Chapter 24
NONNO, AGAIN
NAVYA
At first, he’s just another admit—late eighties, alert, complaining of palpitations that have mysteriously resolved by the time he gets a bed and a warm blanket.
Telemetry is clean.
Blood pressure steady.
Heart rate is annoyingly perfect for someone who allegedly felt faint an hour ago.
The man should have been diverted out of the ED. What’s he doing here? Someone wanted him here for observation. He must have good insurance, then.
“Hi, I’m Navya. I’ll be your nurse tonight.”
He looks at me over his glasses, eyes sharp and amused. Entirely too lively for a patient.
“You are not what I expected.”
I smile politely. “What do you mean?”
“Just…you’re very pretty.”
I am taken aback by that. “Ah…thank you.”
“Are you a good nurse?”
The question surprises me. “Yes.”
I look at his chart, and then it clicks.
Giuseppe Vincenzo.
So that’s how the universe is choosing to test me today.
I go through my checks—vitals, IV, chart review—while he watches me like he’s assessing a horse he might buy.
I’m nervous.
Is he here to tell me to stay away from his grandson? Or…what?
“You’re very calm,” he says after a while.
I swallow. I want to get out of here. “It’s part of the job.”
“And if I were being a little…testardo—you know…difficult?”
“Then I’d still be calm.” I tighten the pressure cuff. “Just less patient.”
That earns a laugh.
“You know who I am,” he says lightly. It’s not a question.
“Yes,” I answer, meeting his gaze. “You’re Mr. Vincenzo in bed seven. Press the call button if you feel dizzy, have chest pain, or shortness of breath.”
His smile widens. “Very good.”
I finish charting just as the door opens.
Evan walks in.
He freezes when he sees me, then recovers quickly, concern overtaking everything else. “Nonno.”
“I’m alive,” his grandfather says cheerfully. “Disappointing, I know.”
Evan exhales and turns to me. “Is he okay?”
“Yes,” I murmur. “We’re observing him overnight. Vitals are stable.”
Nonno watches us with open interest.
“She’s excellent,” he announces. “Calm. Respectful. Does not treat me like porcelain.”
Evan’s eyes flick to me, amusement and relief written in them.
“It’s taking you too long to win her back, so I thought I should come and see her for myself,” he explains as if Evan asked him why he was here.
My mind freezes for a beat. “Excuse me?”
He waves a hand. “The palpitations were…how you say…an excuse.”
“Nonno,” Evan groans.
“I’m old,” his grandfather protests serenely. “I’m allowed to be curious. And now I’m satisfied.”
Satisfied? What does that mean?
What is going on?
He looks at Evan pointedly. “She treats everyone well. That tells you everything.”
I keep my expression neutral, even as my pulse does something traitorous.
“I’ll be back to check on you.” I keep my tone professional. “Call if you need anything.”
He reaches out and pats my hand—brief, warm, grandfatherly. “Grazie, cara.”
I step into the hallway, heart steadier than it has any right to be.
Behind me, I hear his voice, loud and unmistakable, as if he’s speaking for his grandson’s and my benefit. “You get that girl to forgive you and bring her over for lunch. And don’t be an idiota again.”
Hai Bhagvan, I’m in an Italian-Desi soap opera, and I didn’t even know it.