Chapter 24 Natalia
NATALIA
The wheels of the jet kiss the tarmac in Las Vegas, and my whole body tightens.
I follow Luca off the plane with my stomach twisted so tight it feels knotted around my spine. A sleek black car waits outside the terminal, and Luca opens the door for me before sliding behind the wheel.
“Address?” he asks.
“Summerlin Medical Center.”
He nods and pulls away from the curb.
Vegas slides past in a blur of palm trees and hard white sun. It should feel good to be home. Instead, every mile deeper into it makes it harder to breathe. I need to get to Anna, and then I need to get back out before my father learns I was ever here.
I must drift off, because the next thing I know Luca is touching my arm gently and the car is slowing beneath the hospital entrance.
“We’re here.”
The hospital is all glass and beige concrete, the kind of building designed to look calming and accomplishing the opposite. The automatic doors part with a soft whoosh of recycled air that smells like floor cleaner and something sad beneath it.
The woman at the information desk directs us to the orthopedic floor. We take the elevator in silence, and when the doors open, I find the nurses’ station and ask for Dr. Okafor.
“Dr. Okafor’s gone for the day,” the nurse tells me. “But I can page the on-call physician to give you an update.”
A few minutes later, a woman in blue scrubs with tired eyes and a ponytail that’s seen better days pulls up Anna’s chart on a tablet and walks me through it.
“The surgery went very well. Dr. Okafor was able to repair the fracture with pins. No need for a full replacement, which is really the best outcome we could have hoped for given her age.” She scrolls through something on the screen.
“She’s been stable since recovery. Alert off and on.
We’re monitoring for any post-op delirium, but so far she’s been about what we’d expect. ”
Relief loosens the vise around my ribs, but not enough.
“What about the anesthesia?” I ask. “Was it general?”
The doctor looks up. “No. They used a spinal block. Lower risk for someone with her history.”
I nod, some of the tension bleeding out of my shoulders. “Okay. Good.”
“If she keeps doing this well overnight, we’ll likely start transfer planning to inpatient rehab tomorrow. But we’ll reassess in the morning.”
“Can I see her?”
She smiles gently. “Of course. She’s resting, but she’s awake.”
Luca has been leaning against the wall a few feet back, giving me space. When I turn to him, he straightens.
“I want to go in alone first,” I say. “Just to see how she is. To see if… she knows me.”
Sympathy moves behind his eyes. He gets it. “Okay.”
But for a second, I still can’t make myself move.
His hand settles at the small of my back, warm and steady. “I’ll be right here.”
I nod, throat tight, and head in the direction the doctor pointed me, the warmth of his hand still burning through my shirt.
The hallway is too bright and too quiet. My sneakers squeak on the linoleum, and every step feels louder than it should. Room 314. The door is half open.
I push it the rest of the way and step inside.
Anna is propped up in the hospital bed, smaller than I remember. The blanket is pulled to her chin, and there’s an IV line running to the back of her hand. Her gray hair is loose around her face instead of in the braid she likes, and the fluorescent light isn’t doing her any favors.
She looks pale. Fragile. Old in a way that guts me every single time because in my head she’s still the woman who could carry me on her hip and hum loud enough to drown out whatever was happening downstairs.
She’s awake. Her eyes are open but unfocused, aimed at the window.
“Anna?”
Her head turns. Slowly. Her gaze finds me and then moves over my face with a kind of searching patience that makes my stomach clench. I hold my breath and pray she comes back to me.
Her brow furrows.
“It’s me,” I say softly. “It’s Natalia.”
The furrow deepens. She blinks. Once. Twice.
Then I see it happen. The searching gives way to recognition.
“Nat.” Her whole face softens. “There you are.”
Relief hits so hard it turns my legs unsteady. I have to brace a hand on the doorframe before I trust myself to move.
Then I’m there, taking her hand, and the breath I’ve been holding comes out as something close to a sob. Her fingers curl around mine. Thin and cool, but strong enough.
“I’m here.” I squeeze her hand. “I came as fast as I could.”
“You’re here.” She smiles warmly at me.
“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine.” She pats my hand. Her eyes drift to the IV, and she studies it like she’s never seen one before. “Why am I here?”
“You had a fall, Anna. At breakfast. You hurt your hip, but they fixed it. You had surgery and it went well.”
“Surgery.” She repeats the word like she’s tasting it. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“It was just a small repair. You’re going to be fine.”
She looks at me for a moment. “You’re worried.”
“Of course I’m worried.”
“You always worry.” A faint smile. “Even when you were small. Always watching, always checking. Like a little nurse.”
The ache behind my ribs is so sharp I have to look away. I focus on the heart monitor’s steady beep until I can trust my voice.
A silence settles between us, not uncomfortable but tired. Anna squeezes my fingers lightly, eyes now moving over my face with surprising focus.
“You look different.”
My fingers find the hem of my shirt and twist. “Different how?”
She studies me another moment. “Softer,” she says at last. “Around the eyes.”
Heat rises into my cheeks. “That’s a very odd thing to say.”
“No, it isn’t.” Her thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Like something’s eased up in you.”
The words catch me so hard I have to look down.
Anna’s silent for a beat. Then her gaze sharpens with sudden mischief. “There’s someone, isn’t there? A good someone.”
I glance toward the door before I can stop myself.
Her smile widens, faint but knowing. “Ah,” she says softly.
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “He’s outside.”
“Well.” She shifts carefully against the pillows with a tiny wince. “Bring him in, then. I should like to see what sort of trouble you’ve found.”
I stand and smooth my shirt for no reason at all. “Only for a few minutes. You need to rest.”
“I’ve been resting all day,” she mutters. “It’s dull.”
When I step back into the hall, Luca comes to me immediately.
“How is she?”
“She knows me.” My voice shakes again, but this time from relief. “And she’s pretty good, all things considered.”
The tension in his face eases.
“She’s tired, and she’s confused, but she’s having a pretty good moment.” I swallow. “She wants to meet you.”
Saying it out loud feels oddly bigger than it should. Like I’m opening a door I hadn’t meant to open quite this far.
His mouth curves slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “So please act like a normal person for five minutes.”
He places a hand over his heart. “For you, Princess, I’ll try.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck at the pet name. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
Anna is watching the door when we enter. Her eyes go from me to Luca and widen just a fraction.
“Oh,” she says.
“Anna, this is Luca.”
He steps to her bedside and offers his hand. “It’s really nice to meet you, Ms. Petrova.”
Anna stares at his hand for a second. Then she bypasses it entirely and grabs his wrist, pulling him closer so she can study his face.
“Handsome,” she announces, turning his chin with her fingers like she’s inspecting a piece of fruit at the market. “Very handsome. And tall.”
“Anna.”
“What?” She looks at me, offended. “I may be injured, but I’m not blind.”
Luca laughs. A real one, surprised out of him. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m Anna.” She lets go of his chin but keeps hold of his wrist. “And you’re treating her well?”
“I’m trying my best.”
“Trying.” She narrows her eyes, then looks at me. “He’s trying his best. That’s what they all say.”
“Anna.”
“I’m teasing.” She pats his wrist and releases it. “It’s nice,” her expression goes soft as she looks between us. “Seeing you with a boyfriend.”
A blush creeps up my face before I can stop it.
I make the mistake of looking at Luca. He’s watching me with that small, knowing curve to his mouth, and suddenly I am far too warm for a hospital room.
“Sit down.” Anna points to Luca. “You’re too tall. I’m getting a crick.”
Luca grins as he pulls the chair around to Anna’s side and sits. I take the edge of the bed, near enough to hold her hand, and for a few minutes, it almost feels normal.
He leans in when Anna talks, voice low, all that size and force pared down to something careful enough not to overwhelm her. The sight of it lands between tender and dangerous in me.
Anna asks Luca if he cooks, and when he says yes, she tells him about the piroshki she used to make.
She tells the story twice. Luca listens both times like it’s brand new.
The tenderness of it lands hard, followed immediately by grief sharp enough to surprise me.
This is what it could be like, in some other life.
One where things were simple. One where I was allowed to keep what I loved.
“Natalia said they’re sending you to rehab after this,” he mentions.
She huffs. “That sounds boring.”
“It probably will be,” I say. “But I’m going to help pick the place, and I’ll make sure you’re somewhere good.”
Anna’s eyes come back to me. “You always take such good care of me, Nat.”
My throat tightens. “I try.”
We stay a little longer after that. Not too long.
Long enough for Anna to ask Luca where he’s from and accept “all over” as an answer.
Long enough for Anna to tell him that when I was little, I used to hover over her with a toy doctor’s kit anytime she sneezed, which Luca finds far too funny.
Long enough for her to ask whether I’ve eaten, then ask again five minutes later because she forgot.
The second time, Luca says, “I’ve got her,” before I can answer.
He says it like there was never any question. Like taking care of me is already his place.
Anna looks from him to me and then settles a little deeper into the pillows with a soft sigh.
“Good,” she murmurs.
Her eyelids are drooping now. The thread is fraying.
“Natalia,” she says, and there’s a different quality to her voice. Thinner. “When did you get here?”
“A little while ago. We’ve been visiting.”
She looks at Luca, and I can see the uncertainty move back in. “And who is this?”
“This is Luca. My… boyfriend.”
“Oh!” She frowns. Then she looks at Luca again and her face relaxes. “Well. He’s very handsome.”
“You mentioned that.” I smile through the crack forming in my chest.
“Did I?” She laughs, and it’s the same warm laugh from my childhood, and it nearly wrecks me. “I’m sorry. I’m a little fuzzy today.”
“You’re sharp enough for me,” Luca says. “And your piroshki recipe sounds incredible.”
Anna beams at him.
A nurse appears in the doorway, knocking lightly. “I’m sorry, visiting hours are wrapping up. She should get some rest.”
I stand and lean down to press my lips to Anna’s forehead. Her skin is warm and papery and smells like hospital soap and, underneath it, like her. Like home.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper. “I promise.”
She scans my face with a smile. Then confusion drifts across hers again, merciful and cruel all at once.
“All right,” she says softly. “Tell your mother I said hello.”
“Okay,” I say on a thick swallow. “I will.”
Luca says goodbye. Anna holds his hand an extra beat and says something to him I don’t catch. Whatever it is, it makes his throat bob and his eyes go bright before he blinks it away.
The next hour passes in a blur of forms and case managers and rehab options.
There’s a discussion about facilities equipped to handle both the orthopedic recovery and the dementia.
There are signatures. Phone numbers. A promise that if Anna stays stable overnight, the transfer will likely happen tomorrow.
By the time we’re done, everything that can be arranged has been arranged.
When we finally step outside and head to the car, the sun has dropped lower, turning the whole sky the bruised pink and gold of a desert evening.
I sink into the passenger seat and let my head fall back.
“You okay?” Luca asks once he starts the engine.
“No,” I say honestly. Then I let out a breath. “But also yes.”
Everything inside me is wrung out. She’s okay. The surgery worked. Rehab starts tomorrow.
Today she knew me. Today, that has to be enough.
“What now?” I ask.
His expression softens. “Now, you’ve had a long day and you’re exhausted. I got us a room for tonight. The plane will be ready whenever you are.”
I blink at him. “You got us a room?”
He nods once. “Taken care of.”
“When did you do that?”
“When you were talking to the nurse.”
I stare at him for a second.
There are probably questions I should ask. Where. How. Why none of this seems difficult for him. But I am too tired to go digging tonight.
So all I say is, “Thank you.”
He pulls out of the parking lot, and I let my head rest against the seat, watching the city slide past in a blur of stucco and traffic lights and fading gold.
For a while, I don’t think about anything at all.
Then, slowly, something begins to itch at the back of my mind.
Luca hasn’t glanced at the dash for directions. Hasn’t slowed at a light with that split-second hesitation of someone orienting himself in an unfamiliar part of town.
He drives through Las Vegas like a man who’s been here a thousand times.
A small chill slips down my spine.
I turn my head and look at his profile in the wash of streetlight and dusk.
He keeps his eyes on the road.
And I say nothing.