No Other Love (To Serve and Protect Book 4)

by Kathryn Shay

  “That’s very forgiving of you.”

  “What’s going on out here?” Alexandra appeared on the porch and crossed to them. She was off classes for the summer. “Hi, you two.” She gestured to the pens and paper before them. “What are you doing?”

  They exchanged looks. “Um,” Callandra said.

  “Tell her.” This from Gabriella. “She’s been sheltered too long.”

  Alexandra plopped hands on hips. “Porca miseria. I’m twenty years old. I’m already angry at you and Mamá for keeping your situation with Lorenzo from me. I’m not a child.” The fact that she practically stomped her feet made them grin.

  Gabriella motioned to the seat next to her. “Sit, honey.” When Alexandra dropped down with them, Gabriella leaned over and kissed her head. “As of now, you’re officially a grownup. We, at least, won’t keep anything from you.”

  Alexandra gestured to the papers. “What are you doing?”

  “Creating a strategy to convince Papá to take action.”

  “After what he did to you, Calla, and caused to happen to you, Brie, he should give you the moon if you want it.”

  “This is about some of Casarina’s restrictions.” Calla heard her voice come out hoarsely. The topic was hard for her.

  “You mean father’s restriction on who we marry. He already agreed to end that.”

  “There’s more.”

  “What?”

  “Casarina has a law on the books that says, and I quote, A wife is subject to her husband. It’s been interpreted to mean...what Lorenzo did to me is legal.”

  The sun went out of Lexy’s face. “I don’t believe that. Papá and Mamá can’t possibly approve of that.”

  “Only Papá,” Brie told her. “Mamá doesn’t.”

  “Why hasn’t abuse happened to other women in the country?”

  “It has.” This from Calla. “Only a handful of them escaped like I did to go to America. Others probably didn’t report it or could have gone elsewhere. In truth, we think domestic abuse here is much broader than anyone realizes.”

  Brie added, “Then it goes unreported in Casarina too.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Her sister’s brow furrowed. Loss of childhood had its consequences.

  “I’m sorry, it’s true.” Brie’s tone was sympathetic.

  Alexandra lifted her chin. “Well then, it’s our duty to talk our father into getting rid of archaic laws.”

  “We have to get our ducks in a row, first.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” Because she’d never left the country, she didn’t understand most English idioms.

  “We have to be prepared with cogent arguments.”

  They worked through the afternoon preparing their strategy. When their father came back from the palace for dinner, he went to his home office to finish up the day’s work. Something struck Calla. He’d always come home for dinner unless he was out of town, even if he had to work here, or go back later to the council building. That softened her toward him.

  She knocked and was told to enter. “Hello, Papá.” As the oldest and most affected so far, she led the others to his desk.

  “Well, aren’t you three belle ragazze? Standing there in the doorway, together.” He frowned. “I wish all seven of you were under my roof again.”

  As good an opening as she’d get. “Perhaps we will be from time to time if you grant our request.”

  His brow furrowed. Since he’d taken care of Lorenzo and she and Brie stayed home, the lines around his eyes and mouth had diminished. He seemed younger, happier. “I’ve already rescinded my dictum to the other girls. I sent them emails yesterday.” He frowned. “They all replied but Ravenna.”

  “We appreciate that,” Brie told him, “but we have another condition.”

  “How can I deny either of you after what happened?”

  “We must move on, Papá. Not rehash the past.” Calla felt hypocritical because that’s all she’d been doing in private: remembering her relationship with Connor, fantasizing what could have been, and yes, feeling guilty for hurting him again.

  The three sisters sat down.

  “What is your request?”

  Calla held out a paper. “First, we want the old law repealed, immediately.”

  “The old law being the one... that a wife is subject to her husband.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a council, you know. It may not be that easy.”

  She raised a brow. “Papá, you are king.”

  “Of course, I’ll try.”

  “There’s more. We also want a new law put in its place. One that states a man can be prosecuted for abusing his wife. We think it needs to be fully stated and widely publicized.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Papá,” Lexy said passionately, “if the old law is just gone, nothing’s to say abuse won’t go on. Someone could do that to me, if I stay here.”

  The if I stay here seemed to hit home. Papá had forbidden her to leave, but like the others, she was standing up to him. “I see. Agreed. Anything else?”

  “The women who ran away. We want them to know they can come back.”

  “I am aware of only eight in the U.S. who’ve asked for asylum.”

  “We must research other countries. Find out if there are more who escaped.” This from Lexy.

  “There probably are,” Gabriella put in. “And certainly other women who stayed in Casarina and never reported abuse should know what has changed. Should realize they can speak up now.”

  He pivoted the chair and stared out the window. They sat in silence. When he turned back, he said, “All right. I’ll make sure this is all put in place.” He sat back. “But I want you to stay in Casarina until it is.”

  The girls exchanged glances. Calla said, “We’ll stay for two weeks.”

  “I’m not sure I can accomplish so much in that short a time.”

  “Like I said, you’re king, Papá. Just do it.”

  o0o

  For a week, Connor had kept a tight rein on his emotions. But he’d been unable to stop the recriminations. Whit and Max said he should have gone to Casarina with Calla, and when he’d seen Nick and Gabe, they’d both gotten on him about not going with Calla.

  To quell the doubts, he spent hours researching grants and federal funding of private clinics for the poor. Most were government-sponsored, but there were a few in D.C. that were not. So, Connor called and got a meeting with the head of one in Foggy Bottom, Sarina Jacobs.

  When he arrived, he took in the small, storefront clinic in an impoverished neighborhood. Compared to their boarded-up, shabby neighbors, the medical facility had received a fresh coat of paint recently and sported a simple sign that read, “Free Clinic, Everyone Welcome.”

  Inside, he was met by a woman in a lab coat.

  “I’m Connor Marino, Dr. Jacobs.” He held out his hand to shake.

  “Sarina.”

  “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Of course. Anyone who’s been with Doctors Without Borders in Syria deserves all our thanks. Seeing you is the least I can do.” She led him to a cramped office off to the right. “Have a seat. How can I help you?”

  Connor was surprised his heart started to beat faster. Helping others always excited him. “I’m interested in opening a free clinic much like yours. Right now I’m on a fact-finding mission.”

  “God knows we need more treatment areas in the city.” She frowned. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Could you tell me how you’re funded and how you’re set up?”

  “First there are three ways to get funding: national grants and other government money, private donations and crowdfunding.”

  “Which do you use?”

  “NAFC, the National and Free Charitable Clinics.”

  “That’s a 501c(3) federal grant.”

  “You’ve done your homework.”

  “Yep.”

  “NAFC is solely focused on the issues of the medica
lly underserved group in this part of the city.”

  Connor also knew that the finance group was founded in 2001 and headquartered near D.C.

  “The organization believes access to health care should be a right, not a privilege, and values volunteerism, community involvement and collaboration.”

  “Why that over crowdfunding?”

  “We were lucky we didn’t have to go the route of soliciting money online. But others have done it successfully. Things are different now than they were in 2001 when we began.” She gave him more information on the three ways to obtain financing, then said, “Let me show you around.”

  “Great.” For the first time, he noticed she was pretty, with steely blond hair and kind blue eyes. She was slim, petite. He thought of Calla’s dark beauty and her statuesque build. The image hurt so he quelled it.

  Sarina led him to the foyer he’d come in through. “This is our waiting area. The room is too small, of course, but we manage. At the counter over there is our reception desk. That’s staffed by volunteer nurses, who are a godsend.”

  “How do you get them?”

  “Through the nursing schools in the area. Some are still students, but trained enough. Working here gets counted as part of their college credits.”

  “Good idea.” He wondered what nursing schools were close to Lakeville. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go home, but he was keeping his options open.

  They went into the back. “We have five examining rooms. We usually have two doctors here at a time. One paid staff, paltry though the salary is. One volunteer. The spaces are simple,” she said, entering one, “but they suffice.”

  The first thing he noticed was the room smelled like antiseptic and cleaning products. That meant it was well taken care of. He noted the cool blue walls, the clean, efficient exam table and small desk and chair. “This is glamourous compared to Syria.”

  The woman leaned against a table. “Was it awful over there?”

  “The conditions the people live in are. But we were able to do so much for the Syrians, I never saw it as awful.”

  “You’re a good person, Dr. Marino.”

  “Connor.”

  The tour took about twenty minutes. “So does that give you an idea of what you might want to do?”

  “It certainly helps.”

  “You know, you might want to volunteer here for a while. Get the rhythm of the place.”

  “Hmm. I imagine it would look good on a resume for funding.” He was thoughtful. Hard work would distract him. “When can I start?”

  o0o

  Because Renata wanted to spend alone time with each daughter, she had dinner at a local restaurant with Gabriella last night. Her third oldest daughter was a survivor, but had been shaken by the kidnapping. Renata hoped she was being a good enough mother to the girl.

  Today, she took Calla shopping. When Calla lived in Casarina, she’d always loved the open-air markets, so they arrived in town around seven a.m. Even this early people were around to gawk or greet them. Of course, two guards accompanied them, but they stayed back a bit so mother and daughter could talk.

  “Want to start at the food market?” Calla asked. That was to the right. Trinkets, clothing and other wholesale goods were on the left.

  “Sure. Maybe we can buy some fish. I’d love to prepare a nice dinner for us all. I haven’t done that in a long time.” Of course the palace had chefs.

  “It would be nice to cook with you again, Mamá.”

  As they entered the large tents, the familiar scents of spices and bakery products surrounded then. “Oh, Mamá, let’s get some crispats.”

  “Of course. I love fried dough.” They bought pastries and thick black coffee and sat at a small table.

  Calla faced her squarely. “I haven’t asked you a question and hope you will tell me the truth. How are things going with you and Papá?”

  “Please don’t let any of that concern you.”

  “But it does. My issues have caused the schism between you two.”

  “No, Callandra, your father is responsible for separating us by his actions and his lies.”

  “Now that the situation has at least calmed down, are you getting along better?”

  “We’re more civil.”

  “But not intimate?”

  “What are you asking, daughter?”

  Calla seemed so adult, questioning her like this. “I know you’ve been sleeping in your rooms. You never did that for as long as I can remember.”

  “Yes. We are in separate quarters, which is new.”

  “Papá can’t like that.”

  Renata thought about his visit to her quarters last night...

  “I don’t understand why you’re still here,” he said. “I have done everything you and the children asked.”

  “Do you expect me to get past the lack of trust you caused in our relationship so fast?”

  “I know that will take time. But we need to be close. This isn’t working for you either. I hear you up at all hours.”

  “I miss you, husband. But I can’t...”

  She said to Calla, “He thinks I’m being stubborn.”

  “Are you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Mamá, he’s the love of your life. Don’t waste time with stubbornness.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. I promise to think about your suggestion.” She sipped the coffee, and her dark eyes sparkled over the rim. “So, now that you’ve pried into my private life, tell me how you’re feeling about Connor Marino.”

  “I miss him desperately. In all ways.”

  “So you were intimate with him?”

  “At Camp David. Being together like that was wonderful. He forgave me. We were so happy for a few days.”

  “Why didn’t he come back with you, dear?”

  “I asked him to.” She explained all the reasons Connor had given to her.

  “Men! They can be so stubborn.”

  “It’s more than that, Mamá.”

  “It is. I’m so sorry our family interfered again.”

  “What happened was Lorenzo’s fault.”

  “The entire situation arose from the same starting point. From what your father did.”

  “I’m so sick of these recriminations, Mamá. I need to let them go. I need for you to let them go.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  “Do, please. I know how painful it is to lose love.”

  Renata had no intention of losing Alessio. But for the first time, she considered it. Dio mio, that could never happen!

  o0o

  Calla and her mother bought pastries for the girls and one her father liked, then headed to the fish section. The market was getting more crowded, and many of her countrymen stopped and stared. When Calla stepped inside the area, she was assaulted by the smell. “Oh!”

  “Is something wrong?” her mother asked.

  “The odor is so strong in here.”

  “No more than usual. You’re not used to these kinds of markets anymore.”

  Calla swallowed hard, took in some breaths then, feeling steadier, she said, “I guess.”

  They approached the counter. “What fish is fresh today?” Renata asked the butcher.

  “Sea bass, your Highnesses.”

  Calla hadn’t been addressed as royalty for years. It was odd. She was a princess, though she no longer felt like one.

  “We’d like to see the biggest bass you have,” her mother put in.

  The man left and her mother inspected the contents of the cases. Calla found them unappealing. When the butcher returned, he put the fish on the counter in front of them. Something about its glassy eyes and shiny scales made Calla’s stomach pitch. Again, she put her hand to her middle.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I am not used to this I—Oh, God, Mamá.”

  “The washroom?” Renata asked the man behind the counter.

  “Use the one right behind the counter for staff.”

  Calla
felt too weak to move. Her mother drew her along and got her inside. Calla fell to her knees. And vomited while Renata held back her hair.

  “Oh, bambina. This has been so hard on you. You’re still upset.”

  “I guess.” She tried to get up but the world spun. “Ah...

  Mamá, help me up.”

  A knock on the door. “Are you all right, Your Highness?” The head guard.

  “Yes, Antonio,” her mother called out. “Please, bring the car around. The princess isn’t feeling well.”

  Once she was strong enough, feeling better, her mother helped her to get out of the room and they were ushered through the crowd to their waiting vehicle. Calla laid back into the soft leather of the cushions. It was the best money could buy so when they got on their way, the ride was smooth.

  Calla was never ill. She must have been more upset than she thought.

  o0o

  “So, Timmy,” Connor said to the child on the exam table. “How did you hurt your arm?”

  The boy’s bottom lip came out in a pout. “Playing street ball.”

  “So you fell on the pavement?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Connor could tell by the angle of his arm that it was broken. “Well, buddy, you won’t be doing that for a while. We need an x-ray, then I think your arm will have to be casted.”

  The boy was tough. He didn’t cry or whine. But his big brown eyes were tinged with fear. “For how long?”

  “Depends on how bad the break is.” Connor looked up to the nurse. “Where’s his mother?”

  “In the waiting room with her five other children.”

  “Can you take him down to X-ray? I’ll get the material for the casting.”

  “Another nurse can do that, Dr. Marino. I’ll tell Missy. There’s a patient next door.”

  “All right. Let me know when he’s back.” He winked at the boy. “Try not to worry. After we cast your arm, it’ll feel better.”

  He left the room and knocked on the door to the next one. He was energized by work, he realized as he walked inside to find a very pregnant woman lying on the table. As he washed his hands, she said, “Sorry, I had to lay down, Doc. My back’s killing me.”

  “Nine months pregnant,” the nurse told him.

  “Hmm. What’s your name?”