Italian Doctor, Full-time Father. Dianne Drake
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would make sure he didn’t transfer himself straight to the floor and another ankle injury.
Irritated with his incapacity, Dante dropped back into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to get out of there. Wanted to get the hell out of there. Wanted to get away from Catherine, forget about her again, go back to his real life. Him and Gianni. And his family. No one else!
“Going somewhere?” Catherine asked, stepping between the wheelchair and the bed.
Dante opened his eyes slowly. “Is that meant to be funny?” he snapped. “You know damned well I can’t go anywhere.”
“Another good mood, I see. Is that the way you’re going to act the whole time you’re here?”
“Aren’t doctors supposed to be compassionate?” he cracked back. “Have a pleasant bedside manner?”
“Ask yourself that question, Dante. You used to be one, didn’t you?” She dropped the clipboard holding Dante’s medical notes onto the table by the bed then moved the wheelchair closer.
“Now what?” he grumbled.
“X-ray. I want to see what I’ll be working with. Other than a grumpy patient.”
He heaved an impatient sigh, one clearly meant to be heard. “Maybe I should have let that other doctor work on me. You know, the one who wanted an autograph for every member of his family—all seventy-seven of them.”
Catherine laughed. That did sound like Friedrich. “He’s a fan,” she said, her voice finally softening. “Probably knows more about you than you do.”
“Fans to do that.”
“And you like having fans?” she asked. “I always thought you were a private person.”
“Fans are a necessary part of the job.” He sat back up. “You can’t get away from it. You take a job where the public gets involved in some manner, and that’s what happens.” Then he looked at the wheelchair again. “Do you expect me to get into that all by myself?”
She shook her head. “As much as it might do my heart good to see you fall flat on your face, I do have one of the physical therapists on his way to teach you how to do it on your own. You should have it down by this afternoon, then I’ll give you your daily schedule.”
“My daily schedule?”
“Therapy, regular exercise, meals. Times available to you for things like the hair salon, the spa…”
“Excuse me, but I came here to recover from an accident, and to have therapy.”
“Which is what will happen in due course.”
“But all the other things…that’s wasting my time.”
“Didn’t you read the brochures, Dante? We have a fully integrated treatment plan here. You know—mind, body, spirit.” Her mouth twisted into a devilish grin. “We’ll even do skin exfoliation if you need it.”
“Except I don’t need my skin exfoliated,” he snapped. “Don’t need spiritual enlightening or anything else that’s not about my ankle. What I want, all I want, is to get myself over this, and get to the place where I can take care of myself at home. I’m not here on a holiday and, quite frankly, Catherine, I’m surprised you’d even subscribe to this kind of frou-frou medicine. Back in Boston—”
“Back in Boston was another lifetime, Dante. Things change. People change. Relationships change.”
“I thought you were a better doctor than that,” he retorted.
“Once upon a time I thought you were better, too. But we all make mistakes.” She stepped aside as the therapist, Hans Bertschinger, came into the room, and she stayed there while Hans started the first instruction on how to get from the bed to the wheelchair. Watching Dante swing his good leg over the edge of the bed, Catherine noticed his hideous hospital gown creep up, and didn’t avert her eyes quickly enough to keep from seeing a generous portion of his leg and thigh. Nice, muscular. She did remember how he’d always been in good shape. Sexy, provocative body. She’d memorized every inch of it and never forgotten.
Before the blush set in, she turned away. “Order him pajamas with pants from the gift boutique!” she instructed Hans, then left the room. Once she was in the hall, she drew in a stiff, deep breath, hoping it would combat her wobbly legs, then she teetered her way back to her office.
This wouldn’t do. These feelings, these memories…wouldn’t do at all. “Get Dr Aeberhard on the phone for me, will you?” she asked Marianne.
Time for a holiday. She’d been here well over a year now, without a single day off. Surely Max would grant her a few days away. While he didn’t oversee the medical end of the clinic, he did still run the business aspects, and her taking a holiday was definitely a business aspect. But she needed a few days to go and hide somewhere, and figure out what to do. Figure out how to avoid Dante. How to avoid even thinking about him.
“I know you haven’t had a day off, and it’s a very reasonable request. Just not right now, Catherine. I’m sorry. If you’d asked a month ago, or a week ago…” He shrugged. “You deserve the time off, and I don’t begrudge you a nice holiday, but Aeberhard Clinic needs you here at the moment.”
Dr Max Aeberhard—jolly, plump, lots of white hair, white beard down his chest, walked with a slight limp, always a smile on his face. She adored the man, both as a friend and mentor. She’d called him, and he’d come running. He always did. In semi-retirement now, Max still took a few patients for consultation, as well as overseeing the business side. Of course, his version of semi-retired ran circles around most people’s version of full-time employed. The man loved his clinic, loved his patients, and he would never completely retire from any of it. It was as much a part of him as was that twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Just a couple of days, Max. That’s all I need.” It was pointless arguing with him. Max was a kindly man, but once he set his mind to something, it couldn’t be budged. She wasn’t going to get her holiday. No time away from Dante, not even a few days to collect her wits. In fact, it was because of Dante that she had to stay.
“Do you know how many enquiries I’ve had already regarding having Dante Baldassare as a patient here?”
Not as many as she’d had. Worldwide sports journalists had been calling almost from the moment Dante had arrived. They wanted interviews, pictures. They wanted to know more about the clinic. At the very least, all the publicity was going to throw the clinic into the center of attention for a little while. She realized that. And didn’t want to be a part of it—not on Dante’s account, anyway. “We can ignore them. I’ve already instructed the staff not to mingle with anyone from the media, not to grant interviews, pose for pictures, get caught where any patient or clinic information might be revealed. And I’ve doubled security on the grounds. As far as I’m concerned, we’re braced for just about anything, and if there is a need to give an official statement to anyone, in all reality you should be the one. So everything’s taken care of and I truly don’t need to be here.” Good argument, but she wasn’t going to win it.
Max chuckled, his beard bobbing up and down. “Maybe it’s taken care of, from your perspective anyway, but they won’t ignore us, Catherine. Mr Baldassare has a following all over the world, and all that’s come knocking on our door for the duration of his stay. The people outside aren’t going to be content to walk away without something. We’re small, and we need you here to make sure we keep our medical focus.”
“Then maybe we should find him another clinic, one that’s better prepared to cope with his celebrity. The one in Toronto deals a lot with celebrities, doesn’t it? And they have a good reputation. I might even know the medical director…”
“This isn’t like you, Catherine, backing down from a challenge. Even running away from it. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“I’d like to tell you that