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“Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around for a few days?” I ask.
“No,” they say in tandem.
“Gosh, way to make your only child feel wanted.”
“Kamari mou, you know we’d rather have you here with us. But the team takes priority.”
“Always the team,” Mum groans.
“Not now, Eileen.” Papa warns her.
“Enough, you two. No arguing. Please don’t antagonize him, Mum. We need to go over what Dr. Patel said.”
“Yes, don’t antagonize me, Eileen.” Papa reaches for Mum’s nose in a playful gesture, and she kisses his hand.
“Don’t egg her on.” I warn him. “Fine. I’ll go to Austin today.”
I spend the next three minutes talking about Dr. Patel’s plan, and my father raises a finger. “Yeah?” I ask.
“You and Max go on our jet together,” Papa says.
Mum winks, and I shoot her a simpering glare. Had either of them heard anything I said about the medical plan? “Fine. We’re going to have to come up with a statement to the press, you know. They’ve been begging for details for hours. I haven’t even looked at what’s in the papers, I’m sure all sorts of lies have already made it into print.”
“You should’ve already met with Tanya. Where’s the phone? Let’s call her.” Papa tries to twist to his bedside table with a grunt. Mum stops him.
“I’ll call her from the car. You relax and focus on getting better. Mum, you’re staying here?”
She waves me off and I stand. “Go, go. We’ll be in constant contact. Find Max and get out of here. I’ve got this under control.”
I’m not entirely convinced but bend down to kiss my father’s forehead anyway. “Dr. Patel says you’re out of the danger zone. But you need to take better care of yourself from here on in, okay?”
“Yes, dear. Keep me updated on everything, okay? Call me from Austin. Call me anytime.”
“Rest is your only priority. That’s an order, from the new team owner.” I smooth the blanket that’s bunched up near his hip. Papa’s chuckling now.
When I look up Max is there holding a cup of coffee. Thank goodness; that mushroom “coffee” was not at all satisfying.
“Okay, we’re leaving, Mumsy’s staying here,” I say to him.
He smiles, as if this is all the most normal thing in the world. And oddly, it kind of feels that way. Like Max is the one who should be at my side during a crisis. Like he’s part of my family. I decide not to dwell too much on that feeling and wave good-bye to my parents.
Max hands me the coffee and bends down, giving my father and awkward hug. He then rounds the bed and smooches Mum on the cheek. She clamps him in a big hug, as Papa and I watch.
Max and I say our final good-byes and make our way out of the room and down the hall. His two bodyguards are outside, and they join us.
I immediately begin babbling nervously.
“Dr. Patel said that Papa’s left ventricle was nearly entirely blocked . . .” I go on about my father’s heart while we step into the elevator and all the way down the ten storys to the bottom floor. I tell Max details about the heart that would impress a surgeon, and all he does is listen soberly and make eye contact, as if I’m telling him the most fascinating details about Michael Schumacher or explaining how a new braking system works.
Max truly appears as though he’s riveted by what I’m saying, and that makes my face flush with warmth. Having his undivided attention in this cramped elevator makes my stomach flutter. Max is being his usual self: unfailingly polite. An angel. He’s not showing his other side, the devilish side, right now. But I know it exists. I’ve seen it up close, in bed, and I’ve read about his exploits over the years with women.
Must. Be. Careful.
The bodyguards flank us as we make our way to the hired car. Outside, the humid Miami air slaps us in the face, and Max winces. “I can never get used to this weather,” he says softly. Is that a subtle jab at my new hometown?
I’m about to retort with something snarky about the dismal weather in Germany when we’re ambushed, literally descended upon by a herd of reporters brandishing cameras and microphones. This again.
“Oh shit,” I mutter.
