Time for recovery

Hours later, I woke up groggy and in pain. My body felt like a lead weight anchored to the mattress, and every ragged breath I drew sent a sharp, protest-filled spike of agony through my ribs. The room was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic, taunting beep of the vitals monitor.

When I was able to fully open my eyes, the nurse, Roberto, who knew me as my real identity, was walking into my room. He was the one person here who saw past the meticulously curated alias on my medical chart. He moved with a heavy, deliberate pace.

He caught me staring and stopped at the foot of the bed, his expression was unreadable. He didn't offer a rehearsed, clinical smile. Instead, he simply tapped his pen against the clipboard, his eyes searching mine.

"You're awake," he said, his voice dropping into a low, grounded tone. "How are you holding up?"

I shifted, the sheets scratching against my skin like sandpaper, and I hissed as the movement ignited a fresh flare of white-hot intensity in my chest. I let out a jagged breath, the air burning my throat.

"I'm exhausted, Roberto," I rasped, the words feeling heavy and thick on my tongue. "And the pain is overwhelming right now. It feels like it’s trying to dismantle me from the inside out."

Roberto stepped closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He didn't rush to adjust the drip or check my vitals. He just stood there, holding space for me to find my rhythm.

"That's to be expected, considering what your body just endured," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely rose above the hum of the monitors. "You healing from the physical trauma of multiple surgeries all at once. It’s a big ting"

I looked up at him, searching for a trace of reassurance in his eyes—some confirmation that I wasn't just a broken machine in a sterile room. "Does it ever stop? This pain?"

"It gets better after a few days," Roberto countered, his gaze firm. "You've been through hell, and your body is still reacting to it. Focus on the breathing, not the exhaustion. You’re in a safe place and we’re going to do our best to bring the pain down significantly. We’re also going to make sure you’re as pain free as possible when you leave us in a week.”

"The less pain I'm in, the better," I told him.

Roberto nodded and immediately paged the doctor to come to my room.

A few minutes later, Dr. Aris and Dr. Welsh—the main surgeons—entered the room alongside Sera. Both Roberto and Sera knew that the other knew I was Marie Alexandrovna Romanov, but no one else on the hospital staff knew my real identity. It was a silent, heavily guarded secret between the three of us in the room.

The doctors and I discussed my current pain levels.

"We're sending an order to the pharmacy for Toradol," Dr. Aris explained. "It's a prescription-strength NSAID... like Advil, but stronger."

"We're also sending in Tylenol #3 with Codeine," Dr. Welsh added. "You'll start out alternating between the two. But if the pain isn't managed with that plan, you'll take both at the same time."

"I agree," I said, immediately accepting their plan. "Let's do that."

Once the medical plan was set, Sera stepped forward. "I apologize for interrupting your conversation," she said to me, her voice sincere. "But I wanted to thank you for bringing it to my attention yesterday that my head receptionist slash manager didn't do their job to their full capacity. I understand that you're bringing in a lawsuit."

I looked directly at her. "The lawsuit is against the receptionist, not your hospital."

Sera nodded and then left.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Dr. Aris asked.

"No," I replied.

"Alright, we'll let you get some rest," Dr. Welsh said, and both doctors excused themselves from the room.

Roberto turned back to me. "I'll go get something for you to eat so you can take the Toradol," he said. "Then I'll head to the pharmacy to pick up both medications and come by the room."

"Thank you," I said.

I rolled onto my side and fell asleep.

Surgery day

The operating room was a cavern of blinding, stark white LED lights and polished steel. Every surface gleamed with an unforgiving, sterile brightness that made my eyes ache. I met the medical team taking care of me as they circled the table like a well-oiled machine.

“Dr. Aris, do we have everything prepared?” the lead surgeon asked.

“Ready to go, Doc,” a voice replied from the periphery.

I was impressed with the amount of staff there—a dedicated team of surgeons with their specific specialties in plastic surgery as well as their teams of nurses. Their movements were calibrated to the precision needed for the delicate reconstruction ahead. Each person moved with a synchronized, practiced efficiency that felt both reassuring and intimidating. It was a lot of eyes on one person.

“Check the monitors one last time,” a voice said.

“Everything’s ready,” another replied, his voice muffled from the surgical mask.

“Alright, let’s get Larissa on the OR bed,” the surgeon said, glancing at my chart.

I was assisted with getting on the operating table safely by one of the nurses. His hands were steady and firm against my shoulder as he helped me navigate the narrow, cold bed. He didn't speak initially, just focused on ensuring my alignment was comfortable.

As he leaned in close, his movements slowed. He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto mine, his voice dropping below the steady, rhythmic drone of the ventilator.

He whispered: “I know who you are, Marie. I'll make sure that the staff are extremely careful - more so than usual.”

The words hit me like a physical tether in the room. I felt relieved that there was someone here that knew who exactly I was. A heavy weight seemed to lift from my chest, replaced by a fragile, grounding sense of security.

I nodded my head ever so slightly to acknowledge what the nurse said, keeping my gaze locked on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary before looking back at the ceiling. Someone put a mask over my face in order to provide the anesthesia to me. I breathed in deeply a few times and everything around me faded out.

As I slipped into unconsciousness, the cold darkness didn't claim me. Instead, I drifted into a dream—a sudden, vivid contrast to the usual empty void of anesthesia.

The sterile, white glare of the operating room dissolved, replaced by a soft, warm amber glow. Out of the quiet haze, C appeared. He looked exactly as I remembered, standing just close enough for me to feel a phantom warmth radiating from him.

"I missed you," he said, his voice soft but incredibly clear, cutting through the lingering hum of the ventilator in my mind. He reached out a hand, his fingers stopping just short of my cheek. "I've been waiting to hear from  you."

"C..." I whispered.

He offered a small, reassuring smile. "Just rest now, Deppgrl. I'm right here. I always will be."

“I’ve missed you too,” I said. “Go back to your girlfriend. No need for her to find out you were here with me wherever we are.”

“Reach out when it’s safe,” he said. “She’ll never know I was here with you in your dream. I’ll always protect you.”

I woke up what felt like a few minutes later and felt a bit confused of where I was. I realized in the anesthesia fog that I was at the plastic surgery hospital that Sera owns and that I had a brow and eye lift, tummy tuck and a breast lift. Once I was off the ventilator – thanks, asthma! – I was carefully transferred to a wheelchair. The nurse who knows my true identity wheeled me to my room and helped me to my bed.

“You need to rest but I need to give you a few instructions, ok?” he said. “There’s no stomach sleeping for at least a month. It’ll cause pain and possible damage to the eye and brow lift as well as the tummy tuck and breast lift. You’ll need to sleep on your back for a few weeks with extra pillows under you to help with the swelling, bruising and any drainage if you have any.”

“Ok,” I mumbled. “Can I sleep now?”

“Of course,” he said. “We will check in on you and your pain levels for the next three to four days. Each patient responds to the surgeries you had differently.”

“M’kay,” I mumbled and fell asleep.

The Italian redo - a few tweaks to my appearance

The host led me through the bustling dining hall, weaving past the crowded center where groups chatted and laughed. Instead of stopping there, I was brought to a quiet table tucked away in the far corner, comfortably isolated from all of the other tables in the hall. It felt like a small, private sanctuary, which was exactly what I needed. I sank into the chair, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as the ambient noise of the room faded into the background.

Minutes later, a server approached, carrying a tray. With a warm smile, they placed a tall glass of ice water and a glass of vibrant juice on the table.

"Here is some water and juice to start you off," the friendly dining hall employee said, pulling a small notepad from their apron. "What can I get started for you tonight? What do you feel like having to eat?"

I didn't even have to look at a menu. My body already knew exactly what it was craving.

"Honestly," I said, looking up at them, "I want carbs and nothing but carbs tonight."

The employee chuckled softly, pen poised. "Any particular kind of carbs?"

"Whatever you have in the kitchen," I explained. "It could be a pizza with mushrooms, or a pasta dish with a rich, mushroomy sauce, or really just whatever it is that has carbs and mushrooms. As long as it fits that description, I will be incredibly happy."

The employee scribbled down the request with a nod of understanding. "Carbs and mushrooms. We can definitely make that happen for you. I'll get this right to the kitchen."

"Thank you so much," I said, genuinely thanking the employee as they headed back toward the kitchen doors.

With a bit of time to kill before the food arrived, I stood up and walked over to the mini library standing just a few feet from my table to take a look at the books on the shelves. It was a charming little wooden bookcase, stocked with an eclectic mix of paperbacks and hardcovers. I slowly scanned the spines, letting my fingers trail over the covers.

I scanned the top row, then the second, but I didn't find anything that I'd like. I kept searching, feeling a bit discouraged as I skipped over old textbooks and worn-out thrillers, until my hands finally reached the very last shelf at the bottom.

My eyes lit up. Nestled near the end of the shelf was a book by my absolute favorite author—Allison Weir.

"No way," I muttered to myself.

Excited, I pulled the book out and thumbed through the books next to it, realizing there were a couple of her historical novels here. But this specific book in my hand caught my attention immediately. I flipped it over, reading the jacket, and realized with a surge of delight that it was the one book of hers that I hadn't read before. Clutching my literary treasure tightly, I walked back to my corner sanctuary.

By the time I sat back down, my dinner was already there waiting for me. The kitchen had clearly understood the assignment. In the center of the table sat a very large plate of linguini drenched in a rich, creamy mushroom sauce, cooked with a touch of white wine, and accompanied by a thick slice of hearty Italian bread. The steam rose in fragrant curls, carrying the earthy scent of wild mushrooms and savory cream. The food not only smelled and looked delicious, but as I took my first bite, I realized it was far better than what I had ever expected. The pasta was perfectly al dente, and the sauce was incredibly velvety.

I settled into a comfortable rhythm, opening the book and reading as I ate, completely losing myself in the historical world of Allison Weir while enjoying my perfect comfort food.

When I finished the pasta, the empty bowl was promptly removed from the table by the attentive server. Almost immediately after, the second part of my feast arrived: a small, perfectly baked thin-crust pizza. I stared down at it in awe. It was beautiful, boasting a rich layer of red sauce, topped generously with a mix of both savory grilled mushrooms and tender sauteed mushrooms, and finished with a delicate, fragrant dusting of Pecorino Romano cheese.

Without waiting another second, I eagerly pulled a slice away and greedily and hungrily ate the pizza. It was absolutely amazing. As I savored each bite of the perfectly crisp crust and the rich, earthy flavors, I couldn't figure out which dish was actually better—the creamy pasta or this wonderful pizza. I went back and forth, weighing the comforting warmth of the linguini against the savory perfection of the thin crust, before finally deciding that they were simply equally delicious, but in completely different ways.

As I finished the last bite and set down my napkin, the friendly dining hall employee returned to clear my table of the empty dishes. I held the new Allison Weir book close, not quite ready to stop reading.

"Excuse me," I asked him as he stacked the plates, "am I able to bring this book back to the room with me?"

He smiled warmly and gave a quick, supportive nod. "Oh, yes, you can definitely bring that book back with you. Enjoy the rest of it!"

"Thank you," I smiled, feeling a deep wave of contentment as I prepared to head back with my new treasure.

With the book tucked securely under my arm, I headed back to my room, feeling completely full and with a thoroughly satiated appetite. As I walked, I couldn't help but feel glad that I had eaten as much as I did. I knew the strict rules ahead: once midnight struck, I wouldn't be allowed to eat anything else, nor could I drink anything more than a single, tiny sip of water if absolutely needed—pretty much only if I had to take any of my prescribed medications.

When I finally reached my room and opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised to see Thomas sitting on the couch, very much involved in a book of his own. I stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind me so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

Without even looking up from his page, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Thomas's lips. "You know, no matter how quiet you try to be, I always know the exact moment you enter a room."

I paused by the door, amused. "And how is that?"

He closed his book, keeping his finger slipped between the pages to mark his place, and looked up at me. "Your signature perfume. It's a dead giveaway every single time."

I smiled, feeling a warm rush of comfort at how well he knew me and taking pride in the reminder that I had this perfume custom-created just for me. I walked further into the room and gestured toward him. "What are you doing in here?"

Thomas's smile softened, shifting into an expression that was far more earnest and quiet. He sighed gently, looking down at his book for a brief second before locking his eyes with mine.

"I was just sitting here thinking," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincere regret. "I really regret not being there for you in the past with your previous make overs."

I looked at him, wanting to ease his mind, but shook my head gently. "Thomas, there isn't anything for you to regret. I didn't expect you to be here physically for me while I get plastic surgery. You're my friend, and you're my attorney here in Italy."

Thomas didn't say anything at first. He slowly closed his book, set it down on the couch, and stood up. He walked over to me, closing the distance between us. Before he could lean down to kiss me, I held up a hand, gently placing it against his chest to hold him back.

"We shouldn't," I told him, looking away slightly. "And we shouldn't have had sex earlier... Thomas, you have a wife."

He stopped, looking down at me, and corrected me softly. "I had a wife. She divorced me a year ago due to my cheating."

I stared at him, completely shocked by the revelation. But as he stepped closer and leaned down again, the sudden surprise melted into the background, and I let him kiss me. The kiss was deep and familiar, but after a long moment, the weight of everything caught up to me again. I gently pulled away from him, needing to put some space between us. I looked at him, trying to find the words.

"Thomas, I can't do this... I can't let you fall in love with me."

His brow furrowed, his eyes searching mine. "Why? Why can't you let me fall in love with you?"

I let out a quiet, heavy breath, speaking from a place of deep, raw honesty. "Because I'm far too damaged for a serious relationship. I can't give you what you want, Thomas. I can't give you a marriage. And..." I paused, looking down before meeting his gaze again, "...there is my refusal to convert to Catholicism. It just wouldn't work."

Thomas looked at me, his gaze softening, and a quiet, reassuring smile touched his lips. He slowly shook his head.

"I don't want another marriage, and I don't want kids," Thomas said softly, taking a step closer to close the distance between us. "Plus, I've been kicked out of the Catholic Church due to my divorce. I've converted to Pentecostalism." He locked his eyes with mine.

It’s the same Christian faith that I’m currently practicing.

Thomas didn't tell me that I was damaged. Instead, he looked at me gently, shaking his head.

"Don't call yourself damaged," he said softly, his voice steady and full of warmth. "Please don't ever think of yourself that way. You've just had terrible luck with men—both good and bad."

I looked down, feeling a familiar, heavy ache in my chest. "It feels like more than just bad luck, Thomas. Sometimes it feels like I carry too much history to start over."

"We all carry history," he countered gently. He reached up, his hand gently finding my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin with immense tenderness. "But carrying a heavy load doesn't mean you're broken. It just means you've been strong for too long."

He stepped closer and kissed me again, his lips warm, sweet, and comforting. As he slowly pulled back, his eyes searched mine earnestly. "Can I just love you, and not want anything more than that and our friendship?"

I nodded my head, letting the comfort of his words settle over me, and felt the lingering tension finally leave my shoulders.

"In that case," I said softly, making a quiet decision as I thought of the long day ahead tomorrow, "would you spend tonight with me at the hospital? I'd really love it if you were there."

Thomas didn't hesitate for a second, his expression softening instantly. "Of course I will."

"But once I'm under anesthesia, I want you to leave," I explained gently, looking directly into his eyes so he would understand how important this was to me. "I really appreciate you, Thomas. I appreciate your presence and your honesty more than you know. But I don't want you to see me after I come out of surgery—swollen and bruised. I need that privacy."

Thomas smiled tenderly, a look of profound respect and understanding in his eyes as he gave a quiet, supportive nod.

"If that's what makes you most comfortable, then absolutely," he said softly, squeezing my hands in reassurance. "But you know that wouldn't change anything for me, right? I only care about you being safe and healing."

"I know," I replied, feeling a quiet sense of relief wash over me. "But it's important to me. I just need that privacy while I recover."

"I can do that," Thomas promised, his voice hushed and comforting. "I'll stay with you right up until they put you to sleep, and then I'll leave so you can rest. I'll respect your wishes completely."

I smiled and let my friend who was in love with me kiss me once more. The kiss was warm and lingering, a sweet anchor before the storm of tomorrow. A few minutes later, he gently pulled away, looking at me with a soft, protective gaze.

"Ready for bed?" he asked, his voice low. "I know that you’ll be unconscious during surgery, but I want you well rested."

"Not really, but I do need the sleep," I admitted with a quiet sigh, looking toward the large, inviting bed. I paused for a moment before offering, "Mind sharing the bed with me? I can’t let you sleep on the floor, nor can I have you sleep on the uncomfortable furniture."

A playful spark returned to Thomas's eyes, breaking the heavy emotional air. "I don't mind sharing the bed with you at all. Though, I bet you still sleep naked."

I laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room. "I still sleep naked. It definitely helps when the other person in the bed runs at a million degrees!"

Thomas laughed along with me as we both began to strip. The familiar, easy rhythm of our bond took over, pushing away the awkwardness. I threw my clothes into a pile out of the way, while Thomas neatly set his clothes next to his bag.

Together, we hopped into the super comfortable bed, sinking deep into the high-thread-count bedding. The sheets felt cool and luxurious against my bare skin. As I curled up on my side of the bed, facing away from him, Thomas slid in close behind me. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me back against his chest to be the big spoon.

As he pulled the flat sheet and light blanket up to cover us both, I immediately felt his dick harden against my backside.

Thomas let out a soft, embarrassed sigh, his breath warm against my neck. "I'm sorry, Marie," he whispered, pressing his forehead gently against the back of my shoulder. "My dick has a mind of its own."

I turned slightly in his embrace, looking over my shoulder to meet his eyes in the shadows of the bedroom. A soft, knowing smile touched my lips, and all the lingering hesitations from earlier completely vanished.

"I really don't mind, Thomas," I murmured softly.

Any remaining apologies died instantly. The air in the room grew heavy and electric. He pulled me closer, his strong arms wrapping to hold me as he lifted my leg, easily guiding us into a deep, intense embrace. When he pushed himself inside of me, a breathless moan of pure pleasure escaped my lips.

"Harder," I whispered against the quiet of the room.

With his incredible strength, Thomas rolled us over without breaking our connection, settling me onto my stomach. The sensation was overwhelming.

"Marie," Thomas groaned, his voice rough and low against my ear as he set a powerful, driving rhythm. "You are absolutely incredible."

"Thomas... don't stop," I gasped out, completely lost in the sheer scale and warmth of his presence.

I clung to the pillows, looking back over my shoulder at him. "Your thirteen inch dick feels so great inside of me."

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his hot breath brushing my skin as his movements grew more urgent. "You feel amazing, Marie.”

"Don't stop, please," I gasped out, the pleasure so deep and consuming that it swept everything else away. "Oh god, Thomas..."

"I'm right here," he whispered breathlessly, tightening his hold on me.

I found myself cumming again and again, clinging to the sheets as the overwhelming waves of sensation washed over me.

He met my surrender with a sudden surge of intensity, his thrusts growing harder and more urgent. Within moments, a low, deep groan escaped his throat as he finally gave in and released a large load of his thick hot cum deep inside of me.

"I've got you," he whispered breathlessly, holding me tightly against the mattress as it took several minutes of quiet, shuddering breaths for him to completely unwind. Even as he slowly pulled away, the intensity of the moment lingered between us, leaving us completely spent, thoroughly satisfied, and deeply connected.

He curled up behind me again, wrapped me up tightly in his arms, and we both fell asleep.

Hours later, we were woken up by a sharp, rhythmic knock on the door. Ever protective of me, Thomas went to the door—naked of all things!—to see who it was. I sat up in bed, quickly pulling the sheets up to cover my chest, stifling a laugh as I watched him boldly swing the door open just an inch or two.

"Good morning," a professional voice called out from the hallway. It was Lucia, the surgery coordinator. "Just a quick wake-up call for Marie. We'll need her down in the lobby in about forty-five minutes to prep for the surgery."

"Thank you, Lucia," Thomas replied smoothly, as if standing completely naked at a hotel door was the most natural thing in the world. "We'll be ready."

He closed the door, locking it before turning back to me with a wry grin.

"You really just answered the door naked?" I teased, shaking my head in amusement.

Thomas shrugged, walking back to the bed with a completely unbothered expression. "I had to protect your sleep. Besides, I doubt she saw anything she hasn't seen before."

“Yes, I did,” he chuckled. “I’m sure she’s seen far worse than a dick standing at attention.”

“Probably,” I said as I was getting out of bed. I immediately slipped into my flip flops then headed to take a shower. “Wanna join me in the shower?”

“Sure,” he said.

We headed to the bathroom and he started the shower. Once the water was at the right temperature, we both got in and showered in silence. Since we still had some time, Thomas pushed me against the shower wall and pushed his dick into my pussy.

“You’re so tight,” he moaned as he fucked me.

In no time we both came hard. He pulled out then turned the water off. I grabbed towels for us to dry off. We both dried off and we headed to Lucia’s office so I could be escorted to pre-op.

“I’ll check in with Lucia right after your surgery to see how you’re doing and soon after, I’ll check in with you,” Thomas said as he bent down to kiss me. “If you need anything, text me and I’ll drop it off at the front. I promise to not look at you until you get to your apartment.”

“Thank you, Thomas,” I said as I hugged him. “Thanks for putting up with my vanity.”

Thomas smiled, nodded his head, kissed my cheek and then he headed off. Lucia and I talked about what was going to happen today. We agreed that I stated that I wanted a small brow lift, small eye lift, a tummy tuck and a breast lift.

“Are you sure about this, Marie?” she asked me. “To be honest, it’s a lot of work to be done in one day.”

“I am, Lucy,” I said as I called an old friend by her nickname.

“The brow lift and eye lift don’t take long especially if its as minimal as I chose. Plus, they both can be done at the same time if we have two plastic surgeons whose specialty are both.”

“We have – on average- fifteen plastic surgeons per specialty. We’re taking quite a few for you today,” she explained. “We’re getting four anesthesiologists for you due to your history of asthma, three plastic surgeons for your brow and eye lifts, four for your tummy tuck and three for your breast lift.”

“That’s a few,” I said.

“It is but I told the owner that we need that many people for you because I told her that you’re high risk,” Lucy said. “I’d rather have more doctors than we need just in case one gets in over their head or just to bounce ideas off of each other.”

“Thank you, friend,” I said as we stood.

Lucia escorted me to a locker room so I could change from my street clothes to the hospital gown. I put my hair in a hospital hairnet and put little hospital booties on my bare feet. Once my stuff was locked up, Lucia told me to put the elastic key wring around my ankle. I did as she suggested and then she escorted me to the OR.