8. Chapter Eight Adriana
Chapter Eight: Adriana
T he wheels of Tristan's chair whispered across the hospital's polished floor, a soft soundtrack to our determined steps. I walked beside him, my thoughts tumbling like dice in a gambler’s cup—unsure but ready for the roll.
"Feeling ready for this?" I asked, glancing down at him.
"Born ready," he said, his voice carrying that casual confidence that always seemed to push back against any hint of doubt.
"Sure you are," I teased, bumping his shoulder gently with my hip. Our banter was an easy dance, a rhythm we fell into without thought.
"Listen, Ade," Tristan began, steering his wheelchair with one hand as he reached out with the other, touching my arm lightly. "You've got enough on your plate. Don't worry about me."
"Tristan," I chided, "I'll always worry about you. That's not going to change just because my belly decides to impersonate a beach ball."
He chuckled, the sound warm in the cool sterility of the corridor. "Fair point. But I've got this. Once they're done twisting me into a pretzel, I'll be back on my feet in no time."
"Your optimism is infectious," I replied, though a knot of concern still lodged itself in my throat. His recovery was as uncertain as the road we were walking, but I couldn't let that fear seep into my words. He needed my strength now, not my anxiety.
Tristan stopped suddenly, turning to look at me. “Hey, why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get yourself a cup of tea or something? Maybe a fun treat? I think they have Belgian waffles.”
“What? Why?”
"I just..." He hesitated, looking away from me and focusing his gaze on the polished marble floor. "I think I'd rather do this alone."
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’d love to be with you while…”
“Ade, listen,” he said. “You’re around me all day, every day. You can see how hard this is. You’re seeing me struggle all day long, fighting to get myself a glass of water or trying to figure out how to navigate a tiny European-style kitchen in this wheelchair.”
I bit the inside of my lip. “I hate that kitchen.”
Tristan chuckled again, though it was tinged with a sadness I couldn’t bear to see. “We all do, love. But the point is, I’m working hard, and we’re both stressed. You’re worried about me. I’m worried about you worrying about me. It’s a vicious circle.”
I looked at him, my heart filled with so many different emotions that I didn’t know what to say. He reached out to gently brush a stray hair from my face.
“Go and get yourself some waffles,” he said softly. “I’ll be fine.”
The knot in my throat tightened. I understood his need for independence, the desire to face this mountain without an audience. But it was hard, so damn hard, to step back when all I wanted to do was help him scale it.
“I just...I don’t want you to see me like that,” he said. “Not all the time. If I’m worrying about you worrying about me during physical therapy…”
"I get it," I said, cutting him off gently. "I understand. You need this." His face relaxed a bit and he nodded, those piercing blue eyes holding mine.
"Thank you, love," he murmured, reaching up to cup my cheek in his hand. "And trust me on the Belgian waffles."
"I will," I promised, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead. "I'll be waiting, okay? No matter how long it takes."
"I know," he assured me, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. And with that, he turned his wheelchair around and began to roll towards the physical therapy wing of the hospital.
Watching him disappear down the sterile hallway, I held back the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. He was right—we were both under a mountain of stress. Perhaps some time apart, even just an hour or two in the hospital cafeteria, might help me refocus my energies for the trials ahead.
There was almost no one in the cafeteria. I ordered myself a waffle and a soy-milk latte with an extra shot of espresso, and found a quiet corner where I could think. In the solitude, with the soft background hum of the cafeteria around me, I allowed myself a moment to feel everything that had been brewing inside me.
Fear. Anxiety. Hope. Excitement. All mingled together, each emotion as raw and powerful as the next. The twins were coming, a reality that seemed both daunting and exhilarating at the same time. Tristan was recovering, slowly but surely—and despite his impressive resilience, I couldn't help but worry about him.
I picked at my waffle, the syrup's sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter coffee beside it. These moments alone were rare for me, and they offered a chance for reflection that I seldom had amidst the hustle and bustle of our world—the Callahan legacy, our impending parenthood, our perennial battle against the shadows of our past.
Maybe we’d get used to Delaware.
I chuckled softly to myself, the sound absorbed by the surrounding chatter and clatter of dishes. Delaware. Never had I imagined that my life, once consumed by the chaos and danger of the Orsini Domain, would be centered around a peaceful residential neighborhood. Not when my own father was still running one of the most influential crime syndicates in the city.
The aroma of my latte brought me back to reality. I took a sip, letting the warmth spread through me, a much needed respite from my spiraling thoughts.
“Adriana?”
The voice was unfamiliar and the mention of my real name sent a shiver down my spine. I turned around slowly, trying my best not to panic.
“Amber!”
My neighbor. The one we’d only met a few days ago. She was there, wearing scrubs and carrying a tray of food. She looked equally surprised to see me.
"I didn't know you worked here," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Yeah, I'm a nurse on the pediatric ward," she explained. "I'm just on my lunch break. Do you want company?”
I looked her up and down for a second, then nodded. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”
As Amber settled into the chair across from me, I found myself taking in her appearance. Scrubs suited her, giving her athletic frame a sense of casual professionalism that I couldn't help but admire.
“You found work quickly,” I said.
“I found work before we moved.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I replied, suddenly feeling like an idiot.
She smiled. “What about you? I mean, I assume you’re on maternity leave now, but…”
“Oh, I’m an actuary, so I work from home most of the time.”
She furrowed her brow. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before.”
"Well, it's not exactly an adrenaline rush," I admitted with a small chuckle. "I basically analyze financial risk for, uh, certain companies.”
"That sounds...complex," Amber said with a laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. I found myself relaxing under her easy demeanor.
We chatted about our respective jobs for a while, enjoying the pleasant banality of conversation around everyday life. It was somewhat surreal - just two women in a hospital cafeteria, talking about work and babies as if we were old friends.
We chatted about our respective jobs for a while, enjoying the pleasant banality of conversation around everyday life. It was somewhat surreal - just two women in a hospital cafeteria, talking about work and babies as if we were old friends.
“So are you here for a check-up?” she asked after a brief pause in our conversation.
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I was. The doctor already told me we needed to schedule a C-section.”
“Yeah, that’s very common with twins. Do you know when it’ll happen yet?”
"Not yet," I replied, picking at the remains of my waffle. "There's a lot to consider, timing and all that. Plus, my husband is undergoing physical therapy here."
Amber nodded, her expression turning sympathetic. "I can't even imagine how stressful that must be. Both of you in the hospital for different reasons." She paused before adding, "How's he doing?"
"He's...managing," I admitted, the faintest traces of worry creeping back into my voice. "Doctors are optimistic about his recovery."
"That's good to hear," Amber said softly, her eyes reflecting genuine concern. It seemed she was proving to be more than just a pleasant neighbor; she could potentially be a friend. “Now listen. I don’t know your situation, but I know that moving can be isolating at the best of times. This doesn’t seem like the best of times. If you need anything at all, you tell me, okay? And the moment the twins are born, you let me know. I’ll, uh, bring over lasagna or something. We have to celebrate, right?”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“Oh, no. I’m going to do that. I’m going to go to the supermarket and buy you a mean frozen lasagna.”
I laughed.
“Trust me,” she grinned, leaning over the table a little. “Frozen lasagnas are heavily underestimated. A bit of extra cheese on top and they’ll have you fooled.”
“Alright, Amber,” I responded, laughing. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“And if you need any help with anything...I’m really handy with a wrench, you know.” She shrugged. “And David loves it when I give him errands. Do you need someone to clean your gutters? Because my husband will do it for free.”
I chuckled lightly at her offer, the absurd normalcy of the conversation a welcome relief from the looming concerns that had been plaguing me. "You're going to send your husband up on our roof?"
Amber shrugged, her grin widening. "He's always looking for an excuse to putter around the house. Besides, it's just gutters. Nothing he hasn't done before."
I couldn't help but laugh at her vigor, the sound echoing around the almost empty cafeteria. There was something endearing about Amber's eagerness, a refreshing change from the masked pleasantries I was often subject to.
"Who am I to deny David his joy of gutter cleaning?" I said, playing along. "I'll keep that in mind."
She looked at her watch. “Shit, is that the time? I should go.”
She stood, pushing her chair back with a muted scrape against the tiled floor. "I'll let you finish your breakfast. But remember —" she pointed a playful finger at me, "—frozen lasagna. It's going to happen."
“Maybe we can get together before then? Have some more coffee?” I asked. I hadn’t realized how much I needed a friend until we had this conversation—a friend who wasn't innately involved with the Callahan Legacy, a friend who didn't know me as an Orsini.
Just a random woman who didn’t want anything from me.
Amber's smile warmed her face as she agreed. "That sounds perfect, Adriana. Just let me know when you're free. I'll bring the coffee."
"Deal," I replied, returning her grin.
Maybe I was right.
Maybe we would get used to Delaware.
Maybe everything would be okay.
So why was I still so scared?