by Robin Kaye
“You need the oxygen,” he said as he repositioned the mask on her face.
“I need my clothes.”
“We're going to take a little trip to Radiology for a few chest shots.” He released a brake and rolled the bed through the curtained area. Rosalie moved her hand to hold the side-rail, and it hurt like a son of a bitch. Oh, my God! There was a tube stuck in the top of her hand. She'd forgotten about that.
Rosalie hadn't forgotten that Nick had brought her there. Where was he? “Nick?”
The nurse patted her arm but kept rolling her down the hall. “Don't worry; your man's still here. He's pacing the waiting room. He hasn't stopped barraging us with questions, not that we're complaining. He's a cutie.”
Rosalie shot the nurse a you-haven't-got-a-snowball's-chance-in-hell look.
“Girl, jus' 'cause the store's closed don't mean I can't window-shop.”
By the time she got back to the ER, Rosalie was ready for a nap. Who knew X-rays were so draining? Maybe it wasn't the X-rays. Maybe it was all that moving around while trying to keep her butt covered. Nurse Gus parked her bed in the little cubicle where the doctor was talking to Nick. Dr. Deena Jansen was your usual nightmare— tall, thin, blonde, and gorgeous, with the best boobs money can buy. Did doctors give each other discounts? She could see it now… “I'll trade you a boob job for an appendectomy and a tonsillectomy.” “Hey, that's no fair…”
“What do you mean? You got two boobs. It's twice the work.”
The doctor's husky voice drew Rosalie from her mental meanderings.
“We gave her a heavy antibiotic in her IV, so she doesn't need to start this…” she handed Nick a prescription, “… until tomorrow morning. We've also given her IV steroids, so start these…” another prescription changed hands “… first thing in the morning as well, six for the first three days, then decrease to five for three days, and so on. The breathing treatments are every four hours around-the-clock, but if she's asleep and not having trouble breathing, don't wake her.”
Nick folded the pile of prescriptions and placed them in his wallet. “Thanks, doc.”
They were talking about her as if she wasn't there. Like she was in a coma or something.
“Who gave you permission to talk to Nick about my condition?” Rosalie meant to sound forceful, but even to her own ears, she sounded weak.
Nick and the doctor, who looked curiously like a Barbie doll, turned and stared at her. The doctor gave Rosalie one of those condescending smiles they must practice in med school and patted her hand. “You did, Ms. Ronaldi.”
The nurse put the sides of the bed down and giggled.
Rosalie had never seen a 250-pound man giggle, but Nurse Gus did. It wasn't pretty.
“Well, that doesn't mean I want you talking about me as if I'm not here.”
Nick reached for her hand, which she moved before he could catch it. Rosalie folded her arms, forgetting the darn IV. Shit, that hurt! It tugged on the blasted tape holding the IV in place. Ow!
Nick patted her shoulder. What the hell did she look like? A freaking dog?
“I'm going home.”
The doctor looked at Nick, and Nick nodded. Then Dr. Barbie cleared her throat. “I'm releasing you, but only because your fiance said you'd get around-the-clock care. Frankly, I'd rather admit you, but he insisted that you'd refuse to stay.”
Fiance? Nick smiled and squeezed Rosalie's shoulder… then he added a wink for good measure. Rosalie bit the side of her cheek. Jeez, she was sick, not stupid. She got it.
“Fine. Nick's right. I wouldn't stay. So tell me what's wrong with me, what I need to do, and let me out of here.”
Nurse Gus started futzing with the IV and then pulled the tape off. Ow! The next thing she knew, he was pulling a needle the size of a coffee stirrer out of her hand.
The doctor tore a sheet off the top of her chart. “You, Ms. Ronaldi, have pneumonia. Here are the instructions I gave your fiance. He's already arranged to have the nebulizer delivered.” She laid the instructions on the bed.
“Nebulizer?”
Nick patted Rosalie's shoulder again. “Don't worry, honey, I took care of it. Let's get you home.”
Nick looked like a kid who'd gotten away with putting a tack on the teacher's chair. He knew he could call her anything and she'd smile sweetly as long as she got the hell out of there. But that was okay; let him have his fun. She was going to kill him for dragging her, kicking and screaming, to the hospital in the first place. What was it they said about revenge? It's better served cold? Oh, yeah, and it's sweet.
Nick turned and shook the doctor's hand. “Thank you, doctor. I'll take good care of her.”
The doctor nodded. “You're welcome.”
She held his hand a little too long. Oh, my God, she was flirting with him. She was holding his gaze and doing that licking her lips thing. Hello! Remember me? The one who isn't in a coma ?
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Nick.”
Oh, I'm sure. Look at her, tossing her hair. Rosalie couldn't believe it. Dr. Barbie actually did the hair flip. He's engaged, remember? She turned to Rosalie and looked at her, as if she'd gotten a whiff of something putrid.
“Listen to Nick, Ms. Ronaldi, or you'll end up right back in the hospital. Pneumonia is nothing to fool around with.”
“Fine.” Talk about bedside manner. Sheesh, Rosalie had seen icebergs with more warmth. Well, except when she was trying to steal someone's fiance. Dr. Barbie left the cubicle, and Rosalie resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. What a bitch.
“You…” Nick turned to Rosalie “act like you've never seen a doctor before.”
“I haven't… well, not for anything but checkups. I don't get sick.”
Nick did that eyebrow raise again.
Rosalie ignored the look he gave her. If she hadn't, she would have smacked him, and her hand still hurt too much from being used as a pincushion.
“Where are my clothes?”
Nick pulled a bag from beneath the bed and emptied it.
“Thanks.” He untied the top of her hospital gown. “Nick, I can dress myself.”
He ignored her, and she was too tired to fight. What the hell, she had already gone way beyond the total humiliation stage.
After Rosalie dressed, Nurse Gus dropped her into a wheelchair, and Nick kissed her forehead before he went to get his car. At least he didn't pat her again.
Rosalie fell asleep on the way home and awoke in Nick's arms. Her neighbors, Wayne and Henry, in matching smoking jackets, held the door while Nick carried her upstairs and into the building.
“Nick, put me down. I'm not an invalid.”
Most women dream about a man picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom. With Rosalie, it had always been one of her nightmares. A guy would pick her up, groan from the weight, and end up dropping her as his back went out. She cringed, waiting for the nightmare to become reality, but Nick didn't even grunt. She thought that carrying something as heavy as her up steps would at least make him short of breath. Nothing. Either she'd lost weight, or he was in great shape.
“I'll put you down as soon as I can put you down in bed.”
The coughing started again, damn. Rosalie decided that after she caught her breath, she'd thank him for last night. It was sweet of him to take care of her—unnecessary, but sweet. And it was nice of him to take her to the hospital. She'd been wrong, if you believed Dr. Hey-baby-wanna-date.” Admitting it would kill her, but she would. Then Nick could leave. All she'd have to do was call China Wok for delivery and the pharmacy for her prescriptions. She'd be fine.
Rosalie awoke to the smell of chicken soup and Nick. A bed tray sat on her dresser. Hold on—she didn't own a bed tray. He pulled her up, shoved pillows behind her, and stuck a thermometer in her mouth. Where'd that come from?
Someone had cleaned off her dresser. Rosalie wondered where all her things were. She'd have asked if she'd had the energy—and if her mouth hadn't been full of thermometer. She was so tired.
Nick took the thermometer out when it beeped and read it. He didn't say what her temperature was, and she didn't ask. What did it matter, anyway?
“What are you still doing here?”
“Feeding you and making sure you take your medicine.”
He placed the tray on her lap, sat beside her, and spooned up what looked like homemade chicken soup.
Rosalie pushed his hand away. “I can feed myself.”
“Fine.” Nick crossed his arms and stared.
“What?”
“I'm waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“You to feed yourself.” “I don't feel like eating.” “Okay.”
Nick picked up the spoon again, and she pushed it away again. He got that annoyed look she used to find so sexy. Now it irritated her.
“Either you feed yourself, or I'll feed you. Your choice.”
“You will not.”
“Who's going to stop me?”
“Dave. That's who.”
“I don't think so.” Dave chose that moment to lie his head on Nick's lap and look up at the big galoot with adoring eyes.
“Traitor.”
Rosalie ate a few spoonfuls of soup.
Nick shook Rosalie awake. He had removed the tray and was holding a weird-shaped piece of plastic with a tube coming out of it that attached to a box on the bedside table. The table, the surface of which hadn't been seen in ages, was now clean. What was going on? Were the good fairy maids coming in and working as she slept?
'Time to do your breathing treatment.”
“Huh?”
“Put this in your mouth, close your lips around it, and breathe in and out until the medicine's all gone.” “You gotta be kidding.”
He picked up the machine and set it on the bed next to her. “Nope.”
He stuck the plastic contraption in Rosalie's mouth and turned on the machine. It was loud. It buzzed, vibrated, and was almost as obnoxious as the taste of the vapor she had to breathe.
God, she'd died and gone to hell.
Nick watched Rosalie do her breathing treatment. She staked him with her gaze and looked as if she wanted to kill him. Thank God she was too weak to do much of anything. Hopefully, by the time she was well, she'd be thanking him instead of plotting his murder.
He checked the time. It was only one o'clock. Hell, he'd been there less than eighteen hours, and it felt as if he hadn't slept in weeks. He rubbed his eyes, and the image of Rosalie in that hospital bed with tubes coming out of her hit him. She'd had her eyes closed. The faded-looking shiners beneath were more pronounced in the hospital's florescent lighting. Her color had been pasty, and she had been so still. Damn, for a second he'd thought she'd died. He'd held onto the bed rail with a white-knuckled grip, afraid he'd fall over. When she'd moved, his sense of relief had been even more disturbing than the thought of taking a header.
And the doctor—she was a piece of work. Doctor Feelgood had ignored Rosalie until she spoke. He'd have hell to pay when Rosalie remembered he'd lied about them being engaged. She would probably think he'd lied so he could see her, not so he could get away from Dr. Look-at-me, Look-at-me. That was okay. What Rosalie didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Rosalie finished the treatment and immediately fell asleep. The medicine worked wonders. Her breathing seemed softer now, quieter, but he still decided to keep her propped up. Mona had said it would help. He stood and returned to the kitchen to get something to eat, grateful that Mona brought over so many groceries, he could cook enough to feed himself, Rosalie, and ten of his closest friends.
After heating up the lasagna he'd made earlier, he sat down just as the cell phone in Rosalie's purse started ringing. He took a bite and burned his mouth. A few minutes later, her landline rang. Nick didn't want to answer it, but he didn't want it to wake Rosalie, either. The machine picked up.
“Rosalie, where the hell are you? Ma's already pissed as hell and making my life miserable, since you flushed your last hope of marriage down the proverbial toilet. Now you're skipping out on Sunday dinner? You better be dead, or you'll wish you were. She's…”
Nick picked up the telephone. “Hello?”
“Who's this? Where's Rosalie?”
“Hi, I'm Nick—and you are… ?”
“Rosalie's sister, Annabelle.”
'Annabelle, Lee's here. She's sick in bed and won't be able to come to dinner.”
“Lee? Rosalie doesn't get sick. Let me speak to her.”
“I'm sorry, she's asleep. I'll have her call you the next time she wakes.”
“How do I know you're not some kind of ax murderer holding her hostage or something?”
“If I were, would I answer the phone?”
“Good point. Okay, so you're not an ax murderer. Who are you?” She paused for a moment, “Oh, I know who you are.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, sure, you're the guy who went to Fiorentino's to buy breakfast two days after she dumped Joey Manetti. You're the rebound guy.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, you're the guy she picked up to prove she could still… well, you know.”
“Listen, Annabelle, for your information, I asked Lee out before she broke up with the idiot she'd been seeing. I am not a rebound guy.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Annabelle, tell your mother that Rosalie's not feeling well, and she'll call her later in the week.”
“Fine, but Mama's gonna be pissed that you're there, and Rosalie's in bed, and she wouldn't talk to me.”
“Then don't tell her. Say you called Rosalie, and she's sick. You don't even have to lie. Do your sister a favor, and don't tell your mother you spoke to me. Lee's feeling bad enough as it is. She doesn't need your mother coming down on her, too.”
“Okay, but you tell her she owes me.”
“Gee, Annabelle, you're all heart.” Nick hung up the phone and hoped Rosalie was adopted.
Rosalie's first thought when she awoke was why wasn't she sleeping alone? Her second thought was, who was sleeping with her? She removed the hand that held her left breast—not through her shirt, either. And turned her head. Nick. Her brain began functioning, and it all came back… Nick dragging her to the hospital; Nurse Gus and Dr. Barbie; Nick carrying her to bed, forcing her to eat, making her do that awful nebulizer treatment every fifteen minutes, or at least, that's how it felt. Nick invading her life, spending the night, taking care of her—and Dave, the traitor. Oh, yeah, she remembered everything.
Nick's hand slid beneath her top again. The man was incorrigible, even in sleep. He did feel good cuddled against her, and at least he didn't snore. If he had, she'd have had to make him leave.
“I can hear you thinking.” His voice was gravelly with sleep and rumbled over her.
“Why are you here?”
“Why do you ask that every time you wake up?” “Because I wonder why you're here every time I wake up.”
“We're on a date.” “I canceled.”
“I never got the message.” “Obviously.” “Your fever's down.” “How do you know?”
“I'm holding you, and you don't feel like a damn radiator.”
“So that's why you're spooning me… ?” She reached back and touched nothing but his bare hip “… naked? To check my temperature?”
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
Rosalie would have laughed, if she hadn't started coughing. Nick tightened his hold on her. He splayed his hand over her chest, and the pressure actually made her feel a little better. Go figure.
“You poor baby.” He checked his watch. “Yeah, it's that time again.” “Oh, no, it's not.”
“Lee, don't you think it's a coincidence you wake up every four hours, right in time to do a breathing treatment? Think about it. You can't breathe, so you wake up. When you can breathe, you sleep. The only way either one of us is going to get any more sleep tonight is for you to do your breathing treatment.”
“You could always go home and sleep.”
“Lee…”
Damn. “Fine, I'll do it, but only because I'm tired. Capisce?” “Capisce.”
Rosalie woke alone and got out of bed in search of Nick. Her legs felt like lead as she shuffled down the hall.
Nick was in the kitchen tasting something over a large pot on the stove. He turned, and Rosalie almost laughed. He was wearing her Women Need Men Like Fish Need Bicycles apron. When he spotted her, he ripped the apron off as if he was embarrassed and shoved it in the drawer behind him.
“I didn't know you cooked.”
“I don't.”
Rosalie made it to the stove and peeked into the pot. Red sauce bubbled over meatballs, sausage, and braciole. “It sure looks like cooking to me. You made braciole?”
Nick turned the cutest shade of red. “Yeah, so?”
Rosalie tried not to laugh; she'd never seen Nick embarrassed. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, well. I need to eat, too, you know.” He sounded pacified. She hadn't meant to give him a hard time. Heck, she appreciated the effort. She'd never seen a guy cook on something that didn't require charcoal before—well, at least a guy who wasn't a chef. Actually, the whole cooking thing was sexy in a Bobby Flay or Take Home Chefkinda way. Rosalie sometimes fantasized that the hot Aussie, Curtis somebody, the Take Home Chef, would run into her at the market and come back to her place to fix dinner. Then, she'd remember what a mess her apartment was and thank God he hadn't, because it would be so embarrassing to have to get out of it on national TV. She supposed she could take him to her mother's but then her mother would wreck the whole show by telling him that he was doing everything wrong.
Rosalie shook her head and stepped away from Nick. “Isn't it Tuesday? Don't you have to work?”
He had his briefcase and papers all over the table.
“It's Wednesday, and I took time off.”
“Nick, go to work. I'm fine. I don't need a nursemaid.”
Nick led her over to the table and pulled out a chair for her. “I'm taking you to the doctor early this afternoon. Once we see how you're doing, we'll talk about it.”
Damn, he was pushy. She sat, because, well, she was getting light-headed.