Valtieri's Bride. Caroline Anderson

causing everyone so much trouble.’

      ‘That’s life. Don’t worry about it. Are you going to tell your family?’

      Oh, cripes. She ought to phone Jen, but she couldn’t. Not now. She didn’t think she could talk to her just yet.

      ‘Maybe later. I just feel so sleepy.’

      ‘So rest. I’ll sit with you.’

      Sit with her and watch her. Do what he should have done years ago.

      She shut her eyes, just for a moment, but when she opened them again he’d moved from her side. She felt a moment of panic, but then she saw him. He was standing a few feet away reading a poster about head injuries, his hands rammed in his pockets, tension radiating off him.

      Funny, she’d thought it was because of the blood, but there was no sign of blood now apart from a dried streak on her dress. Maybe it was hospitals generally. Had Angelina been ill for a long time?

      Or maybe hospitals just brought him out in hives. She could understand that. After Jen’s accident, she felt the same herself, and yet he was still here, still apparently labouring under some misguided sense of obligation.

      He turned his head, saw she was awake and came back to her side, his dark eyes searching hers.

      ‘Are you all right?’

      She nodded. ‘My head’s feeling clearer now. I need to ring Jen,’ she said quietly, and he sighed and cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing away a tear she hadn’t realised she’d shed.

      ‘I’m sorry, cara. I know how much it meant to you to win this for your sister.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said dismissively, although of course it would to Jen. ‘It was just a crazy idea. They can get married at home, it’s really not an issue. I really didn’t think I’d win anyway, so we haven’t lost anything.’

      ‘Claire said Jo’s been there for ages. She would probably have beaten you to it anyway,’ he said. ‘She must have got away very fast.’

      She didn’t believe it. He was only trying to make it better, to take the sting out of it, but before she had time to argue the doctor came back in, checked her over and delivered her verdict.

      Massimo translated.

      ‘You’re fine, you need to rest for a few days before you fly home, and you need watching overnight, but you’re free to go.’

      She thanked the doctor, struggled up and swung her legs over the edge of the trolley, and paused for a moment, her head swimming.

      ‘All right?’

      ‘I’m fine. I need to call a taxi to take me to the hotel.’

      ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

      ‘I can’t take you out of your way! I’ve put you to enough trouble as it is. I can get a taxi. I’ll be fine.’

      But as she slid off the edge of the trolley and straightened up, Massimo caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

      Whatever she’d said, the loss of this prize was tearing her apart for her sister, and he felt guilt wash over him yet again. Logically, he knew he had no obligation to her, no duty that extended any further than simply flying her to Siena as he’d promised. But somehow, somewhere along the way, things had changed and he could no more have left her there at the door of the hospital than he could have left one of his children. And they were waiting for him, had been waiting for him far too long, and guilt tugged at him again.

      ‘Ouch!’

      ‘You can’t walk on that ankle. Stay here.’

      She stayed, wishing her flight bag was still with her instead of having been whisked away by his team. She could have done with changing out of the dress, but her comfy jeans and soft cotton top were in her bag, and she wanted to cry with frustration and disappointment and pain.

      ‘Here.’

      He’d brought a wheelchair, and she eyed it doubtfully.

      ‘I don’t know if the dress will fit in it. Horrible thing! I’m going to burn it just as soon as I get it off.’

      ‘Good idea,’ he said drily, and they exchanged a smile.

      He squashed it in around her, and wheeled her towards the exit. Then he stopped the chair by the door and looked down at her.

      ‘Do you really want to go to the hotel?’ he asked.

      She tipped her head back to look at him, but it hurt, and she let her breath out in a gusty sigh. ‘I don’t have a choice. I need a bed for the night, and I can’t afford anywhere else.’

      He moved so she could see him, crouching down beside her. ‘You do have a choice. You can’t fly for a few days, and you don’t want to stay in a strange hotel on your own for all that time. And anyway, you don’t have your bag, so why don’t you come back with me?’ he said, the guilt about his children growing now and the solution to both problems suddenly blindingly obvious.

      ‘I need to get home to see my children, they’ve been patient long enough, and you can clean up there and change into your own comfortable clothes and have something to eat and a good night’s sleep. Carlotta will look after you.’

      Carlotta? Lydia scanned their earlier conversations and came up with the name. She was the woman who looked after his children, who’d worked for them for a hundred years, as he’d put it, and had delivered him.

      Carlotta sounded good.

      ‘That’s such an imposition. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

      ‘I’m sure. It’s by far the easiest thing for me. The hotel’s the other way, and it would save me a lot of time I don’t really have, especially by the time I’ve dropped your bag over there. And you don’t honestly want to be there on your own for days, do you?’

      Guilt swamped her, heaped on the disappointment and the worry about Jen, and she felt crushed under the weight of it all. She felt her spine sag, and shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve wasted your entire day. If you hadn’t given me a lift …’

      ‘Don’t go there. What ifs are a waste of time. Yes or no?’

      ‘Yes, please,’ she said fervently. ‘That would be really kind.’

      ‘Don’t mention it. I feel it’s all my fault anyway.’

      ‘Rubbish. Of course it’s not your fault. You’ve done so much already, and I don’t think I’ve even thanked you.’

      ‘You have. You were doing that when you fell down the steps.’

      ‘Was I?’ She gave him a wry grin, and turned to look up at him as they arrived at the car, resting her hand on his arm lightly to reassure him. ‘It’s really not your fault, you know.’

      ‘I know. You missed your step. I know this. I still …’

      He was still haunted, because of the head injury, images of Angelina crowding in on him. Angelina falling, Angelina with a headache, Angelina slumped over the kitchen table with one side of her face collapsed. Angelina linked up to a life support machine …

      ‘Massimo?’

      ‘I’m all right,’ he said gruffly, and pressing the remote, he opened the door for her and settled her in, then returned the wheelchair and slid into the driver’s seat beside her. ‘Are you OK?’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      ‘Good. Let’s go.’

      She phoned Claire and told her what was happening, assured her she would be all right and promised to phone her the next day, then put the phone down in her lap and rested her head back.

      Under normal circumstances, she thought numbly, she’d