Medical Romance June 2016 Books 1-6. Lynne Marshall
late-night booty call might be this time.
Damn it to hell. What had he just said about his parents breathing down his neck? This time they’d probably be belching pure fire. He glanced at his patient and her nurse, glad they were too busy talking to pay attention to the stupid television. He wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on his lab coat, thankful the photos were distant and grainy enough that nobody would likely be able to figure out who the woman was. He hoped Gabriella didn’t get wind of the story, and hoped even more that she wouldn’t suffer any embarrassment from it. Already, he knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who would appreciate being part of a media frenzy, which was one of several good reasons he’d been telling himself he had to keep his hands off her.
Anger surged into his veins on her behalf. The hard-working, exhausted woman couldn’t even fall asleep in his car without untrue rumors being spread, and he wished he could contact the TV programmers with a vehement rebuttal, telling them to lay off.
But experience had taught him that kind of thing just inflamed the gossipmongers even more. With any luck, the hounds would back off when they couldn’t figure out who she was, and the story would die a quick death.
For Gabriella’s sake, and for his too, he hoped like hell that was exactly what would happen. Seeing the photos in his mind again as he strode from the room to update the charts, he nearly ran into Freya.
“Rafael.” A smile played about Freya’s lips and she lifted an eyebrow. “I hear your patients love you, so thanks for stepping in. Also sounds like you’re very much...enjoying your time in L.A.?”
“Not as much as I’m given credit for, I can tell you that,” he said, somehow keeping his voice cool and amused, even as his stomach felt a little queasy. “The story of your life and mine, isn’t it?”
“Stories aren’t always fiction.” Her smile widened, and she walked away without another word.
Trying to get the annoying voice of the TV host out of his head, along with the blurry images he hoped Gabriella wouldn’t have to see, he concentrated on the computerized patient charts until his phone interrupted him.
Then he knew the day was going downhill even faster when he saw it was his mother, and his gut clenched with the certain knowledge that their palace spies had informed her of the latest gossip fest.
“Buenos días, Mother. It’s wonderful to hear your voice.” Or would be, if their conversation was going to be about the palace horses or her latest fundraiser or something else pleasant and benign, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be that lucky.
“Rafael. What do your father and I have to do to make you understand your position in life? Your responsibilities? We might not have liked that you chose to do something like doctoring instead of accepting your traditional role here, but we have learned to live with it. That doesn’t give you the right, though, to disregard your family’s status completely and do whatever you wish! I thought the latest scandal had taught you that. You said that’s why you went to L.A. for a while, to behave! And yet here you are, the subject of gossip again. When are you going to marry a nice girl and be done with this? When—?”
“Mother.” He’d gritted his teeth and held the phone from his ear during her long diatribe, but finally managed to cut her off when she took a breath. “If you’re talking about the stupid TV news, I can assure you it’s nothing. I’m working for a time in James’s clinic, and a co-worker and I had work to discuss. She fell asleep and...” This time he cut himself off. Why the hell should he have to defend himself to anyone, including his mother, about something completely innocent? Was it his fault he’d been second born into a royal family, and because of that was a chronic disappointment and annoyance to his parents? His fault that the paparazzi liked to stalk him? As for getting married, she might as well save her breath, because that was never going to happen. “You know, I’m done with this conversation. Is there something else you’d like to talk about?”
“We need to get this ironed out first. If you—”
“Goodbye, Mother. Call me if you want to talk about something besides how much my being a doctor and a heathen embarrasses you.”
Under normal circumstances, he would have felt bad hanging up on his mother, even when she was scolding him. But this subject had been beaten to death for months, and he’d moved here to escape the gossip his parents despised. He couldn’t handle one more minute of being accused of something he hadn’t done. Hadn’t he been doing his best to be the outstanding representative of his country his parents wanted him to be?
Anger and frustration had him wanting to punch something, and he knew he needed a calming distraction. And the one thing that always gave him perspective and helped him remember what was really important was spending time with innocent new babies, some of whom were struggling with far more serious problems than he had. Much more important than parental disapproval and gossip and damned fabrications that shouldn’t be more than an inconvenient annoyance to be ignored.
Just three steps into NICU he stopped, struck by the picture in front of him. The beautiful profile of Gabriella Cain as she sat next to Skye’s incubator, her fire-streaked golden hair tucked behind her ears. Unaware that anyone was looking at her, every emotion was visible. Her eyes and lips, her posture, and the way her fingers gently stroked the infant’s tiny arm exposed a mix of emotions so raw his chest tightened to see them. Sadness and anguish. Guilt. And a longing so naked he knew this was far more than a woman simply looking at the miracle of a newborn.
What had happened to Gabriella to bring this kind of pain to her life?
He watched her for long minutes, uncertain whether to approach her with comfort or quietly leave her alone. His feet seemed to make the decision for him, and he found himself right next to her, his hand reaching to slowly stroke down her soft hair then rest on her slumped shoulder with a gentle squeeze.
She didn’t react immediately. It seemed to take her a moment to emerge from whatever dark and private place she was in. Then she turned and looked up at him. Her professional mask slipped across her face, covering all that starkly haunted emotion.
“Have you come to see Skye? She’s doing really well.” Gabriella stood to give him room to move closer to the incubator, and his hand fell from her shoulder. But he didn’t want to see the baby now as much as he wanted to be there for Gabriella. “I left Cameron a short time ago,” she said. “She’s resting, but asked me to check on Skye and report back. Not that she hasn’t gotten reports about every fifteen minutes from various members of the nursing staff. But she isn’t quite convinced that’s enough.”
Her smile seemed forced and it didn’t banish the sadness from her eyes. He wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to hold her close and console her for whatever hurt she was holding inside. He wanted to tell her it would be okay, that all pain faded and nothing was forever. And as his eyes met her somber brown ones, he knew.
He wanted to know Gabriella a whole lot better, and to hell with lying low and living like a saint. He couldn’t care about gossip or stupid photos or even his mother’s embarrassment and worries. Right then, the only thing he cared about was spending time with Gabriella and finding a way to make her smile again.
“My updates from the pediatricians have been good enough that I think we can move Skye into her mama’s room,” he said. “That would keep Cameron happier and save some time and footsteps by the nursing staff, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But of course I don’t mind checking on the baby. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I’m so happy she’s all right.”
That wistful look crept across her face again, and Rafael found himself reaching for her hand before he even realized it. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“A favor?”
“Yes. Freya told me that all the recent high-profile operations for Bright Hope patients have the cream of L.A. society lining up to hold exclusive fundraisers, so she’s asked if I can attend a charity ball. Since I’m new to Los Angeles and have no one to ask to go with me, would you please come? I’m sure