Ruthless Perfection (The Rosa Legacy #1)

by Susie Warren

  After a few minutes, the doctor returned with a nurse and examined her thoroughly. He didn’t seem surprised in the least and in fact seemed more concerned about her hand than the hardware holding her hip together.

  After cleaning the cut, he asked the nurse to bring him a suture kit. “You will fine, but a few quick sutures will help this heal.”

  The doctor carefully worked on the incision, adding four sutures to close the skin, then applied a bandage.

  “If you want to get dressed, my nurse will bring you to my office.” He turned to the nurse. “Could you please find a cane for Ms. Neri?”

  When the nurse came back with a cane, Isabel was dressed. Her mind was racing. Why wouldn’t the doctor just tell her the results of the X-ray? Why the formality of returning to his office?

  She thanked the nurse and followed her down a short corridor. The nurse left her at the door, and after a brief knock Isabel forced herself to go in. The first thing she noticed was her X-ray up on a large computer screen mounted on the wall.

  “Ms. Neri, please sit down.” Isabel looked at Marc and couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Her heart was beating fast and she had trouble concentrating on what the doctor was saying.

  “As you know, a hip dislocation such as the one you had two years ago can have long-term consequences, particularly since there were associated fractures. But your X-ray shows no problem with the hardware placed during surgery. So I think, given the description of the terrain you walked today, at some point when you stepped on a stone, your hip probably rotated further than it should have and the swelling and pain are the result. There is no permanent damage. It will just take time to heal.”

  Marc leaned forward. “Why did the injury happen? Should she limit walking or other activities?”

  The doctor twirled a pen in his hand as he spoke. “Both the X-ray and physical exam show Ms. Neri to be in excellent condition. Why did it happen? Given the history, it is not surprising. But anyone with the type of terrain you described could have injured themselves. I recommend using a walking aid, such as the cane, until the limp disappears. Swimming would be a great way to move the hip without straining it. But you should make a full recovery within a few weeks without a problem.”

  “What about the sutures you mentioned?” Marc asked.

  “My nurse has given Ms. Neri written instructions, but certainly she should be careful of her hand for the next several days while the sutures heal.”

  Isabel stood up first. “Thank you so much, doctor.”

  The doctor rose from behind his desk and shook both their hands. “Please call me if you have any further complications, but I expect you will be feeling much better in a few days.”

  It was nearly midnight when they climbed back into the car to head home.

  Isabel was exhausted from all the worry. She opened the pain medicine she was given and took two pills along with a sip of water.

  “Well, it seems as if you will be the one needing a private nurse.”

  “I’m fine,” Isabel said, looking out the window to avoid Marc’s eyes.

  “You don’t seem fine. You were very worried in there.”

  The day had gone badly. The pain seemed out of proportion to her injury and then after enduring a long trek out of the woods, she had had to deal with a foreign medical facility and more questions. Something in her snapped.

  “Of course, I was worried. I’m here to complete the filming for this project. And I feel guilty for going off on a hike. Then I had to walk several miles not knowing if I was causing more damage to my hip as darkness descended.”

  Marc drove in silence for several minutes before saying, “Tell me about the car accident.”

  Isabel’s heart started hammering. “I don’t think the accident is relevant.”

  “Why do you become so defensive when the accident is mentioned?”

  She clenched her hands in response, only to feel the sting of the sutures. “I have no intention of talking about the accident,” she said vehemently. “I hate even thinking about it.”

  “No, what you hate is not being able to face up to the accident. For some reason you avoid the issue at all costs. You’re like a lion with a thorn in its paw who refuses to allow anyone to come near.” Marc’s voice was smooth and silky as he shifted to merge onto the expressway.

  “How dare you say that to me? You know nothing about it.”

  “So enlighten me.” His words held a raw challenge.

  She closed her eyes. “Why would I confide in someone who prizes perfection above all else?”

  “I think the strain of the day has caused you to exaggerate wildly.”

  “So you disagree that you prize perfection above all else?”

  “My desire to achieve perfection in my work has nothing to do with your injuries.”

  “Yes, it does. You expect perfection from all those around you.”

  “Isabel, that is not true. While I agree that I may seek it in my designs, I understand that humans are not capable of perfection in their lives.”

  “You want this film to be perfect and that also extends to my work on the film.”

  “So you are saying that you are not internally driven to seek out the best work attainable?”

  “I don’t think perfection is attainable.” Isabel shuddered as she thought about her body.

  “I don’t understand where you are going with this. Yes, I want you to create the best film possible. But that doesn’t extend to you personally. I know injuries and accidents happen.”

  For a brief moment, Isabel considered telling him about the accident. Then she sternly reminded herself that, despite what Marc just said, he most certainly did prize physical perfection above all else. It was evident in every aspect of his life, from his sculpture to how he ran his business. There was no way she would reveal her flaws to him. She would finish her contract and go home to lick her wounds in private.

  Chapter 12

  It was five days later when Isabel went with Maria to Carrara to have the sutures removed from her hand and find a reasonable evening gown to wear to the opera. Maria was pleasant company and helped Isabel navigate the local shops with ease. When at the third store, she followed her into the changing room with a strapless gown of shimmering blue silk, Isabel politely declined.

  “But you are a beautiful girl,” Maria insisted. “Why do you say no to beautiful dresses?”

  Maria had been very supportive and friendly since the moment she had arrived in Italy. Now, looking at the older woman, seeing only kindness in her expression, Isabel made a decision.

  “Maria, I was in a bad accident years ago and have many ugly scars. That dress is too revealing.”

  Instead of feeling panicked about disclosing her problem, Isabel felt relief.

  “Where are the scars?” Maria asked simply.

  Isabel ran her hand from her right arm to her right thigh.

  Maria returned with several dresses that could work. After trying each one, Isabel chose a sophisticated pink silk gown with a rounded neckline and elbow-length sleeves. The fitted, slip-on style was modest but feminine with the hemline at the knee.

  Maria smiled and rushed her to another store, where Isabel purchased matching pink evening sandals and sheer hosiery. Leaving the store, Isabel was beginning to feel guilty about her extravagant purchases.

  “I have to go to the market, but I can drop you off at a nearby salon so you can have your hair put up,” Maria said.

  “No, I have spent too much money already. I can put my hair up myself.”

  Maria didn’t accept her excuses. “Everyone who goes to the opera on opening night dresses up,” she said firmly. “Please come.”

  Isabel followed obediently, grateful she didn’t need the cane any longer. When they entered the salon, Maria conversed with the receptionist in Italian for a moment before leaving. “I’ll return in an hour,” she said to Isabel as she made her way out the door.

  The salon was busy, but Isabel was take
n back immediately to have her hair shampooed. A girl in her early twenties greeted her and lifted her hair to feel the texture.

  After shampooing, the girl insisted on cutting a few inches off at an angle. She then curled each section of hair before putting it up in an elegant style with several pieces hanging loose that she curled as well. When Isabel looked in the mirror, she was amazed at how sophisticated she looked.

  Isabel smiled, thanking the girl, but the woman motioned for her to stay. Someone else came in with a make-up tray and, after redefining her eyebrows with tweezers, applied a serious amount of makeup. Isabel began to suspect Alda’s hand in the makeover but remained polite.

  Maria smiled when she saw her, so she asked, “Do you think Alda will approve?”

  “She will be very pleased.”

  When they returned to the villa, Alda opened the door, surprising them both in her formal gown.

  “You look beautiful, Isabel.”

  “Grazie, Alda. So do you.”

  Well, Isabel thought, at least she is happy. Looking at Alda, she seemed ready to face the world, or at any rate, the locals in Carrara.

  “Did you rest while we were shopping?”

  “Not much. I spoke to a dear friend on the phone and made plans to go spend next weekend at her house in Sarzana.”

  Isabel noticed Alda was moving slowly and she sat down on the nearest chair.

  “Alda, maybe we should stay in tonight.”

  “No, I’ve been looking forward to Carmina Burana. It will do me a world of good.”

  Isabel knew persuading Alda to stay home would be an impossible task. So she smiled and said, “Well, let’s get ready.”

  Maria entered the room holding a magnificent emerald necklace. “This is the one you wanted from the safe?”

  “Yes, thank you.” After Maria fastened the necklace, Alda hurried Isabel out of the room. “Now it is your turn to get ready, we will leave in about an hour.”

  Alda looked so happy to be going out, Isabel was glad she hadn’t spoiled the evening by trying to convince her to rest. She could rest tomorrow.

  Back in her room, Isabel slipped the elegant pink silk dress over her body. The flowing, slip-on style covered her but also made her feel quite feminine. She would have to remember to thank Maria. She added the simple marble necklace that Marc had given her in Florence, dabbed on perfume and slipped into her new sandals. The heels were much higher than she was used to.

  She found Alda conversing with Marc in the living room. Marc was wearing a formal suit and Isabel could feel his eyes rake over her in a heated appraisal.

  Instead of allowing him to fluster her, she simply said, “Ciao.”

  “Your limp has disappeared. But should you be wearing heels?”

  “Each day my hip has gotten better. Surprisingly, heels are fine. It is the way the hip rotates, not the angle of my foot.”

  Marc gazed at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

  Alda broke the silence in the room. “You look beautiful, Isabel.”

  “Would you like a cocktail before we go?” Marc asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” Isabel joined them and the conversation flowed naturally to other opera seasons and who would be on stage.

  Isabel realized that the attraction between her and Marc was getting unbearable. She found it difficult to look away from him but didn’t want to be caught staring. What was it about him that attracted her? She’d met many men in graduate school and while working on different films, but none of them held her interest. Why had a completely unsuitable, perfection-seeking billionaire become an obsession? She could barely think about anything else.

  “We should be on our way.” Alda’s excitement was infectious.

  Alda insisted on sitting in the back of the car and told Isabel to sit in the front so she could appreciate the view of the countryside.

  Isabel willed herself to relax and enjoy the evening, but being in such close proximity to Marc made it difficult. It brought back memories of the drive to the clinic and her harsh words to him. Studying him covertly, she acknowledged that his handsome profile was etched in her mind. She looked away and flushed as she remembered her body’s response to him in the workroom at the quarry. Even now, the thought of his hands on her flesh and his mouth devouring hers was making her heart beat quicker. If things had been different, would she have had an affair with him? He’d told her quite plainly he didn’t believe in permanent relationships. And she didn’t believe in casual ones.

  “Lost in thought, are you?”

  Marc’s question caught her off guard.

  “Maybe,” Isabel stammered. She glanced back at Alda and noticed her eyes were closed.

  “The countryside is beautiful,” she said in a quiet voice. “The green hills stretch out for miles.”

  Marc gave a slight smile. “Afraid of sharing your real thoughts?”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t approve of them,” Isabel said without thinking. In response, Marc laughed and she couldn’t help smiling in return.

  From that point forward, the tension between them eased and they went on to discuss the opera.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, where they would dine prior to the opera, Adrienne was waiting in the lobby and greeted them all warmly. Within minutes an old friend of Alda’s, Donatella, arrived and introductions were made. Isabel noticed Alda was making a point to be friendly to Adrienne. She wondered if the conversation she had walked in on earlier was Marc warning his aunt to be polite to her.

  They were quickly seated and it was quite apparent that many of the patrons were attending the opera that night. Several people had already stopped by the table to greet Marc or Alda and wish them well. Alda’s friend, Donatella, also drew many acquaintances and the conversation kept moving at a fast clip.

  “I love opening nights. They are always magical, no matter how many of them I’ve been to,” remarked Donatella.

  “This is Isabel’s first experience with opera,” said Alda.

  All of sudden Isabel felt self-conscious, almost as if she didn’t quite belong.

  Adrienne smiled warmly, coming to her rescue. “In that case, the evening will be much more enjoyable. I can’t wait to share the experience and excitement with you.”

  “I’m happy to be here, as well,” Isabel returned politely. Adrienne was so nice that Isabel felt a stab of guilt. She had no idea of the exact relationship between Marc and Adrienne, but it didn’t excuse her jealousy. Clearly there was a romantic attachment or why would Marc invite her tonight? Maybe to thwart Alda? Why would Adrienne go along with that?

  Deciding to take the evening as it happened, Isabel took a sip of her wine and glanced at the menu.

  It turned out that Adrienne was an enjoyable dinner companion as she kept them laughing with stories about the tourists at her hotel. Even Alda seemed ready to enjoy the evening and asked about the hotel. Donatella had met Adrienne previously and spent time discussing the local tourist industry.

  Much later, when they were walking to the opera house, Isabel caught Marc’s gaze on her and was surprised by its intensity. If they had been alone, she was sure Marc would have kissed her. She looked away and a wave of sadness and longing threatened to overwhelm her. There was no chance of Marc falling in love with a woman like her. He would be revolted by her disfigurement. Wearing a beautiful dress didn’t change anything, she realized. She was still the same woman underneath the silk. Suddenly Isabel was happy Alda and Adrienne were along. It gave her a needed distraction to help her keep Marc at a distance.

  The historic opera house appealed to Isabel. The entrance was paved in white marble and a crowd of fabulously dressed people poured in. Italy was fashion conscious in a way Isabel could never have imagined before she visited. Everyone seemed to be laughing, and the anticipation was palpable.

  A theater attendant seated them in the center section towards the front. Adrienne took the first seat, then Marc. When Isabel went to let Alda sit next to her nephew, Alda asked
to sit at the aisle in case she needed to get up. So Isabel sat in between Marc and Donatella.

  Once seated, they only waited a few minutes before the lights were dimmed and Carmina Burana began.

  Isabel sat mesmerized as haunting choral passages, Gregorian style chants, and potent orchestrations filled the theater. The audience sat in rapt fascination letting the music permeate the atmosphere.

  Isabel was amazed by the entire presentation. The splendor of the old world amphitheater was a beautiful backdrop, but the real gift was the sound quality of the space. Isabel glanced at Marc and a smile touched his lips as he briefly met her gaze. He was clearly a fan of opera. There seemed to be an energy buzzing around him. Isabel returned her attention to the stage and smiled at the skill of the actors in their colorful yet old-fashioned costumes.

  The driving percussion along with the drama acted out on stage combined to create a work that had an almost physical effect on Isabel. She was completely lost and forgot her own troubles as she was swept up in the action on the stage.

  Alda had told her Carmina Burana portrayed medieval Europe at its most hedonistic, but she wasn’t prepared for the earthly pleasures so freely displayed on stage. Each vignette dealt with a particular pleasure: eating, dancing, drinking, gambling, or lovemaking. As it ended, Isabel was left with an overall sense of taking the time to truly enjoy life. Looking around, the audience was euphoric and thunderous applause rang out.

  She hugged Alda and thanked her. “I have had the best evening. I can’t even put words to how wonderful and moving the performance was.”

  “You have become so dear to me. And I want you to enjoy your time in Italy.”

  Isabel spoke for a few minutes with Adrienne and then was surprised when the sophisticated woman excused herself, politely said goodbye to Alda, and moved aside to have a private word with Marc.

  Alda had planned to go home with Donatella for the weekend and the two of them hugged her and wished her goodnight.

  Marc took her hand as they left the theater and waited for the car to be brought out. The conversation seemed stilted during the drive back to the villa. Marc was lost in thought, and without Alda keeping up a steady banter, they lapsed into silence.