Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
We walked toward a raised concrete circle outlined in white paint with an “H” in the center. A team of men in jeans and t-shirts waited, hands in their pockets, furrows in their brows.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“The trauma team. Other medical professionals are downstairs tending to the staff.” Alejo pointed to the only woman. “She’s leading the charge and has worked on Cristiano before.”
I bit my thumbnail, looking them over. I’d only ever known sterile hospitals, white lab coats, stethoscopes, high-tech machines. Even when Papá or my grandfather had needed medical attention, the doctors looked professional. And they never would’ve accepted a female physician at the helm, as senseless as that was.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I could call my father. He’ll know where to find the country’s most capable people.”
“Doctor Sosa is highly regarded. Cristiano trusts her.” Alejandro clasped his hands behind his back with an inhalation, searching the sky. “If he’s alive when he lands, he’ll be in good hands.”
With a whir in the distance, we each whipped our gazes behind us. A blinking dot in the skyline came into view. I laced my fingers over my breastbone as it neared.
I just wanted to see his chest rise and fall, his lips and hands warm and pink with life, his long lashes flutter as he opened dark, ruthless eyes that would soften at the sight of me.
Was that so much to ask?
Please, I prayed.
I held my hair down as the helicopter hovered in front of us. As soon as the landing skids touched down, the team was moving, opening the door, reaching in, helping out a woman in a short, slinky red dress with legs for days . . .
The unexpected sight of a siren with curled, auburn hair and fire-engine red lips left my mouth hanging open. Freshly applied makeup made it seem as if she’d come straight from a dinner party.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Alejandro followed my line of sight. “If I had to guess . . . could be Natasha.”
Natasha?
The name set off warning bells. Cristiano had mentioned a Natasha before, but he’d made her sound fleeting, like a one-night stand.
A gurney appeared, transferred quickly from the chopper to the pavement. My heart dropped to my feet seeing the lifeless body strapped to it. Cristiano had never been so still. I didn’t remember running toward him, but suddenly he was within arm’s reach. Gloved hands restrained me. Men yelled at me to get back. Cristiano’s ripped-open dress shirt revealed blood-soaked bandages around a once elegant, now shredded, always powerful torso.
Cristiano’s body bounced gracelessly on the gurney as they rushed him off the helipad.
Beneath an oxygen mask, his pallor alarmed me. “Is he a-alive?” I heard myself ask.
“You have to step back, señora,” one of the men said.
Alejandro held the elevator doors for them. I started to board as well, but claws on my elbow tugged me back. “They told you to stay clear.”
As the doors closed, I turned to face the sharp, female voice and acrylic nails that had kept me from Cristiano. Had she not been wearing heels tall enough to turn her into a tree in an obscenely short dress, we would’ve come face to face.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She released my arm. “I am the reason Cristiano is alive.”
He’s alive. Was she sure? How did she know? It didn’t matter. It was the only answer I’d gotten so far, and I’d take it. I made the sign of the cross and silently thanked Our Lady of Guadalupe.
“You,” the woman said over my head to Alejandro. “Are you head of security?”
“At the moment.” He hit a button to call the elevator back up. “I’m Alejandro.”
“Ah, yes. You spoke to my pilot.” She held out a hand. “Natasha Sokolov-Flores. An old friend of Cristiano’s.”
They shook, and Alejandro tilted his head in my direction. “This is Natalia, Cristiano’s wife. She’s as much the head of household as I am while Cristiano’s incapacitated.”
I appreciated the vote of confidence, especially after Jaz’s earlier opinions.
Natasha returned her eyes to me. Or to my rings, more specifically. “Is that wise?” she asked. “Cristiano made it seem like this was a marriage of convenience. I’m certain he would not like his business managed by a girl he can barely trust.”
“And I’m certain he wouldn’t like you speaking to me that way,” I said.
I was as surprised as she looked at my response. Mindset, Cristiano would remind me. Natasha had the wrong one about me. So did I. Cristiano would expect me to step up in a situation like this.
“Mrs. de la Rosa has many advisors,” Alejandro assured her.
Natasha’s eyes flitted over me then back to him. “I’m sure you want to know what happened. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
She and Cristiano had been . . . together? Tonight? He hadn’t mentioned that on the phone—but why would he? In any case, I couldn’t let that bother me now. Cristiano’s condition was far more important. “We can talk here,” I said. “Now.”