“No! You know I hate hospitals.”
She’s been traumatized with ERs and hospitals in general ever since my grandfather got admitted five years ago, then never came back out. She sat by his bedside for months before his time came. Now she refuses to go inside one, even if her daughter works there.
“Then you need to go see your doctor,” I implore.
“You worry too much.”
“Let me make an appointment for you this week with Dr. Wang,” Niloo speaks up. “I’ll take you, so you don’t even have to drive.”
Maman’s fingers find the bridge of her nose, and the guilt transforms into apprehension. How did I miss how bad she looks? She closes her eyes and pinches, her eyelids squinting into complicated spiderwebs.
“Okay,” she finally gives in. “If I agree to go see the doctor this week, will you let me be?”
“Yes,” Niloo and I answer in unison.
“Make the appointment, dokhtaram,” she directs my sister. “And your sweater is on your bed. Now I need to go take a shower.” She slowly makes her way back over to Niloo and me, her legs heavy and uncooperative. I can see her chest heave with the exertion of just a few feet distance. She kisses both of our heads, wrapping her arms tightly around our shoulders. Then she heads to her room. A few minutes later, we hear the shower turn on.
“Should we be worried?” Niloo asks. She’s staring at me, looking for comfort that nothing major is wrong with Maman.
“No. It’s probably just bronchitis.” At least I’m praying it is.
Chapter Seven
Anthony
“Dr. Zameeni.”
She’s standing with her back to me, locked in a hushed conversation with two other women. I hesitate. I don’t want to interrupt something important, but I don’t have much time and I really need to talk to her.
At the sound of my voice, Dr. Zameeni’s back stiffens. Not the reaction I was going for.
She slowly turns, standing a few feet away from me. “Hi, Mr. Castillo.”
“Please, call me Anthony.”
“Okay, Anthony.” She smiles, and yep, I can’t breathe. This woman, I swear.
Her two companions step up beside her like a pair of bodyguards. They stare at me. Hard. Mamá would approve.
I turn my attention back to Dr. Zameeni as she speaks again. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
“Perks of being famous?” I shrug. Her forehead creases. Should I not have been so nonchalant about my fame? I feel out of my depth when I speak to her. “I wanted to, uh, make sure everything was okay. Yeah, so…I requested they keep my brother for a few more days.”
“Is everything okay?”
I freeze, not sure if she’s asking about Carlos or the fact that I sound like an idiot. The concern in her expression points to Carlos.
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
I shift on my feet, wishing her entourage would leave. I can’t think when I’m around her as it is, but the intensity radiating from those two is making it worse.
You’re Anthony fucking Castillo. Get a grip, pendejo.
I pull my shoulders back and gather my confidence. “I was just wondering if I could speak to you for a moment?”
Dr. Zameeni glances at the two women.
“I have patients to see,” one says. “Lindsey, can you help me in room four?”
“Sure, Doc.” Lindsey almost curtsies before heading down the hall. From staring me down to curtsying?
Dr. Zameeni catches my puzzled look before I can hide it. “Aren’t you used to having that effect on women by now?”
“Would you believe it if I said I wasn’t?”
“Hmm. Probably not.”
I want to explain to her that stardom isn’t real. I’m just playing a part, being who the fans want me to be. But she’s so different than the women I’m used to that I don’t even know if she’d understand. Yet the fact that she’s so normal is what draws me to her.
God, I miss normal.
“I need some coffee,” she says. “Walk with me?”
“Oh. Yes, sure.” Travis and one of his men fall in step behind us, catching her attention. She frowns. “Bodyguards,” I explain. I throw them a look over my shoulder and they slow their pace, giving us some space.
“Do they always follow you?”
“Yeah, they pretty much follow me everywhere.”
“I don’t know if I could do it,” she confesses.
“If you had to, you’d get used to it.”
“I doubt it. I like my privacy. But I guess it doesn’t really matter. I’ll never be a superstar.”
Privacy. I don’t even know what that is anymore. “You don’t know that. Life can surprise you. Maybe someday I’ll be all starry-eyed over you.”
The second the words are out, I want to kick my own ass. Flirting with Carlos’s doctor is high on the list of Things I Should Not Do. But then she laughs—the kind that’s pure and impossible to resist. I can’t stop myself from joining in. She pushes the dangling strands of hair away from her face, and I swear she’s glowing.
I’m so dumbstruck by the way her happiness lights up her face that I momentarily forget why I came, until Travis coughs and subtly points to his watch. Shit. I’m running out of time.
“I know you’re busy, so thank you for giving me a few minutes.” I clear my throat. “I wanted to talk to you about Carlos.”
“Sure.” She straightens her shoulders, and the remaining lightness fades from her eyes. She’s back to doctor mode. I regret the return to seriousness, but I need this side of her.
“They’ve run a bunch of tests and they’ve discovered that he’s got an arrhythmia,” I say. “Since he’s so young, they seem to think that medication will work, so they’ve given him some prescriptions and want to release him. But the doctor brought up ablation therapy and possibly surgery in the future, mostly things I don’t fully understand, but they’re scaring the hell out of me.”
Her eyes soften. “Don’t be worried. An arrhythmia in and of itself isn’t something horrific. He just needs to take his meds, rest, take it easy for now, and keep it monitored. The only concern is that your father had heart disease. They’re being extra cautious and giving you all the information so that you’re prepared. Most likely, though, he’ll be good with just meds.”
“But that’s the issue,” I press. “Carlos refuses to take anything easy. We’re currently on tour and closing the deal on an additional international leg as well. I want to cancel it all, but my brother is very stubborn and young.”
I must wear my concern like a headlight because she reaches out and touches me lightly on the arm. My skin burns under her fingertips.
“Superman, right?”
“Yes, Superman.” My tone eases as I remember being young. “I called him that when our father died. I was almost fifteen and Carlos was nine.”
Maybe it’s the way she’s listening to me like she understands where I’m coming from, or maybe it’s all in my head, but I have no idea why I’m telling her any of this. “My mom went into a depression and Carlos was scared. I told him he had nothing to worry about because we were superheroes and we would save our mom, and ourselves, and be all right. After that, he became Superman. I swear that kid wore a cape for two years straight.” I shake my head and chuckle at the memory of Carlos in his costume.
I can hear her take in a breath, staring at me closely as I pour my guts out. I’m aware that I shouldn’t be telling her all of this because I don’t really have any idea who she is. Sure, she’s smart and gorgeous. And clueless about my celebrity status. But for all I know, this story will be on TMZ later tonight for a hefty fee. I’ve been burned like that before.
“I can’t stop him from going on tour,” I continue, trying to get back on track. “But I can make sure that he has the proper staff to keep him healthy and
safe. This is where you come in.”
“Me?”
“How would you feel about going on tour with us?” Her face scrunches, so I add, “As Carlos’s doctor.”
Her mouth drops open. “What?”
“All expenses paid. That’s including a suite at the hotels we stay in, transportation, and any food or purchases you need to make. It will be about three months.” When she doesn’t say anything, I continue, desperate to convince her. Because Carlos needs her. Or maybe I do. For my peace of mind. Yeah. “And you’ll, uhm, get paid for your services, too, of course. I’ll double what you’re getting paid here.”
“Wait.” She gapes at me. “Are you for real?”
“I’ll triple it.” I double down, praying I convince her.
She continues to stare. “You’re serious.”
“Yes. Money is not a concern.” Shit, did that sound cocky?
“Obviously not,” she laughs, snorting, then quickly covering her mouth, looking like she wants to die of embarrassment. “There has to be someone more qualified than me,” she continues. “I’m not even a year out of residency.”
“It doesn’t matter how much experience you have. It’s obvious you’re smart. And Carlos likes you. That’s what’s important.” And I want to get to know you.
She’s blinking repeatedly like she’s sure she’s stuck in some sort of bizarre dream.
“My brother trusts you.” Say yes.
“Thank you for the offer,” she answers after another long moment of staring at me in utter disbelief. “But I can’t accept it. I’ve just recently started my position here. It wouldn’t be feasible for me to take an extended amount of time off. And I wouldn’t be able to leave my family.”
Damn it.
I try to keep my features even so she can’t see my disappointment. I was really hoping the salary upgrade would sway her. I want to object, to throw more perks at her so I can convince her to join us, but I realize she has her own responsibilities, ones I don’t know about and can’t expect her to leave behind on our behalf, no matter how badly I wish she would.
We’ve made it to the cafeteria and my time is up.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Dr. Zameeni. I won’t take up any more of your day.” I nod at Travis and the guys get ready to move.
I reach out my hand. She places her fingers in mine and they disappear inside my callused palm. I want to hang on to her, but I force myself to let go.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” she suddenly says.
“Sure.”
“Is there any way you’d be willing to give me an autograph?”
“An autograph?” I grin.
“For my sister,” she clarifies. “She’s a huge fan of Ternura and I promised her if I saw you again, I’d ask. She’d kill me if I didn’t.”
“Demanding siblings. Now that’s something I can relate to.”
She pats her pocket, then pulls out a small pad of paper and a pen, handing them over.
I write, “Nothing is impossible so dream big,” before signing my name.
She leans in to watch. “Thank you so much. I’m sure it’s super annoying to have to do this all the time. I imagine you get asked pretty frequently.”
“I do. And it can be,” I say. “But it’s definitely not annoying doing it for you.”
I turn and hold the paper between us. It brushes against her coat, and I catch her full body shiver. She takes it from my hand, never breaking eye contact.
I gulp.
That should be it, then. Our conversation is over, I’m out of time, and she’s on shift. We should go our separate ways.
There’s something…interesting swirling in those dark eyes as she watches me, her fingers fidgeting with the pad of paper. I think back to the way she blushed that first day in the ER. How she’d been watching me then, too.
Acting on an impulse I’ll probably regret, I move in until I’m so close that she has to tilt her head up to look at me. She gazes into my eyes, her breath hitching. Her shampoo, flowers mixed with something vanilla, drifts over me.
Her lips part and my heart trips over itself in a way that happens only around this delectable doctor. It would be so easy to dip down and kiss her right now. If she were anyone else, I’d do it.
She’s not anyone else, though, which is why I need to back away. When I do, I miss the loss of her closeness immediately. “Is that all, Dr. Zameeni?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I give her one last smile before I head back down the hall with my men. I force myself not to turn around. I put one foot in front of the other, because if I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay away.
Chapter Eight
Darya
Despite it being ridiculous to feel disappointed, I have to admit that I am as I watch Anthony’s figure disappear down the hall. Something about this man stirs things in me that I never knew existed. His tough, cool exterior is wild and sexy, but tiny glimpses into something deeper beneath his hard shell have me curious and fascinated.
I’ve spent so many years focused on my studies, banishing any fuel for my heart, because what would be the point? My life’s too busy. Besides, I’ve never been much of a romantic, watching Dad break Maman’s heart with little regard for her feelings. Or what that did to our family. Love is overrated.
I grab a cup of coffee and try to hurry back to the ER, but I can’t pick up the pace. I’m tired from the slew of patients storming through our doors with “emergencies.” No matter how life-altering a small laceration from a tiny fall seems to a mother, it’s really not that high up on the totem pole of urgency.
But today’s theme revolves around anxious parents and terrified children who just need to be bandaged up and sent home. So I don’t force myself to speed walk through the halls like I normally would; Trina owes me for covering her shift, anyway. I take my time, letting images of the hot, big-time rock star play across my mind, however unrealistic and impossible they are. Like Niloo always says, a girl can dream, right?
When I get to the bay, I’m too busy daydreaming to notice Trina staring at me. She doesn’t bother giving me crap for taking my time; instead, she corners me beside the pile of charts on the counter.
“Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Despite my best efforts, the corners of my lips pull into a smirk.
“Bullshit. You’re all starry-eyed and blushing.” Her grin lights up, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Okay, but can we talk about it later? There are a million patients to see.” I nod in the direction of the impressive mountain of manila folders.
Trina glances toward the stack and huffs. “Fine. But you aren’t flaking tonight,” she threatens. “It’s not every day we have stories to hear about superstars.” She splits the heap in half and hands me my charts. I shake my head lovingly at her as we part ways, heading in opposite directions.
Two hours later, I’m scribbling notes on the last of my patients when the Castillo brothers catch my attention. Judging from the baseball caps pulled low and the dark, unremarkable attire, it appears that they’re trying to avoid the main entrance. I try hard not to look, but there’s so much commotion surrounding them that I can’t help it. Besides, the entire emergency department is gawking, and I figure I can hide among the sea of onlookers.
The bodyguards are ushering them to a side door, but even from here, I can see a crowd forming outside. Guess they all got the memo.
Anthony doesn’t notice me, and I try not to feel disheartened, because technically, I shouldn’t feel anything. He’s distracted, focused on his entourage, and keeping close watch over the orderly wheeling Carlos to the exit. A deep scowl is embedded in the grooves of his forehead. He’s leaning in, locked in a fierce conversation with two of his men, stari
ng straight toward the exit.
Every person has a camera strapped to his or her neck, lenses poised and ready to snap photos as soon as the brothers cross the threshold. Judging from the hard gaze set in Anthony’s eyes and the frown he’s sporting, he’s not too pleased with their presence. Again, I find it so odd that someone who lives in the spotlight would be this thrown off by something as common as paparazzi. Isn’t this supposed to be the way rock stars live?
I watch as the now five bodyguards expertly create a wall around the brothers. Their huddled mass crosses into the sensor’s beam and triggers the doors to whoosh open. A cold breeze comes rushing in, and I pull the edges of my white coat, trying to shield myself, just in time for the rumble of chaos to break out.
Two steps onto the pavement. Two steps before a swarm of people stampede toward the rock stars. That’s all they got. The bodyguards try their best to push through the crowd, making an opening with their bodies for an escape, but the wall of photographers is too thick and their cameras too curious to ease up. Some are yelling questions at Anthony, others at Carlos. Neither of them provides any answers; their focus is set on the black SUV that just pulled up to the exit.
The door swings open and Carlos stands. The orderly forced by hospital policy to accompany him to his car is finally relieved of his duty and quickly rushes past the paparazzi to hide back in the safety of the waiting room. He appears frazzled at first, but a group of his colleagues can’t wait to hear all the details, and his expression loosens as he regales them with his brief brush with the famous.
Carlos grabs the doorframe to hoist himself into the passenger seat when a photographer comes out of nowhere. The shutter on his lens is moving at race-car speed, trying to capture as many images as he can before Carlos hides behind the tinted windows. He doesn’t quit, trying to slide in behind Carlos to get the last money shot.
Anthony grabs the back of the paparazzo’s shirt and pulls him away from the car. He stumbles back a few steps but regains his balance instantly, rushing back toward the vehicle as Anthony enters the backseat of the SUV. His face is turned toward his brother, so he doesn’t realize that the paparazzo has yet again followed him in. He turns and abruptly smacks his head against the camera lens. His arm flies to his forehead, and I can see Carlos yelling at the photographer before Anthony pushes him out of the car. It takes less than two seconds before the bodyguards swarm the paparazzo, dragging him over to the curb.
Set to Music Page 4