Chapter Seven

At around three in the afternoon of the next day, Marlene woke in the hospital room, quite disoriented. She sees Francesco asleep by the wall in front of her. Her eyes soften as she remembers.

He's cute when he's asleep, she thought, and he snored softly. She chuckled, and the pain sent her laugh into a moan.

The sound causes Francesco to wake, then turned to fuss over her.

"Francesco, I'm fine," she insisted. "I just hurt, that's all."

He looked at her gently, sadly. "I've a-missed you, Marlena."

She laughed again and winced. It wasn't only physical, but also emotional. A dull ache gripped her heart as she looked at the car she'd fallen in love with for the past few days. She'd grown to love the way his Italian accent seemed to make her body shiver, the way the revving of his engine caused her to shift her attention, the way his deep brown eyes made her melt as he gazed wondrously at her. She looked down, guilty for all the hurt she caused him.

"What's wrong, Marlena?" he asked softly.

She'd forgotten the way he said her name. Oh, how he said her name! It was like a song made only for her, composed for only his voice alone.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," she replied, guilty. "I suppose you're still angry at me because of that." She continued to look down.

The one thing that made her look up was the movement of him shaking his head. "It does not matter, my love."

She looked up into his deep brown eyes. The intensity of the love in his eyes almost pounded the breath out of her; if she hadn't been shot, she bet she would have felt the same pain in her heart. His warm, welcoming gaze filled her heat with love and pain, noticing with pangs of regret of her previous beliefs that he had only wanted her for her body and her stupid belief that he was the same arrogant racecar she'd seen in Lightning on TV before he came to Radiator Springs. Hot tears made her vision blur, and she blinked, making them fall over her fenders. She didn't want to lose sight of him. Never.

Feeling choked up in emotion, she opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. There wasn't any word in her large vocabulary that could describe what she wanted to say.

Francesco helped her with that. He drove forward with a soft smile on his lips, and closed the space between their bumpers. She sighed, closing her eyes.

Lightning was right; it felt so good. She felt herself fall away from the world around her, letting herself hold on only to him: to the slight, soft purring of his engine, to his amazing warmth, to the velvet touch of his lips. She never felt so happy and so free in the world.

All too soon, the kiss was over, and she felt lonely again. She sighed, looking at him.

And then, he smiled widely, and his eyes lit up in ecstasy. She was puzzled. What happened?

She hadn't noticed she'd mindlessly blurted out, "I love you. Francesco Bernoulli."

She only noticed when he replied with, "I love you too, Marlena Stevenson." With that, he pressed against her good side and kept nuzzling her gently.