CAROL MARINELLI - Hot Single Docs - Waiting For You - St Piran's - Prince on the Children's Ward

As were the phone calls from Miranda.

She wanted to visit.

But he wasn’t ready to see her.

Wasn’t ready to make the decision everyone wanted him to make.

Driven by a burning desire to recover as fast as possible, he hauled himself to the bed and started the exercises the physio had shown him.

He worked without rest, channelling all his anger and frustration into each movement, pushing himself hard.

By the time Tasha arrived back in the apartment, he was in agony. Still in her wetsuit, her feet bare, she stood and looked at him.

‘Did you take your painkillers before you started?’

It cost him to speak. ‘No.’

‘That’s what I thought. Let me tell you something about pain—once it comes back, it’s harder to manage. The trick is to head it off before it returns. You should have waited for me. I was going to do the physio with you.’ Dropping her towel and her bag on the floor, she walked over to him. Her hair lay in a damp rope over her shoulder and she smelt of the sea. ‘The surf is fantastic.’

Her enthusiasm and sheer vitality sprinkled salt into his wounds. ‘I saw you. You took a risk with that last wave.’

‘I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me about risk given that you lay down under a horse.’ She glanced down at his ankle. ‘How’s that feeling?’

‘It’s fine, thanks.’ Speaking required energy he didn’t possess and she gave him a knowing smile.

‘Fine? Yeah, I bet. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll check you over.’

Despite the agony, his entire body heated and he reflected on the fact that having Tasha as his private nurse was the worst torture anyone could have invented. ‘You already checked me over.’ And he’d had a sleepless night as a result.

‘Sorry, but while I’m in charge, I’ll check you whenever I feel it’s necessary.’ Cool and calm, she faced him down. ‘You’re my responsibility. No one dies on my shift, got that?’

‘I have no intention of dying.’

‘You might, if you carry on being uncooperative.’ Her smile managed to be both threatening and sweet as she gestured to the bed. ‘Lie down.’

It was an awkward manoeuvre. ‘When will they take this damn thing off?’

‘That cast is holding your joints in the right position while they heal. When the surgeon is happy that your bones are healing, they’ll remove it. Usually about six to eight weeks. So that gives you at least another month. Better get used to it.’

‘And once it’s removed?’

‘Intensive physio—hydrotherapy—’

‘Hydrotherapy?’

‘Basically exercising in the water.’ Gently, she pushed him back against the stack of pillows. ‘Good for strengthening muscle without stressing bone and joint.’

Alessandro lay on the bed and tried to ignore the pain licking through his body. He wondered if she planned to change out of the black stretchy wetsuit before she examined him. She looked like Catwoman. ‘I just want to be fit.’

‘You will be, but it’s going to take time.’ Tasha reached behind her and unzipped the back of her wetsuit slightly. ‘If you’re worried that you’ll never be fit again, don’t be. I’ve seen your X-rays and I’ve talked to your surgeon. There’s no reason why you won’t be back to normal in a few months providing you’re sensible. If you do the wrong thing now—if you push it when you should be resting—you’ll just do damage. You need to take it steadily and do as you’re told.’

Relief mingled with humiliation that she’d read him so easily. ‘I’m not good at doing as I’m told.’

If he were, then he’d have bowed to pressure and married.

‘I know, but if you want to be fully fit again, that’s what you’re going to have to do.’ Tasha dropped her hands from the zip. ‘I need to get out of this gear and take a shower. Then I’ll give you a massage to try and relax those muscles of yours. Don’t move until I come back.’

‘Shower.’ Alessandro closed his eyes, not daring to think about the word ‘massage’. ‘Now you’re torturing me.’

She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, a frown in her eyes. ‘You could take a shower if you wanted to.’

He gave a sardonic smile and gestured to his cast. ‘Oh, yeah—easy as anything.’

‘Not easy, but possible. We just have to cover it in plastic to protect it.’

There was a long, pulsing silence. ‘You’re offering to help me in the shower?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’

Alessandro wondered if he was the only one feeling warm. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t suggested it. Nurse, he told himself. She was offering as a nurse, not anything else. ‘I was joking. I can manage.’

‘Well, you can’t shower on your own, no matter how macho you are.’ Her voice was mild. ‘But if you don’t want a shower, that’s fine. I don’t want to push you if you’re shy.’

Shy?

It had nothing to do with being shy and everything to do with the fact that she was standing in front of him wearing a form-fitting black wetsuit.

‘Yeah.’ His voice was a hoarse croak. ‘That’s right. I’m shy. So we’ll give the shower a miss for now.’

As she strolled away from him he took comfort in the fact that at least there was one part of his body that appeared to be working normally.

* * *

By the end of two weeks, Tasha had reached screaming pitch.

As plans went, this one had backfired big time.

The tension that had been there on the first day seemed to grow with each passing minute.

If revenge was supposed to be pleasurable then she was definitely doing something wrong because she was in agony. The only one suffering was her.

Instead of giving her the opportunity to be aloof and distant, she was being sucked deeper and deeper into his life. His lack of mobility inevitably meant that she did everything from physio to answering the phone.

Even as she had that thought, the phone rang again and Tasha rolled her eyes and answered it, wondering which of Alessandro’s many female friends it would be this time.

A brisk voice informed her that the Princess Eleanor wished to speak to her son, but before Tasha could hand over the phone a cool, cultured voice came down the line.

‘Are you his nurse?’

Tasha frowned. ‘Well, no, actually, I’m a—’

‘Never mind. I’m better off not knowing.’ In a cold, unemotional tone she demanded to speak to her son and Tasha passed the phone over without question, feeling defensive and irritated and about as small as a bacterium.

Just what was his mother implying?

She’d been expecting to be asked for a clinical update on progress, but clearly his mother didn’t consider her worth speaking to.

Angry with herself for caring, Tasha busied herself tidying up and tried not to listen to the conversation, but it was impossible not to pick up the tension between the two of them, even though the conversation was conducted in Italian.

Alessandro replied to what appeared to be a barrage of questions in a similar clipped, perfunctory tone and afterwards he flung the phone down onto the sofa, picked up the crutches and struggled onto the terrace. The loud thump of the sticks told her everything she needed to know about his mood.

Startled by the lack of affection between mother and son, Tasha stared at his rigid shoulders for a while and then followed him outside. Was she supposed to say something or pretend it hadn’t happened? This wasn’t her business, was it? And she wasn’t supposed to care...

Torn, she stood awkwardly. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No. Thanks.’ He kept his gaze fixed on the surfers in the bay. ‘Not unless you can conjure up a new, fit body. I need to heal instantly so that I can get back to my life.’