Page 21

Mikhail

“This better be a state-of-emergency-worthy situation Lorenzo.” I held my phone to my ears as I made my way out of the conference hall.

It was my third day in Paris, and I've barely slept a wink since I landed. It was either a negotiation meeting, a business lunch, a press conference, a meeting with the lawyers, or some stupid nonsense. I was cranky as hell and couldn't wait to be done with it all and be back home.

“There’s been an accident,” Enzo said, his voice lacking its characteristic arrogance.

I paused for a bit, waiting for him to explain further, and was met with silence. “You called me four times to inform me of the road traffic situation on the streets of New York?” I queried, growing increasingly uncomfortable with his silence.

“Uhh, Arielle was involved,” he finally said, and I felt my blood run cold. “She’s been admitted to the hospital, the doctor said it wasn’t very serious, but she is still unconscious at the moment. We tried to—”

His voice dulled into an inaudible echo in the background as I stood in the middle of the office hallway, my heart thudding in my ears as a thousand scenarios flashed past my head in less than five seconds.

“Mikhail?” Enzo’s voice brought me back to the moment, and I immediately snapped into action.

“Don’t step an inch from her hospital bed. Make sure she’s well taken care of, and I want every detail about this accident. I’ll be home at dawn,” I instructed, making my way back to the conference room.

“Gentlemen, my woman was involved in an accident, and I need to be home as soon as possible.” A bald man with the face of a crow tried to object, but I silenced him with a look. “We’ve been on this for three days, and if you’re not convinced to work with me after seventy-two hours, there’s nothing more hours of talking can do. I’ll await your decision.” I pulled my suit jacket from the chair I was sitting on and made my way out of the office.

In my little moment with the board, I’ve figured them to be a snobbish bunch of Ivy League alumni whose only source of income was catering to businesses with a certain market cap to maintain their position and relevance in the world of the elite. I indulged them for a bit, but I know they need this deal far more than I do.

I sent a quick text to Peter to get the jet ready as I raced down the stairs. The energy I was putting into jogging downstairs gave me somewhere to push the adrenaline building in me. I didn’t trust myself to stand still in an elevator without punching holes into the metallic box. Peter was already waiting by the time I got to the revolving door at the exit. I stared at the slowly rotating structure in fury, wondering whose genius idea it was to put a stupid revolving door at the entrance of an office.

“Is everything ready?” I inquired as I settled into the passenger seat.

“Yes, Sir,” Peter affirmed, his eyes briefly meeting mine in the rare mirror.

“Give me your best speed, Peter,” I ordered, carelessly throwing my jacket and tie on the seat.

A frustrated groan left me as I dragged my fingers through my hair, tugging harshly at the roots and willing the pain to distract me from the images that were taking shape at the back of my head. I know Enzo said she wasn’t badly bruised or in critical condition, but I couldn’t shake out the image of Arielle covered in blood and unconscious on the cold streets of New York.

Was she scared? Did she feel alone? Did she call out for me in the last moments? How long did it take before help got to her? Question after question invaded my thoughts, worsening the current state of my mind.

So, this is fear? The reckless behaviors people often exhibited, ones I had always described as stupid and weak, suddenly made sense to me as I found myself cursing at drivers who took their time turning and pedestrians who didn’t run at the zebra crossing.

I was one curse away from dragging the wheels off Peter’s hands and taking matters into mine, but I sat still, knowing the extra time I’d spend with the police wouldn’t be worth it. I glanced at my watch, counting the hours till I’d be with her. Eight hours has never seemed so long.

******

“Where is she?” I demanded as soon as Enzo stepped into the hospital reception to meet me. I could see Angelo pretending to be one with the hospital walls from the corner of my eyes, but he was a problem I’d deal with later.

“This way,” Enzo said, walking off in the direction he came. “The doctor ran a full body scan on her. Besides a concussion, he couldn’t find anything worthy of alarm, but more tests will be conducted as soon as she wakes up, which should be anytime now.”

My stomach twisted as he continued to list all the things the doctor said, which were practically things he had already mentioned when he called. I found myself wishing she had passed out on impact and didn’t have to deal with any pain.

“Generally, he said she’ll be fine after a few weeks of bed rest and medication. She was lucky she kept her seatbelt on,” Enzo concluded his report as we came to a stop in front of a white door. “You might want to fix yourself a bit and take a calm breath before walking in, you look like shit.”

“Thanks for the observation,” I pushed Enzo aside and opened the door, preparing myself for the worst.

The sight I walked into was one I was sure would be buried in my head for a while. There she was, lying unconscious on a hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around her head, tubes sticking out from almost every part of her. The glow that seemed perpetually attached to her was gone. Her face was pale and her lips were split in the middle. Tiny bruises were covering her arms and legs, and there was the annoying monitor and its incessant beeping.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt more powerless in my life than I did at this moment. There was nothing I could do to ease her pain. There was no way for me to help her. She wasn’t even awake for me to ask where it hurt. All I could do was stand and watch until she woke, and I was very terrible at waiting.

“How did this happen?” I asked, my eyes not leaving her. If I couldn’t do anything to ease her pain, I could at least make sure the person responsible was getting a taste of what she was going through.

“A drunken driver,” Enzo replied, and blood roared in my ears. A fucking drunken driver. When I’m done with him, he will never touch a bottle of liquor for the rest of his life. As if he could sense the thoughts going through my head, Enzo promptly added. “He’s dead. His body was found close to the scene, probably falling off his car on impact.”

And I was back to square one. No way to help and nowhere to channel my frustration.

“She’ll be fine, man. The doctors assured me.” Enzo clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Despite Enzo’s reassurance and the words of the doctor, I couldn’t shake off the gnawing feeling that I was somehow responsible for the situation. It didn’t make sense, but I somehow blamed myself for the accident. Maybe if I hadn’t traveled to Paris and we had gone to work in the same car as we always did, things would’ve been different.

“It’s also not your fault, Mikhail. There’s nothing you could’ve done to change the situation of things,” Enzo added after a pause, but he was wrong. There’s a lot I could’ve done.

I would’ve shielded her with my body, making sure no harm came to her. I would’ve fallen first to keep her head from striking against the pavement. I would’ve bled out before I let a slice of glass cut her. But what use was I to her standing here?

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” Enzo finally said, walking out the door.

Finally, alone with her, I sat on the chair next to her, clasping her slender hands in mine and peppering soft kisses on them. “You have to wake up, princess. It’s killing me to see you like this,” I muttered, watching her face for the smallest movement. A flicker of her lashes or a twitch of muscle would equal a miracle to me right now.

When nothing happened, I settled for telling her about my day, my trip to Paris, and all the things I thought she’d love. I read somewhere that when people are unconscious or in a coma, they can sometimes hear what’s being discussed, and speaking to them encourages them to come back. I was not a superstitious man by any means, but I was willing to cling to anything that offered some form of hope at the moment.

“Mikhail?” Her voice came out croaked and barely audible. I would’ve missed it if not for the feeling of her hand squeezing mine.

My head snapped up, both my hands clutching hers. “Baby? You’re awake?” I asked, squinting my eyes to readjust to the bright lights of the hospital room. I must’ve fallen asleep somewhere in between my tales. She tried to speak but could only produce a croaking sound, followed by a coughing fit that sounded like iron grating against concrete.

“Enzo! Lorenzo!” I called out as I rushed towards the dispenser in the room. “Get the doctor. She’s awake,” I ordered as soon as he opened the door.

“Here, baby, take a sip.” I held the water to her as she struggled to sit up. There were tubes everywhere, and I didn’t know how to help her up.

“Everything hurts,” she groaned, relaxing her back on the bed rest after taking a few gulps.

“I’m sorry, baby. The doctor will be here soon, and he’ll take care of you,” I replied, tracing small circles on her palm.

Enzo arrived with the doctor soon, and she was wheeled to the examination room while we waited for their return. My knees wouldn’t stop bouncing no matter how hard I tried to remain calm, and despite the air conditioning in the room, I could feel beads of perspiration forming on my forehead and palms.

“You must really love her,” Enzo commented, his eyes observing me like I was a specimen under a microscope.

Love? I honestly hadn’t thought that far. I’d never been in love before. Not even my parents loved me. I wouldn’t know what love felt like if it slapped me in the face. All I’ve known my whole life was duty and loyalty. If I’ve ever heard of love, it was spoken of as a weakness and an act of foolery.

Was this what love felt like? Feeling like your life would stop if someone ceased to exist? Feeling an unimaginable ache in your heart at the thought of never seeing them again? Sharing in their pain and wishing you could offer yourself up to ease whatever they were feeling?

Arielle is my woman, and I’d ascribed whatever I felt for her to a sign of my responsibility to her as my woman and my willingness to go to the ends of the Earth for her as the loyalty I owed her, almost the same as the one I owed my family. Nothing more, nothing else. The look of realization must’ve been bare naked on my face as Enzo stared at me in disbelief. “Please tell me you’ve at least told her that. Hold on. Did you even know you were in love with her?”

I gritted my teeth as a new wave of anger washed through me. Anger at Lorenzo for confronting my emotions without my permission, anger at the situation of things, and, most importantly, anger at myself for not being able to see what was right in front of me. I could’ve lost her without letting her know how much she meant to me.

Sensing I wasn’t about to engage in a deep heart-to-heart with him, Enzo dropped the topic and focused his attention somewhere else. If I was in love with Arielle, she’d be the first person I’d admit it to. Not Enzo, not God, not anyone, just her.

The doctor returned after a while and briefed us on the situation. He said Arielle was lucky to have been away from the site of direct impact, and her seatbelt helped hold her in place, but she slammed her head on something, resulting in her concussion, and hitting her head on the pavement only worsened it. He also noted a few cuts and sprains and said she’ll be in a lot of pain for a while and should be restricted to bed rest with very little to no physical and visual engagement while she recovers.

“When will she be discharged?” I asked, taking in all he had said.

“While she can be retained here and monitored closely, it’s not necessary for her to stay. She can recover well at home with close care from a nurse.” He replied.

“Can you assign a nurse to us?” I didn’t think I’d be able to totally take care of her here. I needed us to be home where I could give her all my care and attention. If a nurse is what we need for that to happen, then I’ll take the nurse—a nurse and Maya.

“Sure. You’ll fill out a form at reception along with the discharge form, and one of our home care nurses will be assigned to you. You can work out the schedule with her.” The doctor said, beeping the receptionist to prepare the necessary documents.

“Thank you. Thank you for saving her,” I said, holding the doctor’s eyes before returning to Arielle’s side.

“The doctor said you could come home today. How do you feel about that?” I asked, holding her hand.

“I’d love to. The hospital smells like disease and death. It makes me sick,” she said, and a small smile played on my lips. Even in her state, she still had it in her to make jokes.

A look of worry crossed her face, and her brows crinkled in the manner I’ve come to associate with her being scared or worried. “Can you call Vivian? I think I lost my phone during the accident. She must be worried.”

I nodded, pulling my phone out of my pocket and shooting Vivian a quick text. She didn’t ask how I got Vivian’s number, and I did not bother explaining myself.

The doctor returned with her prescriptions and a pamphlet containing detailed instructions on how to care for concussed patients. I signed every document that needed attention, and by the time we were due to leave, it was a little past eight p.m.