by Phoebe Conn
Gian Carlo gave an audible gulp as he swallowed hard. “There’s been an accident. We’re at L’Esperanza.” His voice broke. “Ana’s hurt, and you need to hurry.”
Alejandro cursed under his breath. He’d thought he could trust Gian Carlo to see Ana home safely, but if she’d been hurt, he’d blame himself. “Calm down. How badly is she hurt?”
“Badly! And it’s my fault.”
Alejandro broke the connection and sped to L’Esperanza. The hospital treated accident victims, and Ana would receive excellent emergency care, but he damned himself the whole way for foolishly leaving her behind when she’d wanted to come with him.
He walked into the second emergency room for the day and found Gian Carlo huddled in the corner, hugging Ana’s purse. There wasn’t a mark on him. He sat down beside him. “Are you trying to tell me Ana is dead?”
“No,” Gian Carlo exclaimed, his blue eyes growing huge. “She’s alive. I rode with her in the ambulance. She hit her head and has a broken leg. Other things could be wrong, I don’t know. The doctor hasn’t come out to talk to me yet.”
Alejandro shoved himself back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “If you have Ana’s phone, did you call her mother?”
“I didn’t even think of it, and I don’t want to terrify her. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they looked.”
Alejandro felt sick. “It sounds as though they might be worse. Tell me how it happened with every detail.”
Gain Carlo shook his head as though he could clear away the bloody mental images. “We were talking about work. I took a corner too fast, lost control and hit a light pole. People came running to help. An ambulance was there in minutes. Ana was unconscious. She didn’t feel anything.”
Alejandro could easily imagine the red MG wrapped around a light pole and Ana lying crushed in the wreckage. It sickened him clear through. There had to be something he could do to help her. “If Ana’s unconscious, and her mother is in France, I’m going to say I’m her next of kin. Don’t dispute me on it. I’ll make whatever decisions need to be made until she can make them on her own.”
Gian Carlo looked around to make sure no one was seated close enough to overhear and still whispered, “You’re not her husband.”
Alejandro gave him a vicious glance and silenced that argument. “The hospital won’t know it, will they? We kept our marriage a secret so it wasn’t in the tabloids. Ana will be able to speak for herself when she comes to, but if anything has to be decided before she does, I’ll do it. Now give me her purse. You look ridiculous sitting here hugging it like a doll.”
Gian Carlo wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It was down by her feet, so her phone and camera weren’t smashed.”
Alejandro reached for the bag, but the side was wet where Ana’s blood had soaked through. Sickened, he set it on the floor by his feet. “If we lose Ana, I’ll kill you.”
“Don’t bother, I’ll kill myself. She was so beautiful. She didn’t deserve this. I should have been the one hurt. I’ve never been in an accident. Never. I wasn’t drinking either. I was cold sober, just stupid and driving too fast.”
Alejandro didn’t argue with him. They drank coffee from a vending machine and regretted it. They’d been waiting nearly two hours when a pretty young woman in a white coat came their way. They rose and stepped toward her.
She directed her first question to Gian Carlo. “I’m Dr. Pallares. Are you Miss Santillan’s brother?”
“No, just a good friend. This is her husband.”
Alejandro gave his name with his usual pride, but Dr. Pallares frowned slightly. “I hadn’t heard Ana Santillan had married, of course, I don’t follow popular culture as closely as some people do.”
Alejandro lowered his voice. “It was a quiet ceremony, and we hadn’t announced it to the public as yet. How is she?”
“Come with me, I’ll show you her X-rays.”
Alejandro brought Ana’s bag. Gian Carlo tagged along behind them. They were led to an empty treatment room where the physician put the X-rays on display. “Her lower right leg was broken in three places. An orthopedist will insert a rod through the center of the tibia to hold the bones in alignment. It will take several weeks to heal, but with time for rehabilitation, she should still be able to strut a runway gracefully. I do need your signature, Mr. Vasquez.” She had a clipboard with the proper forms, and he scanned them hurriedly before signing.
“Thank you. Ana suffered a concussion, and she’ll recover with rest. A plastic surgeon will repair the cut in her head. It sliced through her cheek, but again, with time to heal, she’ll be as beautiful as ever.”
“May I see her?” Alejandro asked.
“She’s being prepped for surgery, so you’ll have to wait until she’s in the recovery room. You’d be more comfortable at home. I’ll give you a call when she’s out of surgery.”
Alejandro shook his head. “My wife wouldn’t leave me. I’ll stay.”
“If you insist.” Dr. Pallares directed him to the waiting room on the surgery floor.
“I can’t leave either,” Gian Carlo explained and followed him. The small waiting room had more comfortable furnishings than the one in the emergency department, but neither man could relax.
Alejandro paced while Gian Carlo sat and shifted his position every other minute. “Do you suppose the cafeteria makes milkshakes?” he asked.
Sick with dread, Alejandro shook his head. “How can you think about food?”
“Milkshakes aren’t food, are they?”
“Yes, they are, but what does it matter? Go look for whatever you want.”
“Do you want me to bring you one? Milk has soothing qualities. It’s why people drink warm milk when they can’t sleep.”
Alejandro doubted he’d ever sleep again. “I’d only throw it against the wall.” He remembered licking frosting off Ana’s delectable body and had to sit down and rest his head in his hands. He ought to call her agent and Fatima, but he couldn’t find the necessary will. The same worry spun in his brain—if he hadn’t left Ana at Galen’s, she wouldn’t have been hurt. No matter how guilty Gian Carlo felt, Alejandro would always feel a thousand times worse. He’d known Ana only a month, but calling her his wife had been so easy. Their sudden marriage would only last until she woke. She’d probably be too sore to laugh, but she’d want to, and he’d have to pretend she hadn’t broken his heart.
Gian Carlo drank his milkshake in the cafeteria and fell asleep in his chair soon after rejoining Alejandro. Unable to sit still, Alejandro paced the long corridor with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes focused on the shiny linoleum tile. He avoided glancing toward the clock in the waiting room each time he passed. He thought it cruel to post the time where frantic family members and friends had to wait hours for news of their loved ones and a second stretched forever.
He’d never considered medicine as a career, but he wished he knew more. He doubted a ballerina could easily regain her former strength and agility after suffering a badly broken leg. It would probably take months to recover, maybe more than a year. Dr. Pallares was either overly optimistic or admired Ana too highly to admit they couldn’t magically heal her injuries.
He found a wrapped mint in his jacket pocket and ate it. A patient was wheeled out of an OR at the end of the corridor, bound for the recovery room, but it wasn’t Ana. Bored walking the silent corridor, he sat down opposite Gian Carlo in the waiting room and stretched out his legs.
The model opened his eyes. “Any news?”
Alejandro shook his head.
Gian Carlo shoved himself out of his chair. “Want some hot chocolate? I’m going to get some.”
“Just bring me a bottle of water.”
“I’ll bring two.”
Gian Carlo reminded him of an overgrown puppy, desperate to please. He closed his eyes and woke with a start when Gian Carlo rushed in and turned on the television set suspended on the wall.
“The accident is on the news. I saw it do
wnstairs.” The next story was up, and he cursed. “I didn’t get up here on time. They had photos from the scene.”
Alejandro opened a bottle of water and took a long drink. “You don’t want me to see those.”
“I’m just warning you what to expect. The paparazzi have to be gathered outside, hoping for a chance to get in.”
“The hospital must have security.”
“Of course they do.” Gian Carlo turned off the television and sipped his cup of hot chocolate. “How long do you think Ana will have to stay here?”
“Not long. I’ll move her to a private hospital as soon as she can be released.”
“Do you ever have to worry about money?”
Alejandro failed to respond. He knew absolutely nothing about private hospitals, but he wanted somewhere Ana wouldn’t be pestered by paparazzi and tabloid journalists eager for a story. He’d have to find a place celebrities chose for the security. Someplace with lovely rooms and a peaceful view. He was uncertain what to do until he realized he could provide everything she’d need on a cruise ship. It was the perfect answer. She couldn’t work, so she’d have no reason not to go on a cruise. On board one of their ships, he’d make her recovery as pleasant as he possibly could.
When the orthopedist entered the waiting room, he looked as tired as Alejandro felt. The physician sat on the arm of an upholstered chair. “Everything went well, but it was a bad break. The plastic surgeon has worked on Ana’s cuts. She’s being taken to recovery and won’t be awake until tomorrow morning. Go on home and come back for visiting hours.”
“Even if I have to look through a window, I need to see her tonight,” Alejandro insisted.
“I’ll wait here,” Gian Carlo offered.
The weary orthopedist rose slowly. “I’ll give you one minute, that’s all.”
Alejandro did have to stand at the window at the end of the room, but Ana was in the closest bed. She’d have been unrecognizable to others, but even with her head bandaged, he knew her. A nurse stood on the other side of the bed adjusting an IV drip and smiled when she saw him.
He sagged against the wall. “I’ll go.”
The doctor grasped his shoulder. “Patients’ families faint so often I’ve become good at catching them. Go back to the waiting room and rest before you drive home.”
Alejandro nodded, but what he really wanted to do was return to the lounge and strangle Gian Carlo. Perhaps anticipating such a threat, the model had disappeared. Ana’s bag sat on the table beside the model’s chair. Taking the orthopedist’s advice, Alejandro sank into his chair and leaned back. When he felt better, he’d go home, but he ached clear through that all he could take with him for comfort was Ana’s bloody bag.
Chapter Eleven
Alejandro returned to L’Esperanza the next morning looking as haggard as when he’d left. He’d showered, shaved and put on clean clothes, but it hadn’t improved his dark mood. He entered from the parking garage to avoid any paparazzi lurking at the front entrance. If the TV news had photos of the accident, they had to be in the tabloids, but he refused to look when seeing Ana so badly injured was pure torture. He carried the bouquet of yellow roses he’d bought on the way and went to the main desk to ask for Ana’s room number.
The receptionist smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, but only family members are allowed to see her. I’ll have the roses sent to her room.”
“I’m her husband,” he argued persuasively. “Dr. Pallares will tell you who I am.”
Appearing convinced by his earnest manner, the receptionist checked her computer screen. She wrote Ana’s room number on a slip of paper and passed it to him.
He glanced at the paper and slipped it into his pocket as he entered the elevator. The door to Ana’s room was ajar, and a nurse was with her. “May I come in?”
“Please do. I’m Maja, Ana’s nurse today. Please put your vase of pretty roses on the windowsill with the other flowers.”
He saw Santos Aragon’s name on a gorgeous mix of pink roses and carnations. Ana had mentioned Miguel, but never his son, Santos. Alejandro wondered just how well acquainted the two were, but it was another worry he didn’t need. Paul Perez had sent a leafy philodendron. Rather than search the other bouquets for cards with men’s names, he turned away.
“Use the call button if you need me,” Maja offered on her way out.
“Thank you.” Alejandro stood beside the bed, uncertain what to do. Ana needed rest to get well, but he longed to tease her awake with gentle kisses. When her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes, he reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry I left you yesterday.”
She blinked, rubbed her eyes and stopped when she felt the bandage covering her right cheek. “You’re all blurry, but that’s my fault rather than yours. What happened? Did the ancient elevator in your building crash with us inside?”
“You don’t remember the accident?” She looked so fragile and pale, and spoke slowly as though she were underwater. He’d thought he couldn’t be more disappointed in himself for leaving her, but the torment became even more painfully deep.
“Obviously not,” she breathed out through a yawn.
Maja entered, carrying a bouquet of daisies. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. These are from Valeria.” She fit the vase into the last open space on the windowsill. “I’ll bring you some broth to make you feel better.”
“I doubt it.” Ana raised her hand to touch the bandages encircling her head. “Why am I wrapped up like a mummy?”
Alejandro pulled the visitor’s chair over to the bed. He described the accident as briefly as he possibly could and glossed over her injuries without admitting he’d been scared to death he’d lose her.
“What happened to Gian Carlo?” she asked.
“Other than emotional distress, nothing. He was here with me last night. It’s probably better you don’t recall anything after Jaime’s memorial.”
She licked her lips and frowned. “Give me a minute.”
He pulled her hand to his lips. “I have all day.”
“Won’t they make you leave soon? Can you make out the time on the clock over the door?”
He followed her glance. “It’s midmorning, but they won’t ask me to keep my visit short. I told them I was your next of kin.”
“Like a brother?”
“No. I told them I’m your husband.”
Astonished, she raised her left hand. “Where’s my ring? I don’t remember marrying you, but you must have given me a ring.”
Before he could explain, Maja returned with the bowl of soup on a tray. She placed it on the rolling table at the end of the bed, pressed the bed control button to raise Ana’s head, and rolled the table close to her. She handed her a spoon. “Try and swallow it all.”
Ana’s hand shook, and she dropped the spoon. “Maybe I should just drink it.”
Alejandro picked up the bowl. “I’ll help you.”
“I wish all my patients had such thoughtful husbands. It makes my job so much easier. I’ll check on you again soon.”
Ana rested her hands on his and took a couple of sips of the broth. “This doesn’t have any taste. Try it and you’ll see.”
He did. “It’s warm and liquid. You must need liquids.”
She swallowed a little more. “That’s enough. Now let me think what I do remember.”
He put the bowl back on the tray and rolled the table out of her way. “You know me.”
“Alejandro something. Was I going to use your name?”
He’d not thought she’d actually believe they were married, but he couldn’t see any harm in the convenient lie for the time being. “No, of course not. Everyone knows you as Ana Santillan.”
“I can’t remember a wedding. Did my mother come?”
“No. We planned to have another wedding in Rouen. We haven’t told her yet. I haven’t called her about your accident either, and I should.” He pulled her phone from his pocket. “The accident has been on the news. You’re well-known in Fr
ance, and I wouldn’t want her to hear about it before we call.”
“What should I say?” She plucked the top sheet.
Clearly she’d been shaken up by the accident, but he hadn’t expected her to be so apprehensive about making a phone call. “Tell her you’re fine and then mention the accident. You broke your leg and won’t be dancing for a while, but she doesn’t need to come and take care of you. Promise to visit her soon.” He scanned the names in her phone, found her mother’s and handed her the phone.
She held it in shaky hands. “I’m fine, broken leg and I’ll see her soon.”
“That’s it.” He held his breath, but the conversation with her mother went more smoothly than he’d dared hope. “Tell her you’ll call her again soon.”
She nodded, but first asked about her stepfather. “I can’t wait to taste his new recipes. Love you.” She handed him her phone. “Will you keep it for me?”
“I will. The Mediterranean Siren is in port this week, and as soon as you’re released, you’ll be more comfortable there than at home. We need to call Fatima.” He again scrolled through the names on her phone. “Do you want me to talk to her?”
“Fatima will be worried, won’t she?” She covered another yawn. “I’ll call her. What should I say?”
He’d never seen her unable to handle her side of a conversation, but with her vision blurry and her memory hazy, he couldn’t fault her. “Tell her you’re fine and ask about the kittens.”
“Kittens?” She closed her eyes and frowned. “Are they black or white?”
“One of each. Romeo and Juliet.”
“I remember them now. Maybe all I need is a little push. Call her and give me the phone.”