Page 91 of Handsome Devil

I decided to forgive myself for letting my husband finger and play with me while he conducted his business from the back seat of his vehicle yesterday.

It was a momentary lapse of judgment. Could happen to anyone, really.

I was blinded by the thrill of having just bought a private jet. Although now that I’d received all the paperwork and got a peek into the red tape of it all, I was sorely regretting the decision.

I didn’t even like flying.

“Good morning, Mrs. Blackthorn.” The nurse at the reception smiled warmly, standing up to rummage through the pastries I placed on the counter. She took a slurp of her massive Dunkin’ iced coffee. “Dr. Stultz is in your mother’s room. You can still catch him if you hurry.”

“Lovely. Thanks!” I advanced toward her room and noticed the door was ajar. I’d decided to tackle this situation with Mum head-on. Yes, her condition had worsened, but miracles happened every day. Case in point—Tate actually asked me how my night had been yesterday.

Only three million and two hundred more steps until he became an actual human.Soclose.

I walked through the door to find Dr. Stultz standing next to another doctor. They were both speaking in hushed voices. Mum was folded over to one side, one leg unnaturally elevated in traction. The side of her face was completely bruised. What the hell happened? She was fine when I left her yesterday. I stepped farther in, sucking in a breath.

“What’s going on?”

Both doctors turned to me. Dr. Stultz was the first to speak. “Gia. Your mother fell out of bed. Broke her tibia and two ribs.” A loaded silence dominated the room as his throat worked around the next sentence. “We found her immediately after. All our flight- and fall-risk patients wear sensors to avoid this situation exactly.”

“Oh, um, thanks?”

His expression darkened. “She could not produce sounds of distress.”

I closed my eyes, somehow managing not to cry. Enzo and Filippo were just beyond the door.

“I…how…” I peered beyond their shoulders, itching to go to her, to scoop her into my arms. And then another, darker thought penetrated my mind.

There was nothing left to hold. She wasn’t really Mum. Not the mum who cracked jokes with me and once chased me down the street all the way to the tube station because I paired a mustard-colored coat with white Mary Janes, and no daughter of hers could commit such horrid fashion crime in broad daylight. We both toppled over with laughter when she showed up with a pair of black sneakers. Then I’d ended up being thirty minutes late to a movie because we couldn’t help ourselves and went to share a cookie at Caffè Nero.

Now Mum appeared to be sleeping—always sleeping these days—hooked up to monitors.

In her dressing gown and without any makeup, I saw her in a way I hadn’t ever before. Frail and fragile and out of touch with the world around her. Her collarbones and sternum jutting forth beneath papery, vein-mapped skin.

“When was the last time she was awake?” I finally found my voice.

The second doctor excused himself and scurried out of the room.

“Three days ago,” Dr. Stultz said.

When I was in the Hamptons.

“And I missed it?” This time, my eyesdidpool with tears. I couldn’t bear the loss.

“You’ve been here every other day of the week,” he said carefully.

“Well, have you been able to start the trials with her yet? At least the neuroplasticity therapies?” I wiped the tears from my face quickly. “Or…or…what about reading to her a little bit?” I asked desperately. I knew it was useless. I’d been reading to her almost every day. Her favorite classics.Wuthering HeightsandSabby Gertrudis Gómez de Avellaneda andOf Mice and Men. I played her all her favorite Celia Cruz songs, probably too loudly.Talked her ear off. Nothing worked. Nothing ever brought her back.

Dr. Stultz approached me, his face etched with pity. “Did you come here alone?”

The question startled me. I always did.

“Um, yes.” I stood up straighter. “I mean, I have my security. Because of…you know, my husband’s high profile.” He didn’t ask, but I felt the need to explain anyway.

“Right.”

“Is something wrong?”

“You might want to ask your husband to come in.” Dr. Stultz put a hand on my shoulder. “We need to talk.”