvious that she was avoiding him. "Will you be okay here on your own? I 
could stay a few more days till you're better . . ." Then she winced, ready 
for the typical Sicilian Male Pride to kick in. 

"I do seem to be moving rather slow," he admitted. "Can you stay one more day at least?" His pride hurt, but at the same time, he didn't want her to leave. 

"Sure," she said, relieved. "This place is a pigsty any way. Look at all 
this dust! Can't expect you to live in it *this* way! I'll have to get 
someone to pick us up some food other than this cheese, though . . ." Now 
that this was settled, she continued talking, so they would not have to stop 
and think about the real question that was in their minds.

What would they do about the next night's sleeping arrangements?