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She searched her mind but found nothing. As she focused on the mountains, all she could see was Curtis. “No,” she managed, frustration filling her. “I do believe I started the day in Salzburg, but … everything after that is a blur.”
“It’s okay. Any description of the men?”
They stopped moving in a small curtained-off room, rolling her bed into the spot in the center of the space against the wall. They didn’t transfer her off the hard board.
“Prince Curtis,” the female nurse said, her voice a little breathless as if awed to be in his presence. Her eyes trailed over his well-built chest.
“Shaylee,” the male nurse said in a quiet reprimand.
The female nurse’s eyes snapped up and focused on Aliya, as if remembering she was at work. She grabbed a blood pressure cuff.
“Prince?” Aliya echoed. He was a prince?
Of course he was. She might not have her memories of today, but she had the rest of her memories and she could easily picture Prince Curtis, his five handsome brothers, adorable little sister, and stoic father, all wearing black as they buried the regal and beautiful queen of Augustine. Curtis’s mama.
His brothers were often in the media or magazines, most especially the oldest, Crown Prince Tristan, who recently had received an insane amount of media ink and video time being burned in an explosion. Then Prince Tristan’s twin, General Prince Raymond, had stolen Prince Tristan’s fiancée, an American who worked for the infamous Sutton Smith.
It had been quite the scandal but had somewhat settled when Prince Raymond and his fiancée Macey gave an international press release not long ago. They admitted they fell in love while Macey was engaged to Prince Tristan, but it took Prince Tristan almost dying and the crown prince forcing them to admit their love for each other to act on it.
Prince Derek also received a lot of attention. He was an American Ninja Warrior sensation. Everybody loved cheering for the prince, though there were always some grumbles from men in her hometown about the number one American Ninja Warrior not actually being an American.
Curtis strongly resembled his brothers, but besides that funeral scene, she’d never seen him splayed across magazines holding some beauty like his brother Prince Malik—the Charmer, news and media outlets liked to call him.
The male nurse cleared his throat and stepped closer, tucking the blanket tighter under one arm. “Can you let Dr. Prince Steffan examine and clear her before you quiz her about the day’s events?”
Curtis nodded shortly. Aliya didn’t know if he was annoyed he couldn’t question her or annoyed at the lady calling him ‘prince.’
Another man strode into the room, wearing scrubs and snapping plastic gloves on, a stethoscope around his neck. He looked very doctorly, but he had the bearing of a well-formed prince. He also strongly resembled Curtis, with darker hair and a sharper jawline. He grinned widely at Curtis. “Wish I could give you a thumping hug, but I’m all sterile, and you dare grace my esteemed hospital appearing like a wet teenage thug with no shirt or shoes on.”
His accent was almost as strong as Chad’s had been.
Curtis chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. Aliya drew in a sharp breath at all those muscles flexing in synchrony. She heard it echoed by the nurse.
“Shaylee,” the doctor prince said. Steffan? “Please get my brother some scrubs, extra-large.”
“Of course, Dr. Prince Steffan.” Her face lit up as she stared at him.
“Doctor Steffan is fine.” He was still smiling, but there was steel in his voice.
“But you’re a prince,” she protested. “And the Chief Medical Officer of the hospital.” She fluttered her eyelashes like a toad caught in a hailstorm.
“The scrubs, please.”
She nodded and scurried out of the room.
“She’s new,” Dr. Steffan said to Curtis. Then, to the male nurse, “Thank you for not being star-struck, Gray.”
“I just hide it better, Doctor Prince.”
Doctor Steffan laughed, then turned to her. “And how are you feeling, ma’am?”
“Aliya, please,” she managed. “Y’all are princes?” What on earth kind of alternate reality had she fallen into?
Doctor Steffan and Curtis—or was it Prince Curtis?—exchanged a look.
“She came flying off the Pikes Peak falls headfirst and must’ve hit her head under the water on the rocks,” Curtis said. “Her head was bleeding, but it stopped. I used my shirt to put pressure on it and an emergency blanket to warm her up. She doesn’t show any signs of hypothermia or a head or neck injury, but I’m not ruling one out until you finish your scans. She may have partial amnesia.”
That was where his shirt had gone. And why did he sound like he had so much medical knowledge?
