The Borghese Bride

by Sandra Marton

  “Yes.” Arianna tried to step past her but the woman obviously had experience with desperate family members and easily blocked her way. “How is my husband?”

  “I must ask you some questions, signora. Is your husband allergic to any drugs?”

  “I don’t know. How is he?”

  “Does he take any medications?”

  “I don’t know that either. Please, tell me—”

  “Has he a history of heart disease? Diabetes? Stroke? Convulsions?”

  Arianna stared at the woman. “Convulsions? Is he—oh God, please. Tell me what’s happened.”

  The stern face softened, if only fractionally. “Nothing, signora, I promise. I’m simply trying to put together your husband’s medical history. How about prior surgeries?”

  Arianna shook her head.

  “Hospitalizations? Broken bones? Concussions?”

  “I don’t know anything about his medical history! Please, is Dominic—how badly is he hurt?”

  The woman capped her pen. “He has a break in the left humerus.” Arianna shook her head again and the woman touched the upper portion of her arm. “Right here. It’s a bad break, but there wasn’t much tissue damage. Eight weeks, twelve at the most, in a cast and the arm will be fine.”

  Something had been left unsaid. Arianna searched the woman’s face.

  “What else? I know there’s more. My husband’s head was bleeding. He was unconscious.”

  “Yes. We believe he suffered a concussion. The doctor ordered a CAT scan. We’ll know more once it’s done.”

  “But isn’t he awake yet? Surely, by now…”

  A look of compassion flashed in the other woman’s eyes. “No,” she said gently, “not yet.”

  Arianna swayed unsteadily. The woman grasped her arm.

  “You’ll be no help to your husband if you fall apart, signora. Are you here alone? Shall I call someone to come and stay with you?”

  Arianna shook her head again. There was no one to call. She had only an elderly grandmother and a small child. Dominic had never mentioned having a family and she had never asked. She’d never asked him anything about his life, she’d been too busy hating him, when all he was guilty of was wanting her—and wanting her son.

  His son.

  He’d tried to make the three of them into a family and she hadn’t let him. Why hadn’t she seen that until now?

  “No,” she said, “there’s no one. Thank you. I’ll be—”

  The curtains parted again. An attendant wheeled out a gurney on which Dominic lay motionless.

  “Dominic,” Arianna whispered, her voice breaking. She reached for his hand, clasped it tightly in hers and hurried alongside the gurney as the attendant wheeled it down a corridor, into an elevator, and then to a door marked Radiology, where they stopped her again.

  “You’ll have to wait outside, signora.”

  Arianna leaned over Dominic and brushed her mouth gently against his.

  “I’ll be right here, mio marito,” she murmured.

  The door swung shut.

  She stared at it, drew a shuddering breath and turned blindly toward a bank of telephones on the wall.

  She didn’t know Gina’s phone number but the operator found it for her and put the call through. Gina answered immediately, as if she’d been hovering near the phone and waiting for it to ring.

  Gianni was fine; Arianna was not to worry about him. He’d had supper, he and Bruno were playing trains.

  “And how is your husband?” Gina asked carefully.

  “I don’t know. It’s too soon.”

  “I’ll get Gianni.”

  Arianna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to be strong when she spoke with her son.

  “Mommy?” Her son’s voice trembled.

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  “Did Dom’nic die?”

  The childlike bluntness of the question shook her. “No,” she said quickly, “no, baby. Dominic didn’t die.”

  “What happened to him?”

  She told him some of the truth. Yes, there’d been an accident. After that, she lied. Dominic was fine, the doctors said, but he’d have to stay in the hospital for a bit.

  “Why?”

  “Well, he broke his arm. Remember last year, when Billy Gooding broke his?”

  “He had to wear a cast.”

  “Right, sweetheart. Dominic will have to wear one, too.”

  Jonathan’s tone grew hopeful. “And we’ll all write on it an’ draw pictures?”

  Arianna made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Yes. We’ll all decorate his cast, baby. Okay?”

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll draw a picture of a cat.” There was a brief pause. “How come Dom’nic has to stay in the hospital? Billy didn’t.”

  “Well, Dominic hit his head, too. He’ll have to stay here until the bump goes away.”

  “Oh.” Another pause. “Mommy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you tell Dom’nic that I miss him?”

  Tears welled in Arianna’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “I’ll tell him,” she whispered.

  Gina took the phone again, assured Arianna that she and her husband were happy to have Gianni spend the night, even the next few days. Arianna wiped her eyes, choked out a “thank you,” ended the call and then, for the very first time, phoned Dominic’s office.

  He’d given her his private number. She’d countered by telling him it wasn’t necessary.

  “I can’t imagine any circumstance under which I’d want to call you,” she remembered saying.

  Her throat constricted. How foolish she’d been. How selfish.

  The phone rang and rang. Why wouldn’t it? Nobody would answer a private number except Dominic, and he was here, locked away from her in a room filled with lights and machines…

  “Dominic Borghese’s office. This is the signore’s assistant speaking. How may I help you?”

  The voice was cool and professional, but it lost those qualities when Arianna identified herself as Dominic’s wife.

  “His wife? But the signore never mentioned…”

  Arianna interrupted and explained what had happened.

  “Dio! I felt in my bones that something was wrong. It is why I answered the telephone. Signora, my name is Celia. What can I do to help you?”

  “I wondered,” Arianna said, “I wondered if you would know… if you would know if my husband has a personal physician. They’re doing everything they can here, but I want to be sure—to be sure—”

  Her voice broke. She was going to weep again and tears didn’t change anything. She’d learned that early, sobbing against the fates that had snatched her mother and father from her.

  “I understand, signora. Yes, your husband has a doctor. I’ll call him and have him meet you at the hospital, si?”

  “Thank you. Tell him—Oh. They’re bringing Dominic out.”

  “If you need anything else—”

  “Yes. Grazie. I’ll call you when I know more.”

  Arianna jammed the phone back on the wall. The attendant was wheeling Dominic’s gurney down the corridor and she ran after it, but a hand closed on her arm.

  “Signora Borghese? I’m the radiologist who took your husband’s CAT scan. They’re taking your husband to surgery, to set his arm.”

  Arianna tore her eyes from the gurney. “What did the CAT scan show? Is my husband—will he be all right?”

  The radiologist nodded. The scan, he said, confirmed a concussion. With luck, there would be no swelling of the brain.

  Without luck… Arianna couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  A tall, white-haired man hurried in and introduced himself as Dominic’s personal physician. Arianna began asking questions. He held up a hand and stopped her.

  “Give me a few minutes, signora, so I can speak with the doctors who examined your husband. Then we’ll talk.”

  Arianna waited. And waited. Finally, the doctor returned. The arm would heal cleanly. The head… He
touched her shoulder gently. The sooner Dominic regained consciousness, the better. Meanwhile, they’d moved him to a private room. If the signora would please wait just a little while…

  But it was dark before a nurse finally told Arianna she could see her husband, and led her to a darkened room. It was the first truly quiet place she’d been in since coming to the hospital hours before.

  Dominic lay still, as he had all afternoon. An IV was hooked to his arm; other tubes and lines snaked out from under the blanket.

  Dominic, Arianna thought, oh my husband.

  She took his hand and said his name. He didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink. Tears welled in her eyes. She leaned down and pressed her lips gently to his brow. Then she sat in a chair beside him, took his hand and waited.

  She didn’t really know what she was waiting for. A blip or a beep from one of the machines ranged alongside the bed? A word from a doctor?

  She only knew that she would not leave this room until Dominic was with her again, until she could look into his eyes and tell him—and tell him—

  Arianna’s head fell back against the chair and she slept.

  * * *

  Hours passed. Then, just as the sun burnished the seven ancient hills of Rome with gold, Dominic began surfacing from unconsciousness to a sea of confused dreams.

  He was alone in a vast room. Arianna was there, too, and he was hurrying toward her. He wanted to take his wife in his arms and tell her that she was his wife, by God, that he was tired of living like strangers, that he had married her because he wanted her in his bed.

  In his life.

  But no matter how many steps he took, he couldn’t seem to close the distance between them. The room grew larger; Arianna’s figure grew smaller. He called out her name and she spun away from him and began to run.

  Dominic ran, too. Then he stopped. What was he doing, chasing after a woman who didn’t want him?

  A staircase yawned ahead. He ran down it to a shadowed street, jumped into his car, gunned the engine and started to drive away. He would leave Arianna, forget her…

  He couldn’t. Couldn’t leave, couldn’t forget. He put the car into a hard U-turn….

  Il mio dio!

  A woman pushing a stroller stepped out from between two parked cars. He swore, stood on the brakes. The woman jerked toward him, eyes widening with terror. Everything slowed, slowed—but not enough.

  Dominic yanked the wheel to the right. The car, responsive as a thoroughbred, followed his command instantly. It spun, climbed the curb, shot ahead toward a concrete traffic barrier that blocked the piazza, and he knew he would never see his Arianna again.

  Malleable metal struck unyielding concrete. Pain shot through his head, his body, and as a towering black wave of unconsciousness closed over him, he thought, with agonizing clarity, that it was too late. His pride had made him waste precious time. Arianna would never know—she would never know—

  * * *

  “Dominic?”

  Dominic moaned and thrashed from side to side.

  “Dominic,” a soft voice pleaded urgently, “please, please open your eyes and come back to me.”

  Arianna’s prayer was the strength he needed. Dominic opened his eyes and saw his wife leaning over him, smiling and crying at the same time.

  “Arianna,” he whispered, and when he did, she gave a sob and buried her face against his throat. He lifted the one arm that seemed to work, wrapped it around her and thought that he had never heard a woman weep as hard as his wife was weeping at this minute….

  And that he had the world right here, in the curve of his arm.

  * * *

  “I have been in this prison a lifetime and I tell you all, I am not staying another day!”

  Dominic sat up against the pillows, glaring at the little group assembled at the foot of his bed. The orthopedist who’d tended his arm, the neurologist who’d consulted on the concussion, the charge nurse all stood with their arms folded and stern expressions on their faces.

  His personal physician and his wife stood off to the side. His doctor looked amused; his wife looked—Dominic scowled. Who could tell? Women were good at wearing masks.

  “You’ve only been here three days,” the nurse said sternly. “That’s hardly a lifetime, Signore Borghese.”

  “Have you ever been a patient in this place?”

  “Well, no, but this is an excellent hospital, and—”

  “And, it is a hospital. A place for sick people.” Dominic sat up straighter. “Do I look sick to you?”

  “But your arm,” the orthopedist began.

  “I broke it,” Dominic said sharply. “You set it. Is there some magic mumbo-jumbo still to be performed that I don’t know about?”

  The orthopedist scratched his ear. “I guess not.”

  “Your turn,” Dominic said to the neurologist. “Or don’t you have a comment to make?”

  “You had a concussion,” the neurologist said mildly. “A bad one.”

  “I can walk and talk and perform all your ridiculous little tests. I’ve stood on one foot so long I began to think I was a stork, and I’ve touched my index finger to the tip of my nose enough times to be sure it’s still there. Very scientific, that particular test.” Dominic’s jaw hardened. “Shall I repeat it for you with my thumb?”

  The doctor grinned. “No, no, that’s not necessary.”

  “Good. Then we are agreed. I am leaving this morning.”

  “But—”

  “But, you have a choice. Sign me out, or I’ll do it myself.”

  Dominic’s physician sighed and stepped forward.

  “Send him home, gentlemen. I’ve already discussed matters with Signora Borghese. Between the two of us, we’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Dominic looked at Arianna. He still couldn’t read her expression. He hadn’t been able to, not for the past three days. He still remembered waking at dawn the day after the accident, struggling up from a dream and finding his wife beside him, hearing her soft voice and then feeling the dampness of her tears against his throat as she wept in his embrace….

  Unless that, too, had been a dream.

  The nurse had come in, alerted by the machines he’d been hooked to, followed by the doctors, and Arianna had stepped back from the bed. The next time he saw her, hours later, he’d waited for her to tell him that she’d cried as he held her, that she’d pleaded with him to come back to her….

  She hadn’t said anything. And he hadn’t asked. The neurologist had told him it was not unusual for a man waking from a coma to imagine things.

  That was the probable answer.

  It was too much to hope that Arianna would feel—that she would want—

  Dominic cleared his throat. “Arianna?” He knew his expression gave nothing away. He watched his wife impassively, as he would in a boardroom when an important deal was on the table….

  Or as he had watched his mother, years and years ago, when she’d told him she was moving to Milan and leaving him with a friend in Rome. He’d been twelve then, terrified but determined not to show it.

  Dominic felt a muscle jump in his cheek.

  He was thirty-four now, and suddenly he knew he was just as terrified.

  All the more reason to show nothing.

  “Arianna?” he said again. “Will it be a problem for you, having an invalid at home?”

  Arianna bit her lip. She wanted to throw her arms around Dominic and tell him that she’d been praying for this day, that she wanted him home, home with her, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  But Dominic was studying her as impersonally as he might have studied a stock report. It was the same way he’d looked at her for the past three days: politely, but with no real interest.

  Those few moments when she’d wept in his embrace, when he’d held her close and whispered her name, might have happened a thousand years ago.

  She’d been a fool to think it had meant anything, that the way he’d held her, the fe
el of his lips against her hair, was anything but the reaction of a man who’d cheated death.

  “Arianna?” he said again. “Do you have any objection to having me at home?”

  “No,” she said politely, “none at all.”

  Dominic nodded. “Fine.”

  “Fine,” she repeated, showing nothing, because even though her heart was filled with joy at the thought of having her husband back, she could see, very clearly, that he didn’t feel the same way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY went home in Dominic’s limousine, the big car moving slowly through the early-morning streets.

  Too slowly, evidently. Dominic leaned forward and spoke to the driver.

  “I am not made of glass,” he said impatiently. “Faster, yes?”

  The man nodded and picked up the pace. Dominic settled into the corner again, glowering. Glowering was all he’d done since leaving the hospital, but Arianna wasn’t surprised.

  Her husband’s activities were going to be restricted for a while. No going to work. No eye strain. No stress. Doctor’s orders, all of it, and she’d been charged with the responsibility of seeing to it that Dominic obeyed.

  She had about as much chance of that as a sand castle had of withstanding the tide. Dominic was not cut out to be a docile invalid. More to the point, all those restrictions meant he’d be trapped in the apartment with her.

  The night he’d come out of the coma and held her close to his heart had less substance than a dream. Yes, he’d held her. But it hadn’t meant anything. He’d been seeking comfort. She’d just happened to be there.

  Still, she was his wife. She would be conscientious about his recovery. To that end, she’d done what she could to guarantee a quiet week.

  Celia would phone twice a day to assure her boss that all was well. Dominic had wanted hourly calls but Arianna and Celia had closed ranks and agreed that twice a day check-ins would be more than sufficient.

  Rosa would not come in at all. No vacuum cleaner running, no banging of pots and pans in the kitchen, no cheery voice singing operatic arias off-key. The apartment would be quiet.

  Jonathan would be away, spending the week with the marchesa. This visit to Florence had been planned before the accident. Arianna smiled to herself. Her son was as thrilled with his new great-grandmother as she was with him. He’d been excited about the visit, but ready to cancel it after the accident.