ScandalWithaPrince

by Nicole Burnham

“What?” His mother sounded confused. “You want to go to Sicily?”

  “Not me, us. Maybe next year, in the spring, when the flowers are just beginning to bloom and we can go for walks or bicycle rides like we used to. I think it’d be very good for this family. Help us remember what’s most important. Think about it.”

  With that, he strode out of the library, made a sharp left to jog down the palace’s rear staircase, then pushed open the double doors to the gardens and the sunshine.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The text appeared on Megan’s phone at one a.m.

  In New Delhi airport. Flight to London with stop at BCN late tomorrow afternoon.

  Would a dinner invitation be considered railroading?

  Though the number was blocked, she didn’t need to ask who’d sent the text. She typed back a wish for a safe flight and asked Jack to call her at her Grandspire office when he landed in Barcelona so she could make a dinner reservation.

  Megan then proceeded to toss and turn all night, her brain wrestling with her career dilemma even as her sheets became a tangle around her legs, but everything pointed to the same conclusion. She had to take the Grandspire job. No other offers would be forthcoming. It was her own damned fault. She’d been in such a funk during the last two weeks she’d hardly slept, let alone done the necessary follow-up for other possible positions.

  Thank goodness Jack Gladwell took a last-minute trip to Nepal last Thursday, buying her another week until she was obligated to give him an answer. Not that it helped her in the least.

  She rolled over and glanced at her bedside clock. Though it wasn’t yet five in the morning, she tossed her sheets aside. May as well get up and face the day. When her feet hit the floor, she stifled a yawn.

  After years of hard work at the Grandspire, she should be thrilled to be offered the position as manager. The pay and benefits were phenomenal, she and Anna loved Barcelona, and Anna would still be able to visit with Stefano. In fact, her life could continue much the way it had, but with a lot more financial and long-term job security. So why did it feel underwhelming?

  Why had she put off accepting the job for nearly two weeks? Even with Jack Gladwell in Nepal, she could’ve left a message with his administrative assistant.

  Because you fell in love with a prince, you idiot. Because saying yes to the Grandspire means saying no to a chance with Prince Charming and happily ever after.

  She nabbed her toothbrush from its holder on the bathroom counter, squirted on the requisite amount of blue gel, then stared at herself in the mirror. Fatigue caused her own image to sway before her, spurring a flashback to her early days with Anna, when she’d walked her tiny apartment, exhausted, waiting for Stefano to call and tell her he wanted her. It’d been a pipe dream then, and it was a pipe dream now.

  She ran a quick stream of water over her toothbrush before shoving it in her mouth.

  Once the sun rose and she dropped off Anna for her first day of summer basketball camp, Megan would make the dinner call, then tell Jack Gladwell she’d waited to let him know she was accepting the position until she could speak to him personally.

  Time to be a realist, Hallberg. Prince Charming only appears in fairy tales.

  What man asked a woman to marry him, presented her with a pack of information on a potential job, then asked if she loved him without saying a word about whether he loved her? Worse, what man then turned around and said he knew she didn’t want to marry him—all evidence to the contrary—and that it was best if they didn’t marry, all because she’d wanted to discuss marriage before letting him know about a job offer she had no intention of accepting or a grainy tabloid photo that no one corroborated?

  A man who doesn’t know what he wants. A man who doesn’t truly love you in the first place.

  She scrubbed her teeth harder than necessary, as if she could cleanse the thought from her mind.

  Stefano had been right about one thing: No more photos or reports had appeared of the two of them. And with no palace confirmation of the prince’s identity in that first, hazy photo, the story had disappeared. Life had continued on just as it had before Stefano’s visits. Even Santi said nothing more. Their conversations centered on the usual topics of upcoming banquets, his wife and children, and the streak of beautiful weather Barcelona currently enjoyed.

  On autopilot, Megan went through her Monday morning ritual of showering, applying makeup, and selecting an outfit before making her way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As she poured freshly-ground coffee into the filter and breathed in the rich scent, she resolved to embrace her life as it was.

  When she parted from Stefano the first time, she was alone and pregnant. She faced the prospect of juggling finals, a new baby, and job interviews, not to mention finding help with daycare during those first lean years. Now she had none of those concerns. She had everything she’d ever wanted in life, and Anna topped that list. They’d had a wonderful time selecting fresh strawberries at the market yesterday morning. She’d come home feeling happy and refreshed, despite the persistent feeling that Stefano should have been exploring the Saturday market with them.

  Maybe she could make waffles for Anna this morning and top them with the berries, assuming the headache Anna developed last night was cured by a good night’s sleep. Megan never prepared anything fancier than cereal on a weekday, so this would be a treat for them both. Cooking would occupy her mind until Anna was awake. Better that than thoughts of Stefano or Jack Gladwell.

  As if on cue, a low groan came from Anna’s room. Megan stilled, coffee pot in hand. “Anna?”

  She heard nothing more, only the low hum of the suite’s air conditioning.

  “Anna? You awake? It’s early, honey.” Too early.

  She set the coffee pot on its burner, flipped on the power switch to start the drip, then walked to Anna’s door, which was cracked open about six inches. The light was off and the lump on the bed didn’t move. She watched for a few seconds, but Anna didn’t stir. Megan reached for the knob to pull the door closed, but paused.

  No, this didn’t feel right.

  Carefully, she tiptoed into Anna’s room and approached the bed. Anna’s hair hung over her face, as usual. Megan reached to gently swipe it back. Her hand was still a few inches away when she felt the heat rolling off Anna in waves.

  “Anna?” Megan looped Anna’s hair behind her ear and pressed a hand to Anna’s forehead. “Oh, honey, you’re on fire.”

  “I don’t feel good. My neck hurts,” Anna whispered without opening her eyes. “A lot.”

  Megan crouched beside the bed. Anna had been a little warm last night, but Megan chalked it up to the fact that, after returning from the market, Anna spent the entire afternoon on the beach with friends. But this wasn’t a case of too many hours spent in the sun. Megan couldn’t remember ever feeling Anna so hot. “Your neck or your throat?”

  “Neck. It hurts to move, Mommy.”

  Mommy? She hadn’t been Mommy for several years. “Okay. Stay put and I’ll get a thermometer.”

  She returned a few seconds later and a quick check confirmed what she feared, a dangerously high fever.

  “Anna, I’m taking you to the doctor, all right? Can you get up?”

  When Anna merely blinked, Megan said, “Never mind. I’ll carry you to the elevator and we’ll go straight to the car.”

  Anxiety knotted her insides as she peeled back Anna’s covers and hefted her into her arms. She made her way through the living area, taking a moment to turn off the coffee pot with her elbow and loop her shoulder bag onto her arm before stepping into her shoes and hustling toward the elevator.

  The closer Megan got to the car, the more she worried. Even when Anna had a bad case of the flu in third grade, she’d insisted she could get out of bed and take care of herself, though she only made it as far as the sofa. Then there was the time in first grade that Anna lied to her teacher about throwing up her lunch because she hadn’t wanted to miss school.

  No
w Anna didn’t care that she was being carried. She didn’t even seem to notice. Worse, Megan could feel the heat of Anna’s body through the girl’s pajamas and her own blouse. It was like standing under a heat lamp.

  Gently, Megan set Anna down beside the car, clicked it open, then eased Anna into the backseat and buckled the belt.

  Anna’s head rolled back. She groaned without opening her eyes. “Mom, that hurts.”

  “We’re on our way to the hospital. You’ll feel better soon, sweetie.”

  Anna mumbled what sounded like yellow tires, but when Megan asked what she’d said, Anna didn’t answer.

  Never in her life had Megan exited the parking garage or driven through the city so fast. She sent a prayer of thanks skyward that the predawn streets were empty and every streetlight went her way. As she pulled into the emergency entrance at the hospital, an orderly sitting on an outside bench crushed out his cigarette and approached the car. He took one look at Anna and called for assistance. First in Catalan, then in English when he realized Megan’s Catalan was limited, he told her to take her car to the parking lot down the hill from the hospital and meet them in the emergency room. In the meantime, two nurses unbuckled Anna, moved her to a wheelchair, and whisked her into the hospital.

  Megan’s heart pounded against the walls of her ribcage so hard she thought it’d burst, and not from the exertion of sprinting back up the hill from the lot. The orderly’s expression when he saw Anna was troubling enough, but the utter silence from Anna as the nurses wheeled her into the emergency room terrified her. This was no ordinary headache, nor was it a case of the flu.

  As Megan passed through the sliding emergency room doors, a nurse approached to let her know that Anna was being evaluated in a nearby room and that Megan could join her daughter once the evaluation was complete. In the meantime, the staff needed Megan to complete paperwork for admission.

  “Admission?” Megan asked in alarm. How could they know already that she needed to be admitted?

  The nurse directed Megan to a seat in the waiting area. “When a child presents with a fever as high as your daughter’s we admit them as a matter of policy. We’ll get her situated, then you can join her.”

  Minutes felt like hours as Megan answered the necessary questions and inked her signature on a slew of forms, hoping against hope that a doctor would come out from the emergency wing to let her know that Anna had nothing more than a high fever and that they would soon get it under control. That the admission was nothing more than a precaution and Anna would be back to her normal, bouncy self soon.

  No one came.

  Megan clutched the clipboard in her lap and stared at the doors leading to the patient evaluation area. At long last, the same nurse who’d given her the paperwork came to collect it and waved Megan into a side room. As the older woman flipped through the pages on the clipboard, Megan asked, “Will I be able to see my daughter soon? It’s been quite a while.”

  “The doctor will come in to speak with you in just a moment,” the nurse said before ducking into the hallway and shutting the door behind her.

  Megan sucked in air through her nostrils, willing herself to keep her composure despite the fact the nurse hadn’t met her gaze, and despite the fact the woman moved her into a private room to speak with the doctor rather than ushering her into the area where Anna was being seen. In her experience, medical professionals were far more likely to be honest and give you the full picture when they knew you could handle the information. And now, more than ever, she needed information. For Anna’s sake, she had to appear calm.

  “Ms. Hallberg? I am Dr. Serrano.”

  She looked up to see a middle-aged, olive-skinned man with a serious, though thankfully not grim, demeanor. Forcing herself to keep an even tone, she said, “Yes. Please, call me Megan. You’ve seen Anna?”

  “Yes.” He closed the door before pulling a rolling stool from one corner so he could sit facing her. “I am afraid my accent is difficult for some to understand, so if my English does not make sense to you, please tell me. I can call the nurse back in to translate.”

  She forced a smile. Thank goodness she was used to Catalan accents. “Your English sounds fine to me. Please, go ahead.”

  He opened a file across his lap. “Your daughter has a very high fever, which can be dangerous in anyone but especially in a child her age. So” —he paused, as if searching his mind for the proper words— “I have given her medicine to help lower her fever and I asked for a test of her blood. The nursing staff is doing this now and I asked for a quick processing from our lab.”

  “All right.” Though Megan had to concentrate to understand his words, there was a kindness and intelligence in his eyes that engendered trust. “Is she awake?”

  “No, but for now, she is stable. Her fever is no worse than when she arrived. However, I am very concerned about her neck stiffness, her headache and her” —again, he struggled for the word— “her confusion. She was awake for a short time while I examined her, but she did not seem certain about where she is. She had difficulty answering basic questions. How long has she been this way?”

  “Since about five, so a couple of hours now. I heard her moaning in her bedroom and went to check on her. I brought her here as soon as I took her temperature.” She thought through everything Anna said since returning from the beach the previous afternoon. “She was tired last night and didn’t want much dinner, but I assumed it was because we spent the morning walking through the marketplace, then she had a big lunch and spent the afternoon running around the beach with friends. She told me she was pretty worn out.”

  Dr. Serrano scribbled a note in Anna’s file. “There was no confusion or fever when she returned from the beach?”

  “She was a little warm and she did say she had a slight headache. It wasn’t enough to worry me, and I didn’t bother to take her temperature. Other than being more tired than usual, she seemed perfectly normal. Definitely no confusion.”

  “All right. It is very good that you brought her in.”

  Megan tried to remain patient as the doctor added more notes to Anna’s file. Finally, he met her gaze. “Unfortunately, I suspect that Anna has meningitis, which is an inflammation of the” —he pointed to the back of his neck— “membrane around the brain and spinal cord. We must do a lumbar puncture to confirm the diagnosis and should have results shortly, but you will need to read and sign some forms first. Are you familiar with meningitis?”

  No, no, no, her mind screamed, but she said, “Yes, I am.”

  Children died from meningitis. Anna could die.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Megan clenched her teeth against the thought and tried to focus on the doctor’s words.

  “Do you know of anyone with meningitis? Or with symptoms like Anna’s? For instance, any of the friends she was with at the beach or any children from her school? Maybe from a camp, if she is in summer camp?”

  When Megan shook her head, he exhaled. “Meningitis is very serious, yes? But fast treatment can prevent complications. This is why it is good you brought her here quickly. I wish for you to let me know right away if you learn of others with symptoms. They must get medical treatment immediately.”

  “Of course.”

  “I have a sheet with questions for you to answer. It will help us find the cause of Anna’s illness and speed our treatment.”

  He handed her the permission form for the lumbar puncture and the questionnaire, then went on to explain the course of antibiotics he was starting for Anna. Thankfully, his English was solid whenever he spoke in medical terms. “We are moving her into a room upstairs. She will need more tests, including X-rays and a CAT scan, but I wish for her to be as comfortable as possible. Do you live near the hospital?”

  When Megan nodded, he urged her to go home and pack a bag once she’d completed the questionnaire. He handed her another slip of paper. “This will be her room. It is on a pediatric floor. Until we determine the cause of her illness, she will need to
be in isolation. However, there is a room beside hers that you can use. It has a window so you can see all that is happening with her. When she is awake and alert, she will be happy to see you there.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she willed them back. As frightened and upset as she was, it wouldn’t do Anna a bit of good to cry. Not now.

  Dr. Serrano’s voice lost its businesslike tone as he said, “I do not wish to be…to intrude…but I know this is very hard. You may wish to call the father? Or someone else?”

  “Maybe.” Should she call Stefano? Her parents? Or wait for more information? “I don’t know. Not yet. It’s still very early in the morning.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Cell phones are not permitted inside the hospital, but you may use the phone at the nurse’s desk on the pediatric floor anytime you wish. For now, Anna cannot have any visitors. Only parents in the next room until we know more.”

  Megan swallowed as the doctor stood. She looked up at him and asked, “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Not at the moment. The antibiotics must have time to work.” Dr. Serrano put a hand on her arm for reassurance. “This will be a matter of days or weeks, not hours. Take care of yourself now so that you can be there for her when she is awake. In the meantime, we will do everything we can for her. I will let you know when results come from the lab. I want you to ask questions if you have them, whenever you have them.”

  “Thank you. I will.” She liked this man. He seemed knowledgeable, caring, and—what she needed most right now—competent. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty, I just…I need some time to absorb this.”

  “Anna is a strong girl. I am” —again, he seemed to struggle for the proper word— “optimistic. So we will hope for good news.”

  Once Dr. Serrano left, Megan bit her lip and forced herself to concentrate on the questionnaire. It was extensive, covering where Anna had been, what she’d eaten, what immunizations she’d had. After finishing, Megan handed it to the nurse and walked to the parking lot in a daze, realizing when she climbed into her car that her shoes didn’t match. Not that it mattered.