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“Mini-stroke. Right.”
“Just going over the possibilities. He’s stable. We’re monitoring his heart, and we’ll give him blood thinners and other medication. But as you can see, his blood pressure reading is not great.”
The numbers on the screen change slightly every few seconds, but even the best reading is a troubling 180 over 120.
“Dangerously high. Yeah.”
Slowly, gradually, my father comes to. He eyes the tubes leading to the IV drip suspiciously, looking at his arm, then looking up.
He looks like a confused child, not the angry, stubborn man I argued with less than an hour ago.
“Cedrick, you’re here?” he asks weakly, his face still ashen.
I clear my throat and pull down my mask. “Yes, Dad. And the others are on their way.”
He addresses the professional team around him. “Please allow me to speak to my son in private. Thank you for your assistance.”
“Your Highness, but we’d like to continue monitoring you…”
“Lucky that my son is a world-renowned physician then, isn’t it? Besides, you have me on all of your machines at the desk. They’ll know in an instant if something changes.”
He nods as if to say, ‘That’s final.’ At least he treats everyone that way, not just his children.
Everyone nods their head in a bow, including me, and the physicians and nurses leave the room.
“It won’t be long,” my father says with reassurance. Really? How does he know?
I pull a stool up to the bed, and Dad looks like he just woke up from a nap.
“You gave us a scare, you know, Dad.”
“I don’t need a private audience to discuss my health, Cedrick.” He wears a stern expression, one that has intimidated diplomats and warlords into acceding to his demands. “This just demonstrates why it’s imperative that you get married. For my very survival. You know as well as I do that this episode was a result of stress. I may not have many years left. I want to see you settled and happy.”
“Dad, even from you, this is unbelievable.” I snort out a breath, then center myself. “Look. Even if I were ready for that, which I’m not, who would I even marry? Some noble hanger-on desperate to rope in a prince?”
“Good thing I have that covered, my son. I have the perfect woman for you. And if you marry her, I’ll give your foundation more money than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. This oughta be good.”
“Eleanora. Dr. Eleanora Lawson.” Who? Did he hallucinate during his unconscious episode?
“That doctor who just got that award? Why, because she’s in town and an eligible female? As in, one with a pulse. That’s insane. I don’t even know her.”
“But you do.”
I know her by reputation, but not well enough to even know what she looks like. Our circles don’t overlap much, and I’ve never met her in person.
I question him with a puzzled look, and he nods in response.
“You remember little Ellie?”
In a flash, I remember the little girl with wild curls and radiant mocha skin, the one I had just been thinking of today. Playing hide-and-seek in the throne room, offering to let her try on my mother’s tiaras, laughing at her for being afraid that a lightning bolt would tear it off her head for our impudence.
Besides Henry, she was my best friend. And I always wondered what happened to her. Now I know.
“Wait. Little Ellie is Dr. Eleanora Lawson?”
He’s wearing a huge grin now, although in his eyes it looks like it takes energy.
