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‘Where am I?’ she attempted, swallowing painfully around a dry throat.
The buxom woman bustling around her paused and Carla noticed her nurse’s uniform for
the first time. ‘In a private hospital in Roma,’ she replied, smiling her sympathy. ‘You suffered a bad fall and a particularly nasty concussion.’
Of course. Memories of her accident resurged. The row with her father. Then with her trainer, Tyson Blackwell. Her instincts screaming at her in the moments before the accident to walk away. Then the sickening twist and the ice rushing towards her, one arm out in front of her in a vain attempt to break her fall.
She curled her fist and rested it in her lap. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Three days. You’ve been asleep for most of the time since you came out of surgery, but it’s great that you’re healthy. You’ll be on the mend soon. I’ll get the doctor now, then you can visit with your family. They’ve been quite anxious to see you awake.’
‘They?’ she echoed, puzzled. Her father was her only family. Had been since... Carla swallowed as tears pierced her eyelids, surprising her.
She hadn’t cried since that fateful night when she was ten years old. She’d known then that tears would earn her nothing but a sharp tongue and dire punishment and had quickly wised up.
‘Sì,’ the nurse responded. ‘Your papà has been here throughout. He left about an hour ago, just before your young man arrived. He’s been haunting the halls ever since his arrival.’ The older woman cast her a sly glance. ‘You’re lucky to have such a passionate man in your life.’
‘I...what...?’
The nurse patted her hand. ‘Don’t fret. The doctor will be here soon.’ She exited, leaving Carla in a deeper state of confusion than before.
Pull yourself together.
Grabbing the remote that adjusted the bed, Carla slowly raised herself up, just as the doctor arrived.
‘Signorina Nardozzi, it’s good to see you awake.’
Carla nodded a reply, then lay there patiently as she was checked over, the fog clearing with each passing second, and with it a heart heavy with foreboding and regret.
The accident had happened because she’d been fleeing her demons. Pushing herself beyond her endurance in light of what her father had done and their ongoing rowing. Finally understanding why he’d been even more callously demanding these past few months had done nothing to alleviate the pain lodged beneath her breast.
She had well and truly reached a crossroads with her father.
Carla forced herself to listen to the doctor’s prognosis. The state of her health was directly connected to her career. Despite the changes she intended to make, she needed to ensure her health remained optimal. The very roof over her head was dependent on it.
‘Your father mentioned you’re eager to return to training?’ the doctor disclosed once he’d reeled out his list of dos and don’ts. ‘Your next figure-skating event is in two months, I believe?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. It wasn’t a championship event, but an important one nonetheless.
The portly man frowned. ‘I advise against any form of training for a few weeks. Two weeks of total rest if you heal fast enough. Four weeks just to be on the safe side before you begin any strenuous exercise. Your wrist on the other hand will need a little longer than that.’
‘What about publicity work—photo shoots and such? I have commitments to fulfil.’ Her contract with J Santino Inc. didn’t include lying about in hospital beds. She was surprised Javier hadn’t sent his lawyers after her already considering the stringent clauses in her contract.
The doctor’s frown deepened. ‘I strongly recommend that you take at least two weeks without any stress on your body. After that, perhaps if you agree to engage private care—’
Carla shook her head. ‘That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself—’
‘She’ll have private care from the day she’s released. You have my word on that, Doctor.’
Carla’s breath caught in her throat at the deep voice that preceded the sleek, powerfully built man who entered the room.
So...she hadn’t been dreaming after all.
Javier approached. From the top of his dark wavy hair to the tip of his handmade designer shoes, he commanded a formidable, absorbing presence that reduced the rest of the room’s occupants to mere spectators as his intense, dark brown eyes locked on her.
Tongue-tied, she watched him approach with measured, self-assured strides until his broad shoulders filled her vision.
‘What are you doing here?’ Her vocal cords, rough from disuse, rasped the words.
