“Enough to where she won’t need the phlebotomies?” Gio asked.
“No. Phlebotomies are going to be needed.”
Emma felt a little more grounded with the information. “One more question.”
“Go.”
“Genetics . . . does this mean my brothers could have this, too?”
Dr. Andrews nodded. “Absolutely. But just because you have it doesn’t mean your brothers will. There are a lot of factors. Your parents are likely carriers of the mutated gene, or could possibly be suffering with this without knowing.”
“My parents are in their early sixties.”
“Symptoms of this are often ignored until the organs the iron deposits in are affected.”
“The liver,” Gio said.
“Yes. Joints, liver, head, heart . . . This often goes undiagnosed until it’s too late. Are your parents healthy?”
“Yes. So are my brothers.”
“Everyone should be tested before major damage can set in.”
“According to my bloodwork, my liver isn’t a hundred percent happy.”
“Not a hundred percent, but not awful either. Is your liver involved? Probably. Is it too late?” Dr. Andrews shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t want to give you false hope, but I don’t want you working yourself up on something you couldn’t have done anything about.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” She studied Emma’s chart. “How much do you drink?” Dr. Andrews looked between the two of them.
The doctor spent some time talking about the dangers of excessive drinking and moderation . . . and abstaining until the liver doctor had all the test results he needed.
Emma pointed a finger at Gio. “He can taste the wine.”
The doctor smiled, her shoulders relaxed. “You’re an adult. As long as you’re not playing drinking games, you should be fine. My patients with this who don’t have liver disease drink in moderation.”
“Okay.” I can do this, Emma chanted in her head.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Great. Stay here so we can get some more bloodwork.” Dr. Andrews walked out of the room.
Giovanni turned to her the moment they were alone. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Numb . . . It’s a lot to take in.”
“I like your doctor.”
“I do, too.”
Gio offered a smile. “No more wine tasting challenges.”
That made her chuckle. “Those weren’t really games.”
“Ehh . . .”
“Okay, maybe they were.”
Gio leaned over and kissed her briefly. “We’ve got this, cara.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The morning air stirred from the open window in the primary bedroom.
Gio pulled in a deep breath and reached a hand over to Emma’s side of the bed.
He moved it a couple of times and opened his eyes.
She wasn’t there.
The light from outside spread a soft glow into the room, telling him the sun was barely over the horizon. The clock on the side of the bed confirmed the early hour.
He kicked off the sheet covering his body and reached for a pair of lounge pants he had sitting on a chair in the room before searching for Emma.
“Emma?”
The kitchen and great room were empty.
A fresh pot of coffee and a clean cup sat beside it.
Gio smiled and helped himself.
With a cup in hand, he looked out the front door, found the porch empty. He then decided to look in the back by the pool.
Emma sat curled in a chair, her gaze off in the distance.
A light bathrobe covered one shoulder, the other draped to the side, displaying a tiny string that held on a nightgown Gio was getting used to seeing her in.
“There you are,” he said softly to get her attention.
Emma slowly turned her head and smiled over her shoulder in his direction. “Did I wake you?”
He walked close, set his cup beside hers on a table, and kissed the top of her head. “No. Not at all. How long have you been out here?”
She looked into her cup.
It was empty. “Before the sun rose.”
Gio took the chair beside her and brought the first sip of java to his lips. “Did you sleep better last night?”
“A little, I think. Better with you here.”
What man didn’t like hearing that?
“Bad dreams?”
She shook her head. “No. I wake up and for the first few seconds I feel normal. Like nothing is going on . . . then I remember. If I lie in bed even half-awake, my head starts spinning with all the possibilities and worry.”
Gio hated the sadness on her face. “What can I do? We’re not going to have any more answers for a while.”
She tried to smile. “I think I need to keep busy. There’s so much to do here. Maybe if I exhaust myself, I will sleep through the night.”
Gio took a sip of his coffee, handed it to her since hers was empty. “Where do you want to start?”
“The cellar. There’s years of crap built up in there.” Emma sipped the coffee, handed it back.
“Okay, then. Let’s make some breakfast and get to it.” Gio stood.
“I’m not that hungry.”
He reached for her hand. “It wasn’t a suggestion,” he teased.
Emma rolled her eyes, a tiny smile on her lips, and let him help her to her feet.
An hour, and one breakfast, later, they opened the doors to the cellar and production building wide.
Emma stood with her hair in a ponytail, wearing an old pair of jeans and one of the graphic T-shirts she’d picked up in Italy. One that said, Wine a little, you’ll feel better.
They both put on work gloves and stared out over the mess.
“I say we get everything out of here. What is absolute trash has a date with the dumpster. Anything that can be recycled in a pile, and anything useful in another pile. But we empty it completely,” Emma suggested.
Gio nodded. “Then we can see how sturdy everything is, get a reading on the internal temperature and see if we need to fix the climate controls.”
They walked in and Emma kicked at something on the ground. “Not to mention rodents.”
He looked at her feet and what was likely droppings from a mouse. “Should I expect you to scream if we find a mouse?”
Emma grinned, a genuine smile he hadn’t seen all morning. “I grew up playing in vineyards, the only thing that makes me scream is a rattlesnake. Which reminds me, city boy . . . don’t put your hands where you can’t see. Those damn things love to hide around left-behind crap.”
Gio draped an arm over her shoulders. “Noted. Now . . . are we going to look at this all day or get our asses moving?”
She playfully pushed him away.
Gio smacked her butt and they dug in.
Within an hour, Raul had shown up, and whatever he’d planned to do that day turned to helping them out.
Old barrels were taken out and lined up.
Parts of old equipment that amounted to nothing but scrap metal were put in a different pile.
The small dumpster was quickly filling up with garbage left behind by the previous owners.
“Why wouldn’t your father send someone over to deal with this?” Gio asked as he lugged yet another crate of empty wine bottles outside.