Chapter 1
Chapter One
IT HAD BEEN THREE years, almost to the day, but he could still see her perfectly in his mind, the mental snap-shot he’d taken of her before striding out of her flat in Earls Court embedded in his brain somehow, so nothing and no one seemed able to dislodge it.
But she wasn’t that woman anymore.
He stood rigid across the hospital room, his body completely still, his eyes taking in every detail of her appearance.
Her face was badly bruised down one side, and blood was dry and clumped in the roots of her silky, dark hair.
She wore a hospital gown. One arm was in a cast as was a leg, including an ankle.
Her toenails were painted the palest pink, just like the night they’d slept together.
Memories seared him, threatening to pull him out of the present, and he couldn’t let that happen.
“What is the prognosis?” He spoke with the command that came naturally to him, a command that wasn’t a by-product of his birth into one of the world’s wealthiest families, nor was it because he was responsible for one sixth of that company’s empire.
No, his command was innate to him, a part of his character and soul, a marker of the Montebello arrogance that ran through each of their veins.
“Hard to say,” the nurse didn’t look up. “Her bones’ll mend, though she’ll be in a lot of pain for weeks, I’d say. She’ll likely need rehab to get back on her feet properly.”
He narrowed his eyes, acutely aware of the fact the nurse was carefully hedging, choosing her words with care. “But there’s something else - something you’re not saying?”
The nurse lifted her eyes to Fiero’s, her expression wary. “Who are you to Miss Gardiner?”
Nobody. The word rattled through him but he rejected it out of hand.
They weren’t ‘nobody’ to one another. It had been three years but that night was alive in his mind, as though it had been only yesterday.
Apparently, the reverse was true. Why else would she have asked for him to be called?
Three years, and yet she’d been in an accident and his had been the name she’d given.
He closed his eyes for a moment, the last hour a blur. His meeting with the British Prime Minister, conveniently in Westminster, and then the call from the hospital.
It’s Ang from the Royal High and Free in Kensington. Elodie Gardiner’s been in an accident and she’s put you as her emergency contact.
The words had echoed through him, bringing to bear memories of a night he rarely let himself think about, of a woman who had been breathtakingly beautiful – all the more so for how forbidden she’d been to him.
He didn’t know why she’d listed him as an emergency contact. Something about that hurt him low in his ribs, because it spoke of an intense loneliness and vulnerability. Was he truly the only person she could think of in a time like this?
But then – that didn’t make sense. It had been three years, surely she hadn’t spent her life in a void of friendship and people? Not someone like Elodie who sparked from her every piece of her being.
“She’s unconscious,” he murmured, taking a step towards the bed and wincing at how battered she was, at the pain she would be in when the morphine eventually stopped easing it.
“Mmm.” The nurse was no longer drip-feeding information but that didn’t matter. Fiero was on his own path now.
“Was she unconscious when she came in?”
The nurse compressed her lips, clearly not keen to divulge anything to a man who might very well be a stranger.
“I’m her emergency contact,” he said with authority even as the question of ‘why’ hung over his head.
The nurse looked at him for several beats longer and then sighed impatiently. “Hang about. I’ll go see what I can find.”
It was Fiero’s turn for impatience. “Where is her doctor?”
The nurse reached for the clipboard at the foot of the bed. “We’re waiting on the neurologist consultant to arrive. She’s on call; we’ve paged her.”
He stifled a curse and swept his eyes shut. “Do you mean to tell me there might be neurological issues here and we are waiting?”
The nurse flinched a little. “I can page her again.”
“Do that.” But Fiero was already reaching for his own phone, pulling it out of his pocket and dialling his personal assistant, ignoring the ‘no mobile phone’ sign near the door of the room. The nurse clearly thought better of pointing it out. She moved quickly from the room.
Fiero was alone with Elodie.
Three years.
His body radiated tension as he moved the rest of the way to the side of the bed. Of his own accord, his fingers lifted to the hand that wasn’t in a sling. He stroked it gently, his eyes sweeping shut, impossibly long, black lashes curling against his dark skin.
His assistant answered his phone call.
Instincts took over.
Springing his eyes open, he spoke in rapid-fire Italian.
Where is the best hospital in London? How quickly could a private helicopter ambulance be arranged?
Clear his meetings for the week. Everything.
Yes, the dinners too. He disconnected the call and stared down at her, knowing that for whatever reason she’d given his details to the hospital, he was glad for it.
Glad because he was the right person to make sure she got the very best care. Cost was irrelevant.
She would be well again.
“Dr Hassan won’t be long,” the nurse breezed back in, holding a plastic cup half-filled with water. She passed it to Fiero and he took it without acknowledging it.
“What happened?”
“A car accident.” The nurse had now apparently obtained the authority to speak freely with him.
“I don’t know the details, but she was lucky it wasn’t worse.
She was nipped as she stepped onto the curb, thrown across the footpath.
Her head collided with a shop window, hence the lacerations and bruising.
” The nurse clucked sympathetically. “Caused quite a commotion.”
His nod was tight.
“She’s been in and out of consciousness since,” the nurse continued.
He suppressed the desire to drill her on the hospital’s policy with neurological admits. His assistant would be arranging everything – soon Elodie would be getting proper care.
“And she asked for me?” He prompted, that piece of the puzzle making little sense at the same time it somehow did.
Wasn’t that how it had been, on their short night together?
Contradictions everywhere. How right it felt even when he’d known it to be wrong.
How he’d felt as though he’d known her forever when they’d only just met.
The nurse frowned. “No.”
He jerked his gaze away from Elodie. “But the hospital called…”
“You were listed on her admissions paperwork.”
“She had time to fill out paperwork?”
“From last time,” the nurse corrected.
“Last time?”
“Mmm. A previous admission.”
“And she listed me as her emergency contact then, not now?” This was making marginally more sense. If she’d been admitted some time shortly after they’d met, perhaps he’d been all she could think of.
She’d only been in London a short while before he’d met her. She hadn’t known many people, she’d said, as they’d walked to her apartment.
“Must have done.”
He turned his attention back to Elodie and something clutched in his chest. He hated hospitals with a passion. He’d spent too much time in them. Too much time seeing people he cared for being crushed by life.
“So she didn’t ask for me now?”
“She wasn’t in a state to ask for anyone, love.”
Love? Christo. When had anyone called him such a thing?
His eyes flashed with his searing sense of frustration. This nurse was moving so slowly, acting as though nothing was the matter. His nostrils flared as he exhaled a harsh, disapproving breath.
“I want that neurologist immediately.”
“She’s on her way.”
Dr Hassan entered the room a moment later, a clipboard in her hands. She walked quickly, efficiently, urgently, and Fiero appreciated that. This was an urgent situation.
She spoke in clipped tones. “Swelling in the brain is going down nicely, though it’s going to be days before we can do a proper assessment.”
Nausea ran through Fiero. Elodie had been sharp as a whip that night, and so funny. Any kind of brain injury was terrible and traumatic but somehow the idea of it affecting Elodie was so much worse.
“In your experience, though? How does it look?” His voice was surprisingly gravelled.
“I can’t comment.”
“I’m not going to hold you to it, Doctor. I’m simply asking for an insight into what you’ve seen before and your best guess.”
Doctor Hassan shifted her gaze to Fiero’s.
“I don’t deal in guesswork, Mr Montebello.
I will tell you it’s not the worst brain injury I’ve seen, and that I’d be optimistic for a full and meaningful recovery.
But naturally there can be unforeseen complications.
It’s a long road ahead, with no guarantees. ”
“But you think, at this stage, Elodie’s condition is likely to improve?”
“We’ll see.” She put a slide into a backlit screen and ran her eyes over it. Fiero did the same, though very little of the shapes made any kind of sense to him.
The doctor flicked the light off and turned to Fiero. “She’s had two MRIs since she came in –,”
“What?” Fiero whirled around to face the nurse. “When did she arrive?”
“Early this morning,” Doctor Hassan answered his question, and moved past it.
“We will do another scan tonight, and continue to monitor her. In terms of her other physical injuries, these appear mostly superficial. Bones that will heal easily enough. Cracked ribs, which will cause immense pain for a time but they too shall heal.”
It was cruel to see such a beautiful and vibrant woman so completely shut down, so broken. His gut twisted.
“What can I do?”
“Not a lot, I’m sorry.” Doctor Hassan’s smile was sympathetic. “You must wait. The next twenty four hours are crucial.”
“Did she say anything at all?” He directed the question to both the doctor and nurse.
The nurse shrugged. “I wasn’t here.” She flipped the page and frowned. “Ah.”
“Ah?” Fiero lifted one single brow.