Page 8 of Careless Whisper (Modern Vintage Romances #11)

Reggie

L ife at work got a little better after the showdown with Elias outside the gym.

Cindy had told me I was back in rotation, so I’d been assisting in the OR, to Delaney’s dismay, which I didn’t understand because there was enough work for all of us.

Delaney wanted to snag an attending, and since Elias Graham looked like he walked out of the set of Grey’s Anatomy and was widely considered one of the top cardiac surgeons in the country, she’d set her eyes on him.

More power to her!

“He’s not single, Delaney,” I overheard a nurse tell Delaney in the locker room.

“What? Yes, he is. I checked his bio,” Delaney protested.

“I talked to my cousin; she’s the one at Stratford in Boston, and she said that everyone knows he’s engaged to Dr. Maren Loring.”

I felt my blood pressure rise at that bitch’s name.

“Who is she?” Delaney wanted to know.

Childhood sweetheart , I wanted to say, but I didn’t want anyone to know about my history with Elias. Let them think that he just hated my guts for some reason, which had nothing to do with us fucking five years ago, and he and his current fiancée fucking me over.

“Someone he’s been seeing forever,” the other nurse informed Delaney with-the-big-claws that she wanted to sink into a doctor.

“We’ll see about that,” Delaney snapped.

I wish I could tell her not to make my mistakes, but I didn’t like Delaney enough to bother.

I changed quickly and headed to The Butcher’s Table to have dinner with my parents. They were visiting from San Miguel de Allende for a couple of days before heading to New York to spend time with my mother’s family.

I spotted my parents as soon I walked into the restaurant, and even if I hadn’t, I would’ve heard my father’s unmistakable laugh, which was similar to mine.

You laugh with your whole self, Gigi.

My mother raised a graceful hand as soon as she saw me. I told the ma?tre d’ I was here with a party, and they walked me toward my parents, who already had a bottle of wine open and breathing.

“ Mi reina .” My father opened his arms and I walked into them, sinking into the hug, soaking him in. He kissed my cheek and frowned. “You have bags under your eyes. Are you working too hard?”

My mother turned me to face her and tutted me. “Reggie, you do have bags under your eyes. Are you wearing the eye cream I sent you?”

Mama had a penchant for expensive makeup brands, and she bought enough to share with her daughter and daughter-in-law.

My brother Carlos’s wife, Genevive, appreciated it more than I did, which she told me was because she was French and had good taste, unlike me, who was American.

I had stuck my tongue out at her for that comment.

Carlos was a diplomat like my father had been, and Genie was an administrator for Médecins Sans Frontières. They both lived in Brussels, so we didn’t see them often, though Genie, Mama, and I were on the Sanchez Girls WhatsApp Group, which was how we kept in touch.

“Mama, sometimes even La Mer can’t convert bags into beauty,” I told her as I sat on the chair my father pulled out for me. “Especially when I have a double shift.”

“Genie works all the time; she has time for eye makeup.” Mama’s eyes crinkled as she poured me a glass of wine. “But then you never sit still; you didn’t, even in the womb.”

“That’s because she gets it from you, Anna,” Papa interjected. “You know, Reggie, your mother curated ten shows in six months the year you were born?”

“Yes, Papa, I know.” This was an old favorite story of my father’s.

“I was also the only pregnant woman on the Upper East Side who had to convince a gallery owner to light an installation on fire for authenticity,” my mother showed off.

I laughed, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could exhale.

This was my grounding force—my parents.

My father, Ignacio Sanchez, was a former diplomat turned quiet philanthropist, and Mama was a retired art curator.

They’d been married for forty years, now lived in San Miguel de Allende in a restored colonial home, and spent their time funding mobile clinics and arts education programs throughout Mexico.

We were close. I talked to them every week. But this—dinner, in person, laughing with wine in our hands and no pager clipped to my waistband—this was precious . I had done the double shift so I wouldn’t be on call when I was out with my parents.

We looked through the menu and ordered.

“Now, tell me the truth. How are things?” Papa asked when Mama went to the restroom.

“Good.”

He regarded me thoughtfully. “You’re not okay. I felt it when we spoke last week. ”

“Is that why you’re here now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But Anna missed her parents and your uncle.”

“I heard from Uncle Jason.” I changed the topic. “He wanted me to look at some charity thing they’re doing at the bank with a clinic in the Bronx.”

My Uncle Jason ran the family business, which was banking. My grandfather had hoped that my mother would also work in banking, but Mama was an art lover.

When Mama returned to the table, we all fell into our roles, comfortable and pleasant.

“I spoke to your grandmother last week,” my mother told me as she delicately sliced into a scallop. “Mum is still convinced you should’ve gone to med school.”

My grandmother, Faye was from England and hence Mama called her Mum and I called her G’Mum.

“G’Mum is full of it.” I speared a piece of steak.

“Carlos and Genie said they will be stateside for Christmas.” Papa picked up his glass of red. “But they’re not so keen on New York.”

Mama scowled. “Well, it is so cold.”

“How about we do it in San Miguel de Allende?” I suggested.

“I’d like that.” Mama patted my hand. “And I know Carlos and Genie would prefer the weather.”

My parents then got talking about who would convince my grandparents not to hold Christmas in New York as they always did.

After I brokered yet another discussion between them, my father grinned. “You know, you should’ve been a diplomat. You’re good at defusing situations.”

“I think Carlos inherited the diplomacy gene; I have Mama’s sense of…ah… subtlety.”

“No kidding.” Papa wrapped an arm around Mama. “Remember that time, Anna, when you almost caused an international incident over a stolen Modigliani.”

“ Allegedly caused, Ignacio.” She raised her glass for a toast.

I let myself soak it in.

I loved my family and felt safe with them. I knew they were proud of me, even G’Mum, who sometimes bemoaned that I wore scrubs instead of a white coat.

Papa had paid the bill, and we were finishing up the wine when he casually said, “You know the clinic’s up and running again.

We’ve added new equipment and hired a local team.

But we’re still looking for someone with your experience to manage the surgical referrals, train the nurses, and coordinate with the hospital in León. ”

Here we go.

“I’m happy in Seattle,” I replied gently. “You know that.”

My mother tilted her head. “He knows! Ignacio, stop pestering the girl. ”

“I just think?—”

“Stop it.” Mama glared at him.

He raised both his hands, palms out in defeat. “Fine. But if you ever change your mind, mija , you know?—”

“Yes, Papa.”

I knew my father. He’d keep pushing even though Mama didn’t. But I saw it in their eyes—the hope and the longing to have me closer.

They left with hugs and promises to visit again. I waved to them as they drove off in their Uber and handed my valet slip to the attendant.

I was looking through my phone, waiting, when I heard his voice. I looked up and saw the two people who had ruined my career in Boston. They were walking up the street. I backed away into the shadows, not wanting to be seen.

Maybe whatshername’s cousin from Boston was right, Dr. Elias Graham was indeed off the market, engaged to Dr. Maren “The Bitch” Loring.

She looked good, dressed in that effortless, East Coast elite way—camel coat, sleek heels, hair like a shampoo commercial. She melted into him, smiling, and he smiled back.

My stomach twisted, and suddenly, I was back in Boston in a cold hallway.

“Stay away from Elias, Reggie. He and I’ve been together for years,” Maren threatened me .

I gave her an incredulous look. “Ah…look, Dr. Loring, Dr. Graham and I ? —”

No one knew about us, and I wanted to keep it that way. There were no non-fraternization rules at Stratford, but I didn’t want the rumor mill to go into overdrive, not when I was just starting out as a nurse.

“Stay away from him,” she repeated. “I promise you, if you don’t walk away, I will burn your career down.”

I’d stared at her, stunned. Speechless.

“He’s just fucking you,” she continued. “You’re easy pussy, you are not the plan.”

I avoided her after that and never told Elias about the conversation. It seemed too ridiculous to talk about. But maybe I should have because when it all fell apart, Elias had chosen her version of the truth over mine.

“Did you harm a patient to get at Maren? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

They weren’t together then , but they were now.

The ache in my heart settled deeper.

He’d been in Seattle and Harper Memorial for three months, and in that time, I’d lost my footing, my OR privileges, and most of my peace of mind.

I was happy before he came here. And now…I didn’t know who I was in that hospital anymore. I didn’t know if I could keep walking those halls with my head high when everything around me felt like it was tipping.

I thought, maybe I should take my parents up on their offer . I should go to Mexico and run the clinic and do work that mattered without having to fight tooth and nail for every inch of respect.

But the thought of leaving my life in Seattle, my hard-earned career as a surgical nurse, without fighting back, well, that tasted too much like defeat and I was no loser.