Strong hands wrapped around me. A palm pressed against my racing heart, and a masculine voice whispered in my ear in a low command. “You are okay, Francesca. All you need to do is breathe. I’ve got you.”

I wheezed out some type of answer and clutched at his hand.

“Breathe in to the count of five. One-two-three-four-five. Good, very good. Breathe out to five. One-two-three-four-five. You’re doing great, nice and slow. Again.”

Over and over, he repeated the count, praising me, his warm strength slowly allowing my chest to loosen and air to rush into my lungs. He never hurried his tone or his pace, and finally, my shaky legs began to hold me. My heartbeat slowed. Eyes closed, I resurfaced and realized his palm cupped my breast, and my fingers were entwined tight with his.

Oh. My. God.

He realized the moment I became aware of our position, and slowly pulled away. But his gaze remained locked on mine, burning with intensity, and my heart began to race again for an entirely different reason. I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what happened.”

A concerned frown creased his brow. “Have you never had a panic attack?”

“No, I have. I mean, it’s only happened a few times before, but I don’t know why now. I was just drinking my coffee alone.”

He nodded. “Sometimes these attacks happen randomly. Stress or fatigue could be key. Have you slept?”

I shook my head. “Had to work all last night.”

“Ah yes, that would do it.”

“Do you suffer from them too?” I asked tentatively.

“No, but my sister does. It was difficult for her, but she began to learn her triggers and how to handle them better.”

The situation struck me full force and I turned away, embarrassed. I was a mess. This trip was supposed to help me relax and put the attacks behind me. Instead, I’d suffered two of them in the first week, and Enzo had witnessed my breakdown. I couldn’t seem to handle anything at the moment—whether it be work or my daughter or even trying to let go and have fun in Italy.

“I’m sorry about the cup,” I said, ducking my head. “I’ll clean it up. I didn’t mean to bother you—I had no idea you were even here.”

“Francesca.” My name drifted in my ear on a soft whisper. His fingers touched my shoulders and turned me gently around. “Don’t worry about the cup. I saw you come into the garden and followed you to say good morning. You could never bother me.”

I lifted my head. The air stirred between us. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You can talk to me. I hate to see you unhappy during this trip. Is there something bothering you? Work?”

I tried to make a joke. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. I’ll still tip big.”