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“It’s too dangerous… your heart… and then we have no idea what we’d walk into in Italy. There might be a gang war going on.”
“I know all of this. Still, I can’t stay here, knowing he needs me.”
“I can’t let you, Ella. If something happened to you because of it… I’d never forgive myself.”
“This is not your decision to make, Ade,” I whisper. “I’m dying anyway. What difference does it make if it’s a few weeks earlier?” I say, resigned.
“Don’t fucking say that,” Aiden demands. “It makes a difference to me. Don’t you dare give up!”
“It’s not about giving up. Neither one of us wants to face the fact that I have limited time left.” I take his hand in mine and let its warmth suffuse me.
“If there’s even the slightest chance that my presence will help Tiero recover, I’ll take it. And if he doesn’t, then I want the opportunity to say goodbye.”
“You won’t budge on this, will you?”
I shake my head. “Will you come with me?”
“As if I’d ever let you go alone.” He sighs, resigned. “I’ll call Gary to see if we can make up some job in Rome so we can take the jet.”
“Mateo is sending a De Marco plane. It should be here by the morning.”
Aiden nods. “Good. This will give me time to find a doctor and nurse to come along.”
My hackles immediately rise. “What? No. I’m not an invalid.”
“No, you’re not. But this isn’t negotiable. It’s for my peace of mind. You wouldn’t want to deny me that,would you?”
When he puts it like that… how could I disagree?
“Of course, I don’t,” I concede, and to be honest, I’m relieved to have a doctor come along in case I need help. Though how much could he do if my heart stopped beating?
I’m not sure how it will cope with seeing a dying Tiero. The upset is inevitable.
And here I thought my stressful days were behind me, but they’re just amped up to a whole new level.
The hum of the jet is soothing. This plane is bigger than the one Tiero and I flew in to Rome and Monza, making me wonder how many he’s got. Maybe this one is just for overseas travel. But seriously, how many planes does one person need?
Nevertheless, I’m grateful for the comfort. Flying commercial, even in first class, couldn’t compare to this.
Aiden and I are in the bedroom at the back of the plane. I’m hooked up to monitors, their regular beeping a reassurance that, at least for now, my heart is coping fine with flying, making me wonder if my condition is really as serious as Doctor Miller explained.
Aiden certainly isn’t willing to take any additional risk. He wouldn’t let me walk or climb the stairs, carrying me bride-style instead. When he deposited me on the bed, I’d wished it was for other reasons than hooking me up to machines.
With Gary’s help, he secured a doctor and nurse to accompany us. Volunteers weren’t hard to find. Who wouldn’t jump at an opportunity to fly on a private jet to Italy and get paid for it?
Doctor Simmons and his wife, Becky, my nurse for this trip, are lovely but a little overbearing. Every twenty minutes, they come in to ensure everything looks normal. I want to tell them I don’t need the constant check-ups, but Aiden just gives me a stern glare and I close my mouth again, reminding myself I’m putting him through enough stress and worry.
Aiden is lying beside me, reading a book on organ transplant aftercare. His optimism is commendable. It’s good one of us is thinking positive.
I turn my face to him and admire how handsome my fiancé is.
Trying to lighten the solemn mood that’s crept in since I declared I was going to Italy no matter what, I ask, “Did you know the Brits are the friskiest fliers?” And for good measure, I bat my eyelashes suggestively at him.
He looks up from his book, grinning. “But you’re not British.”
I shrug and reach over to run my hands down his chest.
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of saying you want to join the Mile High Club?” Aiden asks, amused.
