“Good evening, Miss Jameson, Mister Spencer,” he said, beaming down at us. He placed the glasses in front of us and wished us a lovely evening.
“Before we order I want to propose a toast,” said Blade and raised his champagne glass. “To us, Angelina, and to our new life together.”
His eyes looked dark and bottomless in the low light, burning stronger than the candles as he gazed at me across the table. I lifted my glass and tapped it against his.
“To us, lover,” I said and took the flute to my lips, drinking deeply the fine, flavored liquid. I was watching Blade, but when I glanced involuntary at my glass, a quick glint caught my eye. I stared down, intrigued, into the shallow depths of the glass, then looked at Blade, incredulous.
“Drink it all,” he prompted me with a nod, smiling enigmatically.
I did, tilting the flute upward until, with the last drop of champagne, a small metallic object rolled toward my lips and clinked against my teeth. I caught it, then took it between my fingers to study it. It was a beautiful slim gold ring, sporting a round diamond that caught the light with its flawless edges.
“I know it’s a cliché,” Blade said when I looked up at him, tears of happiness stinging my eyes. “But I hope you’ll say yes one more time.”
He took the ring from me and slipped it on the fourth finger of my left hand. It fit perfectly.
“Do you want to marry me, Angelina?” I heard husky emotion vibrating in his low voice.
“Yes. Oh, yes!” I said, smiling through tears and squeezing his fingers hard, as he kissed my hand, where his ring sparkled. “Thank you, Blade, for everything. You make me feel so... special. You’ve gone to so much trouble. I appreciate it enormously.”
“You deserve the moon, the stars, and much more. I wanted to make this night memorable.”
“You can’t imagine how successful you were,” I said, sniffing and groping through blurry eyes after a tissue in my bag.
I wiped my eyes, then rose to face Blade, who had stood and was waiting next to my chair. He embraced me tenderly, giving me a kiss that would surely win an Oscar. I was breathless when he finally let me go and we sat again.
“Now let’s order. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said, opening his menu.
I laughed shakily and followed his example.
The food was delicious. Even though initially I wanted to start with dessert, I managed to go through two courses and still be able to savor the exquisite Crème Brule, adorned with a single leaf of mint and dusted with chocolate.
This was the most beautiful night of my life. We spent it talking, making plans, holding each other’s hands or gazing into one another’s eyes. Time sat still in our private bubble of Heaven, while outside the city life went on hurriedly, without us noticing.
It was quite late when we decided to conclude our meal and go home for a more intimate celebration. The waiter brought us the bill, smiling pleasantly and asking if we were satisfied with the service. He congratulated us on our engagement, admitting to me that he was Blade’s accomplice in surprising me with the ring. I assured him I was elated, and Blade gave him a very generous tip, thanking him again for his help. Then the waiter led us to the exit, where we stepped into an elevator.
We were walking on the narrow sidewalk toward the parking lot, when Blade’s phone rang. He stopped to answer, but I, carried by the momentum, moved forward to cross the street. Suddenly, I caught one movement from the corner of my eye, and then everything happened as though in slow motion.
The car shot out like a silent, deadly hunter from the darkness, with its headlights off. I barely put my foot onto the street and it lunged in my direction, at such high speed it looked blurry even as I turned my head toward it. It was too late though. My brain had time to realize I was going to be struck before my body could react. I only felt a tremendous push that shook my bones and rattled my teeth, while the screeching of tires scraped at my eardrums. The last thing I heard was the sickening sound of my head cracking against the pavement. Then everything went dark.
Eighteen
I woke up to a fluorescent light that pierced my eyelids. There was a terrible pain in my head. I swallowed and tried to wet my lips, but my throat felt dry and scratchy. I tried to lift my hand to cover my eyes, and a sharp pain in my shoulder made me gasp.
In the next moment, Blade appeared in my field of vision, bending over me to ask me something. I wanted to shake my head, but it hurt too badly. I was becoming aware of aches of all kinds, which seemed to have taken up merciless residence in my entire body. I focused my heavy eyes on Blade. He looked disheveled, his eyes sunken and shadowed, as he asked me several times, “Angie, baby, how are you feeling? Say something!”
He spoke in a ragged whisper and I briefly wondered why. But my attention span was very fragile, and almost instantly the thought slipped out of my mind. I tried to move my eyes to encompass the room. This action generated not only a hell of a pain, but also a frightening wave of dizziness, so I closed my eyes quickly.
When I opened them again with more care, I asked, “What the hell happened? Where am I?”
I was shocked to hear the sound of my own voice, which was little more than a croak.
Blade stroked my cheek with infinite care.
“You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be okay, don’t worry.”
“What happened?”
“You were hit by a car. God, Angie, it all happened so fast!” he said, raking one hand through his hair. “You were just beside me and my phone rang. Then, the next thing I heard was a screech of tires, and when I turned around you were—”
He stopped, but my pleading eyes urged him to go on, to tell me everything.
“You were flying through the air,” he whispered gruffly, with such a desperate look on his face that I had to touch him. I tried to move my right hand this time and managed, to my great surprise, to lift it to his face. There was some pain, but bearable. I stroked his cheek and he took my hand in his, kissing my fingers. His jaw was so tense that every muscle of his face was drastically delineated. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was an alarming trace of tears in his tired eyes.
“How badly am I hurt?” I asked.
He hesitated, then sat on the edge of my bed, still holding my hand.
“You have a concussion. You hit your head hard when you landed, and your left shoulder is busted, but not broken. You took the hit on your left side. Your hip isn’t in great shape either, and you’ve got a lot of bruises, but the doctor says there’s no real damage. The car just grazed you, because you had just stepped on the street. If it had hit you fully... It could have been a lot worse. In a few days you’ll be as good as new,” he concluded with a pathetic attempt at a smile.
I wasn’t up to smiling. I was too shocked. I’d never even been sick in my life, except for the average cold, so this situation was rapidly causing me to panic. I breathed deeply, ignoring the pain in my ribs. Finally I asked, “Was it a drunk driver?”
He glanced away, then back at me.
“The police don’t think so, but they are pretty confident they will get the chance to ask him.”
I scoffed and shifted a bit, clenching my teeth against the pain in my head and shoulder.
“Catch him? Fat chance, if it was a hit and run.”
“There are a couple of witnesses who saw what happened and each of them caught a glimpse of the plate number. They both said it was a dark gray or black sedan, and I confirmed it. The police have questioned them. Both stated that the car was parked, then shot out at full speed just as you stepped onto the street.”
I gaped at him, incredulous.
“You don’t mean that it was a deliberate action, do you?”
Blade massaged the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I don’t know, Angie. It’s just that... It’s all too strange. The man and woman who witnessed the scene said that it looked to them like the car was lying in wait for someone, with its
lights off and the engine running. It’s hard to make assumptions at this point. I guess we just have to wait and see what the police find.”
I pondered this for a few seconds, shaking my head slowly, as much as I could.
“There’s no one who would do this to me,” I said quietly, attempting to convince myself as much as Blade. “I don’t know anybody who would do such a thing, and I doubt I pissed off someone that badly as to make them try to kill me. It must have been an accident.”
“Maybe you’ve upset some really deranged individual with one of your articles,” he suggested.
“Do you realize what you’re saying? No person would become murderous just because they don’t agree with an article in a magazine. That’s crazy, Blade.”
“Maybe so is this person,” he reasoned, still holding my hand. “I don’t know what to think, Angelina. I’ve called the police for updates every hour, but there’s nothing new,” he said, shaking his head in defeat and bone-deep fatigue.
My heart broke for him, looking at his tired face and colorless lips. I stroked his cheek and said, “Please, go home and rest, baby. We’ll sort it all out, you’ll see. I’m fine, really I am. You’ve heard the doctor. Go and get some sleep.”
He refused stubbornly. In the middle of my pleading, the door opened and Mom burst in, her hair wild, her face splotched with tear tracks.
“Oh, my God, you’re awake! Angie, my poor baby, what happened?”
She moved quickly toward the bed and took my face between her hands, asking frantic questions to which I didn’t know the answers. I tried a reassuring smile and gradually she calmed down. Blade had called her, and now he explained to her what happened, omitting his theories about it not being an accident. I only put in a few words here and there, feeling exhausted. Probably the clear liquid that dripped into my vein contained some sleeping drugs, because I could barely keep my eyes open.
“I’m fine, Mom, really. Just a concussion and bruised shoulder, which will get well in a few days,” I told her drowsily, holding her hand weakly. “Please, take Blade and you both go home to rest. I’m in the hospital, with professional care at my disposal and great drugs.”
They both still looked terribly worried, but at least the hopeless desperation imprinted on their faces had begun to fade.
A nurse came in and asked me how I was, what the date was, made me count her fingers, took my blood pressure, and fussed over me. Blade tried to convince, then bribe her to let him sleep next to me on a chair. I grimaced toward her almost imperceptibly and she winked at me with a warm smile on her kind face.
“I’m sorry, Mister Spencer, but you can’t stay here over night. It’s the hospital policy. Please go home and rest before you become a patient here yourself. And that goes for you too, Mrs. Jameson,” she said, turning to Mom. “Angelina has the best care here, she is safe and has 24/7 supervision. Her injuries aren’t life-threatening. She is doing very well so far.”
When Mom and Blade both opened their mouths to protest, the nurse threw in her best argument. “Angelina needs rest. If she spends the night worrying about the two of you, she won’t get any.”
“The nurse is right,” I put in. “Please, both of you go home. It breaks my heart to see you here in the middle of the night. Go and take some sleeping pills, eat and sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I divided a pleading gaze between them. After a short staring contest and some disapproving mumbles, they relented. It was just as well, because the nurse had added a new wonderful something to my cocktail of drugs, and I was getting very high, very fast.
Blade and Mom both kissed me gingerly, promising they would be back in the morning. The last thing I remembered was their heading for the door, before I let myself fall into sweet, drug-induced oblivion.
In the morning I felt stiff and sore in every bone and muscle. I tried to shift myself, and with a lot of teeth grinding I managed to turn onto my uninjured right side. When I finished this small task I was drenched in sweat. Desperation clung to the back of my mind, but I firmly pushed it away. It will pass, I kept telling myself. This horrible state of pain and helplessness will pass, and in only a couple of days I’ll be all right. My back and buttocks itched from sitting on my back too much, and that irritated me immensely. The simple process of scratching seemed more difficult than organizing a military operation.
The doctor came in, cheerful as the sunlight that streamed through the window, torturing my eyes. He was almost too young to have a medical degree, but his manner was professional and his warm, brown eyes were maturely confident.
“Good morning, Angelina,” he said brightly, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Do they call you Angie?”
“Mostly,” I replied, stifling a yawn.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a car,” I said grumpily. “What’s my prognosis, Doc? How long do I have to sit in this goddamned bed?”
He laughed good-humouredly.
“Well, that depends. If you’re up to it, you can get up today. After you’ve had a good meal and some strong vitamins, I’ll send Nurse Anderson to help you. Don’t attempt it alone though,” he warned me with a wiggle of his finger. “If you fall down and break a bone, you’ll be sitting here for a long while.”
“That thought is too horrible to contemplate. Got it. What else? What do I have to do to heal faster?”
“Your head seems to be fine. There was no brain damage, and other than a mild headache, which we’ll keep under control with analgesics, it won’t affect you. Get as much sleep as you can. You’re young and healthy, so you should be back on your feet quickly.” He studied the stack of papers he carried. “The inventory of your other injuries is short and doesn’t include more than a few bruises. Your left shoulder and hip will be sore for a few days more, so be gentle with them. No dancing salsa until I say so.”
He grinned, making me chuckle, amused.
“As if!”
“You were lucky, Angie. People die or remain permanently incapacitated from car accidents,” he said seriously. “If you had taken a full body hit, at that speed you would have probably been dead. But as it is, you’ll be your healthy charming self very soon, with absolutely no long-term effects.”
I expelled the first relieved breath in days, so dramatic that the doctor laughed.
“Oh, God, thank you, thank you! I’ll do anything you say, just patch me up good, Doctor!” I said, feeling weak but optimistic.
After patting my hand gently, he told me he would be back later and left me to my own devices. Shortly, Nurse Anderson brought me a tray of hospital food. By hospital food, I mean a substance that looked—and probably—tasted like worm puke, but which she forced me to swallow, under the pretext that it was good for me. Not from where I was sitting, but I ate it anyway, determined to do anything and everything that would get me out of there.
I was sitting propped on my pillow, thinking about how divine a shower and a good scratching of my ass would feel, when the door opened again and Blade came in. He looked a bit better, but he was unshaven and his eyes were still clouded with sleeplessness and worry.
I smiled at him brightly.
“Hey, lover. You look much better.”
He bent and kissed my bandaged temple.
“You too. How do you feel?”
“Great,” I lied. “The doctor says I’ll be fully recovered in a few days.”
“That’s wonderful news,” he congratulated me, sitting on the edge of the bed. He seemed preoccupied.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. “And if you mean to say nothing, think again, Mister. The concussion didn’t make me stupid.”
He gave a faint smile and took my hand in his, studying my new, shiny engagement ring.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to say. But you’re right. I do have something on my mind. The police found the car that hit you.”
“Really? Fast work,” I said impressed. “So, who was the driver?”
“They don’t know yet. The car had been rented under a false name.”
Nineteen
For a full thirty seconds I was speechless. Then I managed to say, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
He shook his head.
“Nope. It’s true. That’s what’s got me worried, Angelina.”
I wanted to comb my fingers through my hair, but encountered the bandage and let my hands fall in my lap, frustrated.
“Who the hell would go to all the trouble of renting a car under a fake name to stalk me and try to run me over? This is crazy!” I exploded. The fearful sharpness of my voice echoed off the white, plain walls.
“Angie, you have to accept that this wasn’t an accident.” Blade took my hand between his once more. “It was hard for me to accept it, but after pondering the facts all night, I reached the same conclusion. And the police’s discovery confirms it. I don’t know why, I don’t know who, but someone hit you deliberately with that car after following us and waiting for us to leave.”
“But why? And how the hell would he know that I’d stumble into the street right at that moment?” I asked, still not willing to accept the unacceptable.
“Probably he was following us for a longer time, just on the off chance he’d get the opportunity to do something. And he did last night. Your rushing into the street was his shot of luck, and he took advantage of it.”
I lowered my head to my hand, shaking it slowly. This was unreal. This could not happen to me, an ordinary girl with an ordinary life. Things like this were cliché-ish plots for secondhand movies, not something that would happen in real life. But facts were facts and I couldn’t ignore them. If the police—who were professionals—have been alerted into action, the business was serious. If I stuck my head in the sand, the problem wouldn’t go away. I had to face it and deal with it.
I looked up again at Blade, who watched me patiently.
Unabridged Page 11